Love lies and mistletoe, p.1
Love, Lies and Mistletoe, page 1
Love, Lies and Mistletoe
A Blueberry Point Romance Book 2
D.E. Malone
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, locales, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real life events, places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except in the case for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without written permission from the author and publisher.
Love, Lies and Mistletoe
Copyright © 2020 D.E. Malone. All rights reserved.
ISBN (paperback) 978-1-951516-05-5
(ebook) 978-1-951516-06-2
Cover designed by Blue Water Books
First Edition
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Summary: After sharing an awkward mistletoe kiss a year earlier, Layla Dean receives a misdirected text invitation to a holiday event from the same man she has tried to avoid ever since that one fateful night.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Mistletoe had caused more problems for Layla Dean in the last year than she cared to remember. Yet here she was, hanging a mistletoe ball while standing on a twelve-foot ladder that trembled like a sapling in the wind.
All this aggravation for what—to perpetuate the holiday tradition of capturing kisses underneath a ball of fake foliage and holly berries? No, thank you.
One of the distasteful little things swung on a silver gossamer ribbon from her belt loop. Its destination was the crystal ball at the chandelier’s bottom, still four feet above her head. It needed to be hung before guests arrived at Blueberry Point Lodge for the evening. Layla didn’t want to get in the way of traffic in the foyer.
Two more steps.
“Are you okay?”
Below, Darcy Stetman, owner of the inn and holder of the ladder, looked up at Layla with concern wrinkling her brow while she held the cumbersome ladder as steady as possible.
“I think so.” She laughed nervously. “I’ll be better when I’m down there again.”
“Don’t rush,” Darcy said. “We’re in no hurry.”
“If I went any slower, I’d be moving backwards.”
She gripped the metal sides with such force her knuckles ached. It wobbled even more when she looked up at the wide crystal chandelier with its spray of branches and glass leaves. Her head started to spin again. She closed her eyes against the wave of dizziness that made her stomach flutter. Layla froze to reset her balance.
Darcy continued gushing about the work Layla had done since arriving that morning.
“This is going to be magical. I can’t tell you how happy Sean and I are that you were able to fit us into your schedule.”
Layla held off replying as she secured the ribbon to the crystal knob. A double knot should do it. There.
“Okay, I’m coming down,” she called before gingerly stepping from rung to rung until she was back on solid ground. She let out a big sigh.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Darcy asked. “I wish you’d said something. I could have attached it for you.”
Darcy was at least six inches shorter than Layla. The woman would have to stand near the top rung to reach the chandelier, a dangerous feat. Something told Layla that Darcy would have chanced it. She struck Layla as a little bit of a dynamo, daring and full of energy.
“I’m fine.” Layla grinned and took another deep breath. “It’s something I’ve been trying to conquer since I’m constantly on ladders. Anyway, coming up with the plan for this place was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. This is the type of job that makes a design portfolio sparkle.” She pressed a hand to her chest. Blood pounded in her ears like the pulse cycle on her washing machine.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Darcy said. “Sometimes the space overwhelms me a little. Before I moved here, I lived in a studio apartment.” She laughed, a husky guffaw that made Layla jump a little.
When Layla first stepped foot in the inn’s immense foyer last month, her imagination soared. The double-wide staircase alone was worthy of a romantic movie scene, all oak and polish, the hand-carved curves of the balustrades and newel posts marvels in and of themselves. Pure artistry.
Layla nodded. “I get it. One of my first jobs was the Belvidere Hotel in the Twin Cities. After that one, I taught myself to think differently about each job. Now I focus on a few square yards at a time. It’s more manageable that way.” She cringed inwardly as she name-dropped. Selling herself was never an easy task, but not because she lacked credentials. Layla liked her work to speak for itself.
Darcy’s dark eyes widened. “Well, you came highly recommended.” She smiled as she walked to the sidelight at the door and peered through the sheers. “Did you run into snow on your way up? It looks like it’s finally starting here.”
“Not much. There was a little outside of Duluth.” Layla wanted to ask who recommended her. She liked to repay favors.
“This storm popped up out of nowhere. The early ones tend to sneak up on us, don’t they? I think it’s Mother Nature’s way of keeping us on our toes.” Darcy took the project binder from the credenza and returned it to Layla. “This is amazing. You went above and beyond what I expected.”
Layla put her hand up. “That’s your copy. I have my own.”
“Seriously?” Darcy hugged it. “I’ll treasure it forever.”
They’d hunted for inspiration online together during their first meeting, then separately during the weeks before Layla finished a proposal for what she planned for Blueberry Point Lodge. Darcy was an easy-to-please client. Layla wished they were all this pleasant to work for.
“If you’re ready for a break, why don’t we finish getting your things from the car? Then I’ll have Sean park your car in the carriage house. It will save you from unburying it on Friday when you leave. If you’re able to leave.”
Layla walked to the window herself, peering across the back lawn toward Lake Superior. Outside, fat flakes appeared, drifting down from the dense white sky. The incoming storm painted the water, shore, and sky a dense gray. Layla clutched the neck of her sweater against her skin. It was already so cold.
After grabbing her overnight bag, she followed Darcy upstairs, pausing on the landing to admire the panels of stained glass depicting life on the lake. She stepped closer to study the colors and design. One panel showed a schooner on the lake. Another panel, a loon.
“My most favorite part of the house,” Darcy said over her shoulder.
She followed Darcy up the second set of stairs. She couldn’t wait to see the sunlight glinting through the window—if the sun even showed while she was here.
Three of the guest rooms were unoccupied, so they peeked into them on their way to her room. Layla would place three-foot feather trees in the rooms and a wreath on each door. She’d ordered the greenery and ribbon wholesale but scoured the local shops for ornaments and other handmades. Darcy had taken her to an adorable shop east of town called Buds ’N Blooms. The owner was happy to order the miniature trees Layla needed for the bedrooms.
Darcy opened the door to the Shoreline Room, Layla’s room. She’d been right to imagine the room’s decor when Darcy mentioned its name. It had the serene color palette of the water’s edge: pale blues, sandy beige, and a hint of yellow in the throw pillows on the bed and side chair. Though the room reminded Layla of summers spent at the beach, Darcy had added a winter touch. A Father Christmas sculpture of boiled wool sat on the Queen Anne side table near the window. Sequined snowflakes decorated the bed shams. It was such an inviting room; she almost asked Darcy why she needed her help.
A few minutes later they were downstairs again. Darcy stopped in front of an antique lectern that served as the check-in desk. Behind her, a white board was affixed to the wall with “Welcome to Blueberry Point Lodge” written artfully at the top. Each room was listed with the names of that night’s guests assigned to them.
Darcy snapped her fingers. “Oh, and we have dinner at six if I haven’t said so already.”
Layla shook her head. “No need to fix anything special on my account. I brought a cooler with some things.”
“My mistake. I should have mentioned that meals are taken care of. Since we have a few rooms booked for the next few nights, it’s easier to serve everyone. So unless you don’t want to join our guests in the dining room, meals are always on the schedule. We could bring it to your room if you’d rather.
That sounded ideal, but she didn’t want to be rude. Layla should welcome their hospitality.
She shrugged. “I can eat with everyone else.”
“I’m so glad. I think they’ll really love to talk with you,” said Darcy.
She studied the guests’ names.
Rose Room: Martha And George Ferris.
Granite Room: Janet Suntermann.
Her name was next to the Shoreline Room.
Tamarack Room: Jeff Gill
Loon Cottage: Brett Johnsson
Layla stared at the last name, saying it to herself. It was too similar, yet it wasn’t the same. She shook her head, dismissing the scary thought. Wouldn’t that be…interesting.
“Is something wrong?”
Layla started. “Huh?”
“You shook your head.”
“Oh! No, nothing at all. I was thinking of…what I should tackle next.”
Darcy’s eyes popped. ”I’m anxious to see that come to life.” She nodded to the behemoth of a tree in the living room. It was twelve feet at least. “Last year I had to keep running back to the store to buy more ornaments to fill it.”
Layla laughed. “We won’t have that problem this year.” She’d use what Darcy had as well as giant faux poinsettia blooms in gold and silver to fill it out. Wrapping it with a wide plaid taffeta ribbon in the same colors would help too. Darcy cupped her face in amazement when she’d seen the portfolio’s mock-up. “But I’ll need someone to help me get the ladder over there,” Layla added.
Darcy picked up her phone. “I’ll see if Sean’s available. He’s somewhere in the house.”
Her gaze settled on the bulletin board again while Darcy called. That name.
Darcy set her phone down. “He’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you hear about me? I like to send thank-yous to people who recommend me.”
Darcy clasped her hands and smiled. “The guy who’s decorating the exterior recommended you. When I booked him, I asked if he knew any rock stars like him, only someone who did interiors instead of exteriors.”
Rock stars—ha! She liked that. But a little bloom of dread blossomed in her mind. “Who is it?”
“He should be here soon. Brett Johnsson?”
“Brant Johnsson?”
Darcy snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’s right. I’d better fix that.” She gritted her teeth as she searched for a pen to rewrite his first name.
Layla turned away to hide her grimace.
Gah. Brant Johnsson.
The last time she saw him she hoped it was the last.
Granted, she’d only physically bumped into him once, but that was enough. He attended many of the big holiday fundraisers during the Christmas season since his clients were sponsors. Everyone put Brant Johnsson on their guest list because he was the kind of fun, charismatic guy you wanted at parties. His face was plastered all over the news too. His lights installation business, Light the Night, was responsible for practically all the displays on the buildings downtown now.
The company had grown so much that he was moving farther away from residential clients in favor of business contracts. She only learned that from the profile she read about him in the Minneapolis Star Tribune last month. The photos showed him and his employees decorating the Midwest State Bank with their bucket truck and scaffolding. There was a big splashy photo of Brant hanging on a ladder with a tool belt around his waist, smiling down at the photographer like he was some dashing, light-stringing celebrity. Wearing his trademark denim shirt and dark, polypropylene pants, he looked ready to climb a mountain rather than hang Christmas lights. The photo clearly showed his personality: bold, daring—and she hated to admit it—too good-looking for his own good.
She took a deep breath. Their last meeting flashed through her memory, and it stung her all over again.
Still, she was a professional. If she ran into him during her stay, she’d act as if nothing happened. She’d come to Blueberry Point Lodge to decorate for a client, not relive the most humiliating incident of her career at the hands—er, lips—of Brant Johnsson.
Chapter Two
Light flurries. Yeah, right.
Brant Johnsson squinted through the windshield at the snow blowing sideways across the road. Beside him, Jeff sat quietly, an unusual state of being for his right-hand man. Brant counted on Jeff to be his comic relief when things got hairy. But here Jeff was, sitting as silent as stone. That was a sure sign that this surprise October snowstorm was a doozy.
As a lifelong Northerner, bad weather usually didn’t rattle Brant. He’d driven through a good share of blizzards. But it was near dark, and visibility was getting worse, and his tires should have been replaced before the first big snow; he just hadn’t had the time. He gripped the steering wheel tighter even though he’d been white-knuckling it since they’d left Dentsen.
“Are you doing okay?” Brant could use a little of Jeff’s lighthearted banter. He hadn’t uttered a peep since they stopped to de-ice the wipers in the last town. “I don’t think you’ve been this quiet since you fell off the ladder and got the wind knocked out of you.”
Jeff snorted. “I’m having flashbacks to when Sandy and I did a three-sixty on I-494 last year.”
“I remember you telling me about that. It sounded awful then, and I sure don’t want to think about it now.”
“I’ll be quiet then. I can’t think about anything else.”
Twenty minutes later, the lighted sign for Blueberry Point Lodge appeared before his turn. He almost missed it. The truck skidded for a few heart-stopping seconds until the tires grabbed the road. His grip eased on the wheel as Brant allowed himself to breathe again. As they turned into the gravel drive, he thanked the heavens they’d made it safely. If this snow was here to stay, his schedule would suffer.
Through the rivulets of melted snow streaming down his driver’s side window, he noticed Sean Stetman standing underneath the carport, hunched against the driving snow pellets. Brant shut off the engine. Beside him, Jeff let out a long, low whistle and unbuckled himself.
“You get a gold star for driving through that,” he said.
Brant shook his head. “I’d settle for a beer.”
Outside, the wind howled. The pellets stung his face. He squinted as he grabbed the bag from the back of the cab. Then he and Jeff hurried inside the inn as Sean held the door open for them.
“I was half expecting you to postpone,” Sean said, hunched over from the wind barreling straight into the house. “This storm took everyone by surprise.” He shut the door now that they stood inside the side entrance. Sean shuddered despite the quilted flannel he wore.
“If I wasn’t three-quarters of the way here already when it started, I might have.” Brant shook Sean’s hand then introduced Jeff.
“I hope this doesn’t affect your schedule too much,” Sean said. “Of course you can stay as long as you need to.”
They followed Sean into the main house and up the grand double-wide stairs. Sean showed Jeff to his respective room then led Brant down a second, more narrow set of stairs on their way to Brant’s cottage on the back lawn.
“These were the servants’ stairs from when the house was first built,” Sean explained over his shoulder. “It’s a shortcut to the kitchen. We use this more often than the big staircase.”
“I’m all for efficiency.” Brant ran his hand over the curved plastered wall. Overhead, he could see all the way to the third-floor landing. They didn’t make houses like this anymore.
“I put you in the closest cottage,” Sean said to Brant. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It’ll be perfect. Might need a rope line to follow back and forth if this storm keeps up.”
Sean chuckled. “I’ll see what I can rig up.”
