CYRUS FOUGHT a rising sense of panic as he struggled to open the front door to their rented house.
The house, a rambling log structure with large windows and an imposing Craftsman porch, was every bit as impressive as he'd heard. Strong and solid, it was exactly the kind of home he'd build for himself if he were in the rustic family cabin market, a perfect mix of rustic wood and modern glass and metal.
He secretly hoped that Nat hadn't gone too wild with the decorations. Yes, he wanted the kids to feel it was a special trip, but he also wanted to have a relaxing break in a woodsy cabin with a nice fire and some aged scotch. He didn't want to spend his vacation in a holiday recreation of the FAO Schwartz store.
So far, the entry wasn't too bad. It had an attractive wreath and little else. It was a relief after the extremely-over-the-top Holiday Lake plaza. Less was more for sure.
"Do you need help, Dad?" Gigi asked with studied politeness.
He stopped fiddling with the entry keypad and stepped back. "Be my guest. The code is—"
"I know it," Gigi said as she stepped up to the keypad. "You've been reciting it for the last ten minutes."
"That's because the pad is not functioning," he replied as Gigi pressed the buttons. "We may have to call the real estate ag—"
The keypad beeped and the door unlocked with a hollow click.
Gigi stepped back with a smile. "Bingo."
"You're turning into quite the sassypants, G," he said, pushing the door open and entering the house.
"And you still love me," Gigi said, following him into the house. "Admit—Oh, wow."
"Look at that tree," Jack shouted, raising his bag of candy. "It has firetrucks."
"And gnomes," Gigi said, picking an ornament from a nearby wreath. "Why does it have gnomes?"
Cyrus peered at the offending ornament. It was a small man in a red hat with a pointy top, and he was holding a tool of some kind.
"They're Santa's helpers," Cyrus replied. "Why wouldn't it have gnomes?"
"Gnomes don't help Santa, Dad," Jack replied. "Those are elves."
"What's the difference?" he asked.
"They're different species," Gigi said, returning the ornament to the wreath. "There are tons of them too. The tree is absolutely huge."
"I like it," Jack declared running towards the tree. "Even if the gnomes are the wrong species. Look. I think the firetrucks are from the Holiday Lake Fire Department."
Cyrus smiled. "I wouldn't be surprised."
"I like the tree too," Gigi said, following her brother while carrying her own bag of loot.
Cyrus relaxed. The house was a success. That was clear.
It was as impressive inside. The living room's windows were even taller than the tree. They were dark right now, as it was nighttime, but the view would likely be spectacular in the morning.
The floors were a mix of wood and slate, which worked well with the log walls. The furniture was mostly leather couches and armchairs upholstered in green-and-red plaid patterns.
The furniture wasn't what he would have picked. He would have chosen something more modern, but it went perfectly with the town's Christmas theme. It also matched the decorations Nat had chosen. To his relief they were elegant and understated.
He had expected a Disney-like extravaganza that would assault his senses, but this was nice. It was much more pleasant than the glitzy pictures Nat had on her website. The tree was beautiful, and, as Gigi had said, it was enormous. The well-loved ornaments and mismatched ribbons gave everything a homey look. And Jack was right. The fire trucks really were from the local fire department.
Nat had done a beautiful job. It was not exactly what the Christmas Queen website promised. In fact, it was better.
"I'm going to get the suitcases, guys," he called. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for movies," Gigi shouted back. "You should see the television. Like everything else in this house, it's humongous."
They'd found a television. Of course, they had.
"And they have all the Holiday Lake movies," Gigi continued.
"Great," Cyrus replied.
Candy and a Christmas movie marathon. That didn't sound bad to him, but he had the feeling that Leah would strongly disapprove. Good thing he'd called for reinforcements.
"Try not to eat the candy all at once," he shouted.
"Got it, Dad," Jack answered in a muffled voice, as if he'd stuffed a whole chocolate bar into his mouth.
Cyrus sighed and headed out to get their bags and the food.
The night was cold and clear. The silence was a relief after the crowd and noise of the Holiday Lake plaza. There was no moon and the stars were simply amazing. Was that the Milky Way?
He reached the car and grabbed the bag of food, which smelled delicious. The kids would likely fill-up on candy, but he was looking forward to the Chinese entrees. The mall pretzel Gigi had forced on him had been several hours ago.
But food wasn't the only thing he was looking forward to. He glanced down at his watch. How long would it take Nat to get here?
Too long, unfortunately.
He brought the food into the house, crossing the family room where Jack and Gigi were sprawled out on the leather sectional, eyes riveted on the large television.
"Aren't you going to look at your rooms?" he asked as he put the food on the kitchen island.
"Later," Jack said, chewing something that looked suspiciously like bubble gum.
"Don't get candy on the sofa," Cyrus warned.
The kitchen was spacious, the kind that real estate agents advertised as "entertainment-friendly." It had two of everything—two sinks, two ovens, two fridges--No, three fridges, if he counted the one under the counter for beverages. There was only one cooktop and one freezer, so the designer had kept it real there at the end.
He opened the fridge, which was full of food containers. He checked the labels. They had breakfast and dinner in there, so they were in no danger of starvation.
He checked his phone to see if Nat had called or texted. Nothing.
He did two more trips and carried their suitcases inside. He gave Leah and the kids the upstairs bedrooms and kept the main level master for himself. The rooms were large, with big windows that promised beautiful morning views and lots of Christmas pillows strewn about everywhere.
Nat Quinn, it seemed, was very fond of the holiday pillows. She'd left three on the master bed, one in the shape of an elf shoe, another in the shape of an elf hat, and the third showing pictures of frolicsome elves and the legend "Meet You Under the Mistletoe?"
Now that was an interesting mental image—Nat, mistletoe, and the traditional result of such combination. But this was a business arrangement. The SOS text he'd sent her had nothing to do with his holiday decorator's bright red hair, sparkling eyes or magnetic smile.
Not at all.
He set his suitcase in the master bedroom and left. They were set up, so now he could go watch movies with his kids, or he could tackle the piles of presents still in the car.
He glanced at the family room where Jack and Gigi were giggling as they watched some unbearably sweet Christmas movie. He wasn't following the plot, but the soundtrack was sweeter than the candy his kids were eating.
He still had no idea what to do with the presents. He had to wrap them somehow, but he didn't even know where to start. He checked his watch again. The present-wrapping calvary seemed to be late, so movies it would have to be. He'd have to figure out the presents later.
Or maybe not, because that's when the doorbell rang.