I leaned down to unzip my bag. While they watched, I flipped it open, ready to reach for the gingerbread cookies I’d picked up from the bakery that morning. Instead, my eyes about bugged out of my head as I focused on the box in the middle of my suitcase. “What the hell is this?”
“Take a ride on Santa’s giant candy cane?” Mama Mae sucked in a breath as she read the tag line out loud.
“It’s a dildo!” One of the boys plucked the box holding a giant red and white striped vibrator out of my suitcase.
“There’s got to be some mistake.” I rifled through the contents of the suitcase, revealing one naughty holiday novelty after another. “This isn’t my stuff.”
Mama Mae put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you didn’t pick up the wrong suitcase?”
The bottom of my stomach dropped out. I reached for the paper tag secured to the handle of the suitcase. Usually, I checked before leaving the airport, but I’d been eager to get on the road and hadn’t taken the time. There in curly script, an unfamiliar name flowed across the small tag.
Holly Berry.
An image of the woman who sat next to me in First Class flashed through my head. Even though I’d found her incredibly attractive and tried to engage her in conversation, she’d barely cracked a smile the entire flight. She didn’t look like the type to be traveling with a suitcase full of dicks and dildos.
“Austin, bring that vibrator right back here,” Mama Mae squeezed my shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen to retrieve the mystery woman’s fake penis.
There was only one way to find out if she had my bag. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed the number printed on the tag.
3
HOLLY
The hotel my dad booked us at was located on Main Street in the tiny town of Broken Bend, Texas, where my stepsister had grown up. I stepped into the lobby and took my time taking it all in. Exposed brick walls and upscale southwestern decor carried through the foyer. The properties my dad’s company owned rated five stars but lacked the personality this tiny boutique hotel in the middle of nowhere possessed. That’s what I wanted to change.
Feeling a little more optimistic than I had during the trip over, I checked into my room and waited for the staff to bring my bag up to the room. They’d even decorated for the season. Glittery snowflakes hung from the huge windows and there were fresh flowers incorporating pinecones and red winter berries on the mantle and a few tables.
I’d grown up in the hospitality industry, so when I stayed at a competitor’s property, I noticed all the tiny details a typical guest might overlook. The sheets were high-quality Egyptian cotton. Two fluffy Turkish robes hung in the closet. Expensive personal care products sat on the granite countertop in the oversized bathroom. A place like this in New York City could charge an arm and a leg for a one-night stay.
My bag arrived and with nothing else to do until I met with my dad for coffee the next day, I figured I’d get settled, then head downstairs to treat myself to a nice dinner on my company credit card. I slowly unzipped my bag, not ready to be confronted by the items I’d picked up for the last-minute bachelorette party.
When my dad told me Avalon’s maid of honor canceled on her a week before the wedding, he didn’t beg me to step in and take over the role of maid of honor. It was more like he assigned me to the task. So I’d picked up a bunch of crap from a sex store in Lower Manhattan and figured I’d send all the attendees home with a vibrating party favor.
Only when I unzipped my bag and flipped it open, instead of a dozen dildos, I uncovered a pile of red fuzz. I didn’t remember picking up any furry toys. Probably because I hadn’t. I pulled the red fabric out of the suitcase and held it up. Looked like the top half of a Santa suit. My stomach knotted. Where were all the supplies I’d picked up for the party?
I tossed the Santa suit to the side and revealed neatly folded men's clothes: jeans, t-shirts, khakis, and several pairs of plain white briefs. This wasn’t my suitcase. As I flipped the lid down and reached for the handle to check the tag, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but maybe it was the airline with news about my bag.
“Hello?”
“Holly Berry?” Something about the man’s deep, rich voice tickled my memory.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Is that really your last name?” he asked.
I wasn’t about to let some stranger on the other end of the phone give me shit about my name. “Who is this?”
“I believe I have something that belongs to you, assuming you’re missing a dozen vibrators, several packages of edible underwear, and a tube of peppermint flavored lube.” He didn’t even bother to attempt to keep the humor out of his tone.
“It’s not mine.”
“If I had a quarter for every time I heard that excuse…” His voice trailed off into a soft chuckle. “Did you happen to pick up my bag by mistake?”
“Are you the Santa suit?”
“Among other things,” he said.
“Then yes. If you’ll tell me where you are, I’ll have a courier come pick it up.” While losing my bag was an inconvenience, the bachelorette party wasn’t until tomorrow night. That gave me plenty of time to swap bags.