“Who’s us?”
“I’ve spoken to the editor.” Carmen sounds hesitant. “Darren Floyd has already finished his new book. The publishing house is willing to push his launch forward to next fall and postpone your release to the spring.”
“But then I’d miss the holiday season. I always come out in October.”
“Yes, but your first drafts are usually ready by December.”
“What’s Floyd’s book titled?”
“Touch of Fear.”
I swear silently in my head, that’s a damn good title. “Floyd isn’t taking my spot,” I say between gritted teeth. “Listen, my family is coming over this week for the holidays and I won’t have much time to write. But once they’re gone, I promise my butt won’t leave the chair until I have something solid for you to present to the editor.”
“Okay, Riv, the publishing house is giving you until the end of January. But if you don’t have a first draft ready by then, they’ll go ahead with Touch of Fear.”
“I won’t let you down, Carmen, I promise.”
I’m determined to use these last few hours of quiet before my family arrives—they should land mid-morning—to get down to some serious writing. But, just as my fingertips hit the keyboard, a gray Subaru pulls up in the front yard, followed by a white van with “Molly’s Maids Cleaning Service” written on the side in sweeping characters.
What now? Did I forget an appointment? The cleaning agency usually comes on Fridays and today’s Wednesday.
Kelly Anne from the real estate agency gets out of the Subaru and marches toward the front door in her high-heeled winter boots. She rings the bell, but by the time I reach the entrance, I hear her already using her key to unlock the door. So, when I pull it open, she jumps back, frightened.
“Oh, Mr. Clark, you gave me a scare.” Then she eyes my sweatpants and cozy flannel shirt and frowns. “What are you doing still here?”
“I live here,” I say.
“Yeah, okay, but weren’t you supposed to leave yesterday to visit your family?”
“I’m not going, they’re coming here.”
Kelly Anne pales. “What? But you agreed to sublet the cabin from the 22nd to the 28th.”
“Yes, but then I canceled with Charlotte and told her I’d be keeping the house for Christmas.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just a few hours after you called me three weeks ago.”
“Oh, my.” Kelly Anne brings a hand to her forehead and collapses on the patio’s log bench.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid we have a situation on our hands, Mr. Clark.”
Kelly Anne has barely finished talking when two more cars pull up in the front yard and an assortment of people dismount, taking suitcases out of the trunks. A tall woman pulling a wheeled, gray suitcase comes up the patio front steps, smiling. She’s wearing a beanie, but a few locks of blonde hair escape from underneath the hat to be trapped again under the collar of her white puffer jacket.
“Hi,” she says to the real estate agent. “You must be Kelly Anne. Mindy told me you’d be our point of reference in town. I’m Wendy Nichols.” Then the blonde looks at me, her light-blue gaze sending an unexpected electric zip through my body, and her smile falters. My face must not look too thrilled or welcoming. “Is—is there a problem?” she stutters, her eyes roaming from me to Kelly Anne.
Kelly Anne gets back into her everything-is-going-to-be-all-right persona and stands up to shake the blonde’s hand with a bright smile stamped on her face. “Miss Nichols, very nice to meet you. And to answer your question, it appears there’s been a hitch with your booking, but nothing we can’t solve, I’m sure.” Then she gestures at the open door. “Why don’t we all get inside and see how we might deal with the situation.”
“I’m not letting these people into my house,” I say.
Another blonde pushes past the first one, carrying a baby in each arm, and says, “I don’t know what the issue is, but I have two infants who need to get fed and I’m getting into the house, now.” She steps in front of me, raising an eyebrow. My only option is to step aside to let her in. Which prompts all the other people in the yard to follow, workers from the van included.
Only Kelly Anne, me, and the first blonde remain on the threshold. I don’t know why, but I feel as if letting this Wendy person into the house will somehow equal losing a battle.
I turn to Kelly Anne. “Can’t you find them a different accommodation?”
The real estate agent struggles to keep her smile in place. “I told you the entire city is sold out.”
“I’m sorry but if these people were booked in my cabin, shouldn’t your team have come yesterday to get my things in storage?”
Kelly Anne nods. “They should’ve, but we’ve run into one snafu after the other. This holiday season is the craziest I’ve ever had, believe me. We were counting on doing it last minute today.” She smiles apologetically.
“Excuse me,” the blonde says. “Can someone explain to me what the problem is?”
“Miss Nichols,” Kelly Anne begins. “Mr. Clark here has a long-term lease on the cabin and had initially agreed to sublet the house for Christmas week—”
“I never signed the papers,” I say.
“Yes, Mr. Clark,” Kelly Anne says, condescendingly. “I’m catching up on that.” She turns back to Wendy. “But when he changed his mind, we must’ve already rented the place to you in the meantime. And my administrative team and I had some kind of misunderstanding, and they told him he was fine to stay. So, it appears we have a double-booking situation on our hands.”
Wendy pouts and stares me down. “Well, since there’s nine of us and only one of him, it seems to me it’d be much easier to find him alternative accommodations.”
“Except the lease is in my name and I’m not about to give it up to a bunch of strangers.” The blonde glares at me, but I continue, undeterred, “And even if I were willing to leave, my family is coming to stay for the holidays, and there’s seven of us.”
“Nine beats seven as well,” Wendy replies childishly.
“Long-term lease beats no right to the house at all,” I snap.
“Now, now,” Kelly Ann intercedes. “No need to argue. I’m sure we can find a solution. Why don’t we just walk into the house and—”
I turn to her. “What you must do is get all these strangers out of my cabin before my family arrives.”
As if on cue, two more cars pull up in the front yard, which has now lost all its at-peace-with-nature vibe and resembles more a mall parking lot.
My dad and Skeeter get out of one car and Tess and her family get out of the other.
Dad is the first to walk up the front steps and immediately picks up on the tense atmosphere.
“Hi, son. What’s going on?”