In a moment, though, I have my answer. A still-icy branch can be seen partially jutting through the opening, its dead leaves heavy with more white flakes.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
I turn. Miss Harbaugh has clicked off her call, and she stands with her eyes closed now, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Hmm,” I mumble as I kick at a mound of snow with the toe of my boot. “The good news is Santa himself is about to roll up in here, fix the place up, and I’ll make millions for the inn when I host my party here. The bad news is that disbelieving banks will laugh me out of their lobbies when they hear the ridiculous sum I earned at this rec center?”
Miss Harbaugh’s thin red lips press tightly together, and the corners of her mouth turn down in a pitying way. My stomach turns again, and this time, not even sarcasm will save me.
“Just lay it on me,” I tell her. “I have to look for a new venue, don’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” she says with a sigh. “Hooper Park might be available for use…”
“An outdoor park, when snow has already thwarted my party planning once?” I shake my head, despondency washing through me. “I’m not sure that’s my best bet. Thanks so much for trying to salvage this, Miss Harbaugh. Maybe I’ll be in touch if I can’t figure anything else out.”
I start toward the rec center door, and Miss Harbaugh puts out a hand.
“Stay for a moment,” she says. “It’s snowing too much to brave the walk back to your inn. The rec center might be cold, but we can scrounge up some cocoa in the kitchen and you can wait with me until James McCoy gets here—”
“I’m a big girl,” I assure her with a smile. I reach into my pocket and produce my knit hat, shoving it down over my ears. “Besides, a walk might be good to clear my head after all this.”
I wave at Miss Harbaugh, and start toward the rec center exit again.
Once again, I’m taken aback by how beautiful it is outside today. The windows to each shop beam out a rosy amber light that projects across the snow on the street, making the whole scene look ethereal. There are still flakes drifting, landing in little stacked piles along gutters and doorways.
I’ve always been a snow person. I know some people love the South for its heat and humidity, but I can’t help but be partial to the cold. And when it snows around Christmas time, there’s something extra magical stirred up in the air. There’s a fantastical quality to the stuff, like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. Snow is supposed to be the great fixer, the miracle rub, that thing that saves the day… not ruins it.
How is it Little Haven can look so damn dreamy out here but so destroyed in my rec center?
I take a deep breath, letting that cold air fill up my lungs. I close my eyes—just for a moment—as I fight back the nausea that gripped me back with Miss Harbaugh.
I’ve figured out situations more difficult than this. I just need a new venue for my party, is all. In summer, Little Haven hosts a bustling Peach Festival, and tourists cram into these narrow streets and little shops with no problem. Clearly, there must be space I haven’t thought of.
I open my eyes, and my gut sinks again. I’ve come up to pass the Main Street gazebo. It’s a quaint little structure with two hand carved benches and space for a band or dancing. During the Peach Festival, it’s more packed than anywhere else.
And it’s located outdoors. Right now, it’s located in the middle of a snowstorm.
All the good venues are outside. My rec center was the only decent spot to host folks indoors, and now it’s just as cold and wet as anywhere else. My chest tightens as I round the corner toward the inn. How the hell am I supposed to raise enough money to stave off the hotel chains now? Is it time to give up?
I push through the front doors of the Little Haven Inn, the tips of my ears burning from the sudden heat, despite the coziness of my hat in the snow.
“Um, hey.”
My stomach somehow constricts even further. My lobby is packed, with Mr. Bates and Miss Hales stuffed into a shared couch drinking cocoa… and Gray standing in front of my fireplace, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his own mug.
“Hello,” I reply. In a slickthwump, a small mountain of snow sloughs off the roof and lands directly on my head, bathing me down the back of my shirt and sending me yelping into the inn.
“Jeez!” Gray rushes toward me.
Mr. Bates and Miss Hales hustle off the couch, with the latter making a show of grabbing onto the muscular Mr. Bates for balance as they join Gray in coming to my aid.
I hold up one hand, squeezing my eyes tight shut.
“No, better leave me alone,” I instruct. “Fun things come in threes, right? I just found out the venue for my Christmas party is out, I’ve turned into a lady snowman, and there must be some third thing on its way to wreak havoc. I wouldn’t want any of you roped in to my cosmic misfortune.”
“Your venue is out?” Gray asks. He ignores my warnings and puts a hand to the small of my back, guiding me over to the couch. I have to bite my lip at the feel of his warm fingers through the cold of my dripping sweater.
Miss Hales has scurried behind my counter, and I hear the Keurig start up and a mug retrieved from my cabinet. Mr. Bates is still at the door, shoveling the snow that fell on me back through the entrance. Gray studies me with his deep, dark eyes as his hands find the bottom of my sweater.