"RIIIIIIIISE AND shine, Holiday Lake," the radio blared. "It's the best day of the year and you know what that means, right? Yes, your #1 source for year-round Christmas music is here for you. Here's a modern classic, Michael Smith's Christmas Day."
Cyrus turned over and reached for the snooze button, turning off the radio.
Yes, it was Christmas morning, but somehow, he wasn't in the mood. Today, the unsinkable cheeriness of Holiday Lake was hard to bear. How did this place even support a year-round Christmas station anyway?
The syrupy strains of the song rang out, even louder. He hadn't hit the snooze. Instead, he'd turned up the volume by mistake.
He grabbed the electric cord and yanked hard, pulling the plug out of the wall.
Ah, blessed silence.
Which meant he had nothing to distract him from his bad mood and its cause.
Nat Quinn.
Should he call her? The argument last night had been undeniably stupid. Maybe he should call and reconnect. He wasn't sure why, but he still wanted to hear her voice.
"Daddy, wake up," Jack screamed. "Santa came."
Well, plans change.
Cyrus sat up and stretched. Someone turned on another radio in the house and "Christmas Day," at a much more bearable volume, wafted into the room.
"My Legos," Jack shouted, with a surprising amount of enthusiasm for someone who had bought the toys himself only yesterday. "Check out the bows."
"No way," he heard Gigi say. "That's incredible. It's like the Eiffel tower of presents."
Gigi's acting needed a lot of work. Her surprised tone sounded completely fake, but it made Cyrus smile. Amazing what a bit of wrapping paper could do.
He got up and quickly changed back into jeans and a sweater. Then he straightened the bed, rolling his eyes at the "Meet Me Under the Mistletoe" pillow. It was time to face the Christmas music, so to speak.
He yawned as he walked toward the living room.
He hadn't gotten much sleep last night and he wasn't sure why. Sure, Leah was having love troubles, but his nanny was in her twenties. Heartache came with the territory. After all, he'd been heading straight for divorce when he'd been Leah's age.
Had it been Nat's hasty exit? Had that ruined his night?
Likely, he confessed to himself.
"I bet if I pull here, it will all collapse. I'll bring it down like a kaiju monster," Jack said.
The kids were clustered around the Christmas tree, examining the tower of presents. The large living room windows framed an amazing view that hadn't been visible last night. The yard was covered with fresh snow, and the mountains rose majestically in the background. The sky was a bright, clear blue, and there were few clouds in the sky.
With the towering Christmas tree and the pile of presents, it was an idyllic view, even his grouchy morning self had to admit that.
But someone was missing.
"Where's Leah?" he asked.
"Not up yet," Gigi said. "I tried to wake her, but she just asked for five more minutes. That was an hour ago."
"That's very unlike her," Said Cyrus.
"Guess she stayed awake late having fun last night," Gigi said with a shrug.
That was not likely, but Cyrus wasn't going to tell his daughter that. He had no idea what had happened the previous night with Leah, but it hadn't ended happily.
Nat probably knew by now. He had little experience with small-town gossip grapevines, but they were probably as fast as his co-op building's network. Yes, Nat probably knew he scoop by now.
So, should he call her?
"That reminds me. Daddy, may I use your phone?" asked Zoe.
"Sure," he said, handing it to her.
Now he wouldn't be tempted to call Nat. That was a silver lining in a world of red and green
"Are you going to call you mom?" he asked.
"No, she's traveling today and said she wouldn't call unless it was an emergency. We wished her Merry Christmas yesterday," Zoe said as she punched in the access code. "I want to call the radio station. I'm going to request a song."
Cyrus frowned. "How do you know the phone number?"
Come to think of it, how did she know his phone access code? This spy phase better end soon.
"I saw it on one of the billboards when we drove into town," Gigi answered, punching in the numbers. "1-888-MRY-XMAS."
Cyrus sighed. "Of course. What are you—?"
"Good morning, guys," a tired voice said behind him.
"Good morning, Leah," he said turning to greet his nanny.
Who looked like...zombie may be too strong a word, but Leah did not look good. She was pale, her eyes were red-rimmed, and it seemed she had forgotten to brush her hair.
"Merry Christmas," she said wanly.
"Are you sick?" Gigi asked, her forehead wrinkled in concern. "You look sick."
This was why Gigi's lack of tact was legendary.
But Leah didn't take it badly.
"I do feel a little bit under the weather," she said with a small smile. "It looks like you guys are having a blast here. Is it okay if I sleep in for a spell?"
Cyrus glanced at the kitchen. "Well, we still have—"
"Thanks," Leah said, heading back upstairs.
And before he could mention breakfast, she was gone.
Leaving him with two hungry kids and an oven. Surely using it wouldn't be that hard, right? All he had to do was heat the containers. Even after years of Manhattan food deliveries, he should be able to do that.
"Ready for breakfast?" he asked, trying to sound optimistic about the prospect.
Gigi snorted. "Yes, I checked the kitchen—there's a fire extinguisher in the pantry and another one under the sink."
Cyrus considered being offended, but that little piece of information came as a relief, although he'd die before admitting it. "I find your faith in my skills disheartening, daughter."
"Yeah, well, safety first," she answered, as she held the phone to her ear. "I just don't want to die." She threw back her head and gave a dramatic sigh. "When will the radio station people pick—" A sudden smile lit her face. "Hi, Merry Christmas. I'd like to make a song request."
Cyrus left her to it and headed to the kitchen, trying to suppress his dread. He didn't need to know what music Gigi planned to torture him with. He'd find out soon enough.
He approached the refrigerator with some trepidation. Nat had said the instructions were easy to follow, and he had a graduate degree in business. Millions of people, billions actually, cooked successfully every day. Maybe he could do this.
Maybe he could do this without his Christmas consultant's help.
Oh, for Pete's sake, he had to stop thinking about Nat.
He opened the fridge, a space-age contraption that was a sharp contrast to the rustic cabin decor that surrounded it. This thing would not be out of place in a Stanley Kubrick sci-fi film. It had lights. It had buttons. It had a screen allowing him to regulate temperature and moisture in four different quadrants.
Apparently, fruits and vegetables required different settings. Who knew?
But he didn't have to worry about that, as the fridge was empty save for a bunch of aluminum foil containers. He grabbed the two labeled "breakfast" and pulled them out.
The first tray's label read: "Christmas Cookie French Toast." He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded sugary, which meant his kids would probably like it.
The instructions were taped on top of the lid: "Step 1. Place container in oven. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour."
That seemed simple enough. He ripped out the instructions and placed the tray on the oven.
Now all he had to do was set the temperature. There didn't seem to be a dial, just a series of buttons. He punched a few, and some numbers and letters popped up. Good heavens, what did "BR" stand for? "Beyond Redemption"?
He muttered a prayer and pressed the button. He sighed with relief as the oven turned on, lights flashing.
There, that wasn't so hard.
Step two was a bit more intimidating: "Remove lid after 45 minutes and bake for another 15 until golden brown. Place bag of sugar frosting in warm water for ten minutes. When French toast has cooled, drizzle frosting over the dish. Decorate with Christmas sprinkles and enjoy with our signature Frosted Maple Syrup."
Cyrus wasn't sure how the "drizzling" was supposed to occur, but Gigi could probably figure it out from a YouTube video.
He wondered if Nat could drizzle. Probably not. Might be fun to watch her try, though. He could call her.
No, bad idea, he reminded himself, suddenly grateful that Gigi had his phone. No temptation.
The second tray contained ham, which could, blessedly, be microwaved in five minutes. He could operate a microwave with the best of them.
The rest of the fridge's breakfast offerings consisted of juice and a Christmas-themed fruit salad featuring strawberries and gooseberries.
He wasn't sure his kids would go for that, but it sure looked festive.
He set the ham on the counter, next to a box labeled "Sweet Chalet Christmas Cookie Pack." That seemed beyond his capabilities. Yes, he'd managed to successfully use the oven, but he was not looking forward to tackling baking. Maybe the kids would have enough frosting with the French toast?
The next box was labeled dinner bread rolls and breakfast pastries, which seemed a lot more user-friendly.
He wasn't sure the kids could wait an hour until breakfast. And maybe the pastries would be less sugary than the French toast. He extracted a basket with rolls. They were all almost entirely covered with sugar.
So much for that.
He peered into the basket. There was another box, flat and thin.
Its label read "Peppermint Christmas Kringle."
That sounded sweet.
He sighed and took the box out. When in Rome...
It was sweet and minty with a flaky crust and a refreshing bite. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Maybe this would work out after all.
"Dad," Gigi walked into the kitchen. "Here's your phone. You got a call."
She left the phone on the counter.
"Thanks," Cyrus said, offering her the pastry basket. "Would you like some?"
"Are these donuts?" Gig asked, peering at the container suspiciously.
"I don't think so," Cyrus said. "But they seem to have almost as much sugar."
"I could use a pick-me-up. They haven't played my song yet, which is annoying." Gigi grabbed a pastry and bit into it carefully.
"It's a cronut," she exclaimed.
"A what?"
"A croissant-donut hybrid," Gigi said, taking another bite. "It's fantastic." She grabbed the basket. "I'll take this."
"Glad you like it," Cyrus said, watching her walk away with her prize.
He then stared at the tempting black electronic device on the kitchen counter. He hadn't intended to give in and call Nat, but Gigi said he had a phone call and he'd wrapped up all his business issues yesterday. It was likely her.
He had to respond, no? It would only be polite.
He picked up the phone, smiling at the thought of hearing Nat's voice again.
Then he noticed that he had an email from his research team. He'd forgotten that he'd sent them a query specifically about the Northstar Tree Farm. He should take a look at that.
But it would have to wait. It turned out the call he'd received wasn't from Nat.
Lilian was calling.