Page 66 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“We didn’t plan this.” Sara groans, waves of frustration vibrating off of her. Under her breath she mumbles, “If this delays the approval process for the house, my mom’s going to lose it.”
“Ms. Detweiler?” I call to her. “If you could help get us out of here, we’d be very grateful.”
“But … how?”
“At the top corner of the bookshelf on the left, there’s a lever. Just climb the stool, and tug it down—hard. The wall will open up into the room we’re in.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No.”
“Fine! But you’re paying for my manicure.”
This Ryan Detweiler person doesn’t sound happy, but I’m more focused on Sara right now. It’s still too dark for me to make out her face, but the poor thing sounds absolutely miserable. I know she’s worried about disappointing her mom, so I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.
A minute later, the bookshelf groans open, revealing both daylight and Ryan Detweiler.
She’s about our age, in a wool suit and heels with her hair slicked into a bun of strawberry blonde. She kindof reminds me of my sister,ifNella were a few years older and wearing alook of horror on her face.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sara blurts. “I’ll be right back!” She darts past the evaluator, sprinting out of the den and heading straight for the bathroom.
Ryan Detweiler’s brow flies up, and she snaps her gaze to me. “Was that Sara?”
“Yeah.” I manage an apologetic grimace. “She’s had to go for a while, so thanks for letting us out, Ms. Detweiler.”
“Call me Ryan.”
“Thanks, Ryan.” I glance toward the bathroom. “Anyway, things got pretty desperate last night.”
Ryan sweeps her gaze around the room, surveying all the visible space from where we’re standing. “So I see.”
The den itself is littered with colorful leis, strands of white lights, and a staple gun. Out in the living room, remnants of popcorn garland cover the coffee table, along with strips of construction paper, scissors, glue, and tape.
Sara’s sewing pouch remains on the couch. Bags from the Five and Dime sit abandoned on the floor. There are pineapple lanterns along the wall. Even the Christmas tree looks out of place, considering the lack of ornaments or a star.
I can only imagine how this scene appears: the exact opposite of what an upscale vacation rental site would offer. In fact, the interior of the Hathaway’s newly renovated lake house looks nonsensical at best, and at worst, unsafe.
Ryan sniffs. “May I ask why there are pink flamingoes and tiki torches in the yard?”
“It’s not what you think,” I say, ruffling my bed-head hair. “Sara threw together a last-minute Hawaiian Christmas luau for me last night, and I’m sure she was planning to have everything cleaned up before you arrived this morning, but like I said, we got trapped inside that room.”
“Trapped?”
“Well, wecouldn’t find a handle to get out.”
Ryan’s forehead creases. “You’re telling me there’s a room in this home that actually locks people inside with no means of exit?”
Oops.
Sara’s parents already don’t like me. I can’t be the reason their house gets rejected. “There’s probably a handle or a lever in there somewhere,” I rush to say. “I mean, I’m sure there is. But after the lightbulb burned out, we couldn’t find anything in the pitch black.”
Ryan pulls down her brow even further. “So you’re saying there’s insufficient lighting?” She makes a note on her clipboard. I probably shouldn’t tell her Sara ripped the only light right out of the ceiling.
“I know things probably look kind of bad right now.” I wince. “But I grew up in and out of this house, and what the Hathaways have done to it is just?—”
“Three!” Sara calls out, rushing toward us from the bathroom. “Please stop talking! Now!”
Ryan arches a brow in my direction. “Your name is … Three?” I shrug, but I don’t respond. After all, I was told to stop talking.
