Very Merry Married (Kringle Family Christmas)

A few guests wandered down from the second floor, wondering how to get to the pond or the tree farm. A lot of questions about the hockey player and his whereabouts. And I understood that. People liked celebrities.

The kids brought Baby Girl back and settled into the sewing room. Baby Girl stayed with me, much to Chelsea’s disappointment.

Someone came down asking about pastries that were apparently supposed to be sitting on the front desk and I was making another note to myself when the phone rang.

“Good morning, Kringle Inn. How can I help you?”

The front door swung open letting in a blast of cold air and a woman in a camel cashmere coat and a pair of fabulous Jimmy Choo shoes came sweeping in. Goose pimples went up all over my skin. God, it was freezing in here.

Whoever this woman was, she was a boss. And I liked it. She reminded me of Marsha, the dance captain. But this kind of woman, the kind that exuded “I’ve got my shit together,” they kind of made a mess of me and I always got flustered and a little sweaty and ended up oversharing. It was a whole thing.

“Is Matt Kringle staying there?” asked the person on the phone.

“I’m afraid I can’t give out that kind of personal information,” I said. “But if you’d like to rent a—”

The person on the other end of the phone hung up and so did I.

Boss Lady stopped at the desk, sizing me up. I’d pulled a little piece of holly off a decoration and tucked it into my hair. I thought it looked festive.

“Hi,” she said.

“Oh, hi. Welcome to the Kringle Inn. Do you have a reservation?”

“I’m Kristen Kringle,” she announced.

“Oh, well then, you’re probably related to the owner.” And to Ethan. Was this his sister? “Something like that. And you are?”

“I’m Lexie Platzski. Ethan’s wife.” Shit, I wasn’t going to mention that. Ethan and I hadn’t talked about it but it made sense to keep it under wraps. “Well,” I laughed, feeling sweat bead on my forehead, which should have been impossible because it was freezing cold in here despite the nice fire roaring away in the fireplace. “Ethan’s wife for right now. I came here to get a divorce but apparently you guys are in a bind and needed my help. So here I am. Helping.”

Ugh. TMI, Lexie. TMI.

“I’m sorry, so you’re not a supermodel here to see Matt?”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Not a supermodel. Vegas showgirl, actually.”

Baby Girl barked from behind the desk, I’d ignored her a little too long. She could get like that sometimes, in a new place. “What is that?” Kristen asked.

“Not a what. A who. This is Baby Girl.” I picked her up from where she was standing and my feet petted the dog and then dropped several loud kisses on top of her sweet head. “Aren’t you, my baby girl? Yes, you are.”

Baby Girl barked at Kristen. Strange. Maybe it was a thing with Ethan’s whole family? Except she’d liked Chris. Interesting.

“I need coffee. I need, like, serious amounts of coffee, right now.”

“I just put on a pot in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“You’re Lexi,” she repeated. “And you’re a Vegas showgirl. And you married my brother Ethan. Ethan Kringle. Ethan going-to-be-mayor-of-Salt-Springs Kringle.”

“I know, right? Can you believe it? Crazy times.”

Kristen holed up in the office and I went to check on my sewing club. Ben had Chelsea standing on an ottoman with her arms stretched out while he was draping crushed purple velvet over her overalls and turtleneck.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

Ben didn’t answer because he had pins in his mouth but Chelsea piped up. “Ben’s making me a dress.”

“It looks like a ball gown,” I said. “What happened to Baby Girl’s elf costume?”

Ben pointed at a little felt hat with a string I could use to tie it on Baby Girl’s little head.

“Ben!” I cried. “This is fabulous.”

Ben took a pin out of his mouth and stuck it in the bodice. “Thanks. I’m making a little tutu for her, too.”

“But we decided sewing club is boring,” Chelsea said.

“We didn’t,” Ben replied. “You did.”

“We want to do a pageant,” Chelsea said, all a-sparkle with creative energy.

“What kind of pageant?” I asked.

“Christmas of course,” Chelsea said. “We can sing carols.”

“I don’t sing,” Ben said.

“I’ll sing carols and my sister can, too. And there are a couple other kids staying here—we can get them to be a part of it. We’ll sing. Ben, you can do costumes.”

He nodded like that was agreeable to him. “I’m going to need a sewing machine.”

“A sewing machine? I left you two alone for, like, an hour.”

“What do you say?” Chelsea asked. I heard the front door open and Ethan went walking by, past the front desk into the office.

“I say, who am I to stand in your way? If you can get those kids and the parents to agree, you’re on.”