“Tomorrow,” Helen echoed. “Tonight, we celebrate.”
“With champagne?” Braxton asked hopefully.
“With Christmas lights. ‘Tis the season. We need some on the porch and in the trees. The town will see us glowing from the hill. It will be better than any advertising to show we are in business!” Helen enthused.
Lucy groaned softly. “Mom, it’s dark out.”
“Perfect light-hanging weather,” she insisted.
Within minutes, the front yard turned into organized chaos again. Snow drifted steadily from the sky, and everyone hadan opinion about how to detangle extension cords. Boxes of mismatched lights sat on the porch like defeated serpents.
“These are vintage,” Helen said proudly.
“They’re fire hazards,” I corrected.
“Same thing,” Kitty said cheerfully, handing me a tangled knot. “Make them pretty.”
William dragged out a ladder. “Braxton, you handle the left eave. Dex, the right.”
I climbed up, testing the first few bulbs. Only half worked, but the snow caught the glow beautifully. Below, Kitty was untangling another strand with the determination of a general leading an army of misfits. “Meri, loop it around the railing! No, not like that. This is Christmas, not a crime scene!”
“Your enthusiasm is exhausting,” Meri said, but she followed the instructions anyway.
Lucy came out last, her coat half-zipped, a mug of coffee steaming in her hands. “How’s it going?”
“Structural integrity is sound,” I answered. “Aesthetic integrity is questionable.”
She tilted her head back to watch me on the ladder. “You could loosen up a little, you know.”
“I could, but then who would manage quality control?” I half joked, half seriously asked.
Her laugh rose softly into the cold air, curling with the snow. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’m efficient,” I corrected, clipping another strand.
Braxton plugged in his section, and a patchwork glow illuminated the porch. Some bulbs were bright, others dim but it worked. The inn came alive in gold and green light. The snow reflected it back tenfold, the whole yard glimmering.
Helen gasped, pressing her hands together. “Oh, it’s perfect!”
Lucy squinted. “Half the bulbs are dead.”
“Perfectly imperfect,” Helen said.
“We can buy more and replace the ones that don’t work,” William logically pointed out.
Kitty whooped and spun under the falling snow. “It’s magical! Dex, don’t you think it’s magical?”
I looked down at Lucy, her hair catching the light, the snow landing on her eyelashes.
“It’s something,” I said quietly.
“Something?” she echoed.
“Maybe miraculous,” I admitted. It was odd. Less than eight hours ago I was ready to call the whole inn a disaster, yet now I could almost feel that it could work.
Kitty leaned toward Meri. “You hear that? The robot feels things!”
“Tragic cheekbones and feelings. He’s evolving,” Meri dryly observed.
