Page 19 of Mistletoe Sky
“It’s Christmassy, all right,” she said finally.
Gavin barked with unpleasant laughter. “You really are sour about the holidays, aren’t you? It’s rare to meet a woman like you.”
Willa swallowed. “No. I like Christmas.” But she didn’t sound convincing in the slightest.
“We can’t wait to hear your ideas,” Gavin said. “Like I said, the Christmas Festival Committee is fascinated by your work. I can’t fathom why a little island in the middle of the Arctic Circle cares a lick about commercial directors, but people can surprise you.”
The Arctic Circle? Willa rolled her eyes, grateful he couldn’t see her. Gavin’s raucous attitude worked so well for him back in the city, but it felt painful, obvious, and arrogant here. She thought about telling him to get lost. She wanted to break into the fudge shop, go upstairs, and fall asleep on her mother’s old bed.
That afternoon, Willa entered the restaurant of a swanky Mackinac hotel. Because she’d bundled up for the bike ride, she quickly found the bathroom, changed into a black pantsuit, and fixed her hair. A hostess greeted her and led her to a ten-seat table toward the back of the restaurant, where she spread out her notes and folded her hands. Outside, it had begun to snow so gently and beautifully that it reminded her of a poem. The server came and took her drink order of water and tea. She hoped Gavin wouldn’t make her drink anything alcoholic. He liked to pretend they were in the “Mad Men” series. He often pretended their advertising world was far more important than it was.
Again, it rang through her.Why is the fudge shop closed?
“There she is!” Gavin appeared in his luxurious suit, his arms spread as he cleared the restaurant to get to her. “Funny to find ourselves in such a little place, isn’t it?”
Willa got up and shook his hand, although she could tell he wanted to hug her. “It’s beautiful,” she said, sounding more genuine than she wanted to.
Gavin chuckled. “Is this small-town life already getting to you? I already hate taking the horse and buggy, but it’s romantic, I guess. If you’re into that.”
Gavin ordered himself a whiskey cocktail and tried to push Willa to order one for herself. Miraculously, she resisted, then stood when a woman she recognized entered the restaurant. Willa’s heart pounded. It was Hannah Collins, the owner of the dress shop located down the road from Caraway Fudge Shoppe. She’d made several of Willa’s and Amelie’s Halloween costumes. She was probably in her late fifties at this point, with gray-blond hair and a sturdy, plumpness that spoke of long, cozy winters spent with nice desserts and pasta dinners with people she loved. Hannah walked directly toward Gavin and Willa; a sense of purpose sketched across her face.
“Ah, Willa, may I introduce you to Hannah Collins?” Gavin was saying. “She’s in charge of the Christmas Festival Committee.”
“Just this year,” Hannah said, her eyes still on Willa. “We rotate the job from family to family.”
“How charming,” Gavin said, although it was clear he didn’t find it charming at all. He didn’t care. “And is your husband on the way?”
“He is. The others should be here soon as well.”
Hannah extended her hand, which was warm, sturdy, and small. Willa’s knees quaked.
“It’s a pleasure to work with you,” Willa said to Hannah.
“We’re so grateful that a big-time director like you would come out to our little island,” Hannah said. “We need all the help we can get.”
Willa’s heart cracked. They sat down, and Willa clutched her knees, trying to find a way to ask Hannah what was going on without indicating to Gavin that this was an elaborate setup that had nothing to do with how “good” Willa was at directingcommercials. Gavin was talking a mile a minute, upping the charm in front of the client. “We should celebrate, shouldn’t we?” he said, trying to get Hannah to order something alcoholic, to join him.
“I have to sew a few more dresses today,” Hannah said kindly. “Just water for me.”
“That’s right,” Gavin said to Willa. “Hannah has her own dress shop. It’s been in your family for generations, I think you said.”
“There are numerous family-run places on the island,” Hannah said to Willa. “Fudge shops. Restaurants. This hotel is even run by a family. The server is the owner’s nephew. The hostess is his sister.”
Willa’s throat felt tight with sorrow. We were supposed to run the fudge shop together and uphold tradition. Was Hannah trying to make her feel bad about this? Or was she just reminding Willa of the beautiful simplicity of the island? Willa crossed her arms and listened as Gavin talked more about the island, its beauty, and Willa’s advertising brilliance.
“It’s why we reached out to you specifically, Gavin,” Hannah said. “We knew you had a special connection with our favorite director.” There was a quiver to her lips, like she was trying not to laugh.
Hannah’s husband, Brian, arrived a few minutes later, as did Alex Swartz and his sister Cindy, who was born and raised on the island as well. After that came Bethany, Jared, and Roger Kaplan, all of whom had been friendly with Willa’s mother and father. Willa’s palms were sweaty. Was this a nightmare from which she could pull herself?
Or was she trapped here?
After everyone ordered lunch, Gavin said that it was up to Willa to present her ideas. Willa felt all eyes on her, secretive and urgent. She imagined throwing up her hands and saying,Tell mewhat’s going on!But she was worried about Gavin, about what he could tell her bosses back in Chicago about Willa, about how rude she’d treated their new customers. So she looked at her notes and prepared her pitch.
“Being from Mackinac yourselves, I’m sure you’re no stranger to its Christmas magic,” Willa said with a slight hiccup in her voice. “Per what you’re looking for, I think it’s best that we create three to four Christmas commercials, which can be used for the following two to three Christmas seasons, depending on your needs. After that, perhaps you can reassess with Gavin and the rest of my team.”
“You could come back then,” Hannah said, her eyes like beads. “You could come back and direct more Christmas commercials. When we need them.”
“Or move here and monitor all our social media,” Hannah’s husband, Brian, said with a soft smile.
