'Twas the Week Before Christmas. Olivia Miles

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      Chapter One

      “Looks like a storm’s about to roll in.”

      “So I heard,” Holly Tate murmured distractedly. Furrowing her brow, she studied the reservation list and then glanced at the hands of the old grandfather clock at the base of the stairs. There was still one guest unaccounted for, and the dining room would be closing in fifteen minutes. Well, she’d have the chef hold a turkey sandwich and a slice of apple pie. She could always send it up to the guest’s room upon check-in, just as a courtesy. Exceptional customer service was something she took seriously, and while a few minor complaints were inevitable, The White Barn Inn had yet to receive a bad review on any travel website Holly knew of. The repeat customers she saw year after year—and the referrals they provided—always filled her heart with a sense of pride and warmth.

      “They say we should get three or four inches tonight,” the assistant manager and housekeeper, Abby Webster, continued. “Steady through the morning and afternoon, but the Nor’easter’s expected to hit tomorrow night.”

      Holly finally glanced out one of the tall, lead-paned windows that framed the front door. Large flakes of snow were falling steadily on the vast stretch of lawn that separated the old mansion from the main road. There would be no sense in asking the handyman to clear the path; it would be covered again in half an hour. It would have to wait until morning.

      “We’re still waiting on one guest,” Holly informed her friend. Though she was Abby’s employer, the two women were also good friends. Life at the inn was quiet and occasionally confining, resulting in long days, weekends, and holiday hours. After leaving Boston five years ago to transform the large historic home she had inherited from her grandmother into a bed-and-breakfast, Holly had retained fond memories of riding bikes or lining up at the candy store on Main Street with Abby during her annual summer visits to her grandmother’s house in Maple Woods. Having lost touch years before, the friends had picked up where they had left off and grown even closer since.

      “Do you want me to stick around until he arrives?” Abby asked halfheartedly.

      Holly shook her head. “You go home to that handsome husband of yours,” she said. “Besides, I don’t want you driving in this kind of weather at night.”

      “The streets should be plowed by the morning.” Abby stifled a yawn and pulled her red wool pea coat off the wrought-iron rack next to the front desk. She shrugged herself into a hand-knitted creamy wool hat and wrapped a matching scarf tightly around her neck. “Don’t stay up too late.”

      “Have a good night,” Holly called after Abby, pulling her cardigan tighter СКАЧАТЬ