His gaze moved behind me and up to the lodge. I watched his eyes move from the lodge with its warm, glowing windows to the large main house a bit to the right, and then to the detached garage with its small apartment above.
“Quite the operation you have here,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he meant it as a compliment or what. He looked like he was judging everything, sizing it up like a butcher eyes a slab of beef.
“It’s been in our family for generations,” I said, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. “The lodge was originally built as a hunting cabin in 1782 by my ancestor, Hymal Northwood. He was from Manhattan originally, but he fell in love with this area and kept expanding the property until it became what you see today.”
I gestured toward the lodge, warming to one of my favorite topics. “What started as a small cabin is now a twenty-roomlodge with four luxury suites. My parents live in the main house—that’s where the family has always lived—and I have an apartment above the garage. My brother, Brom, and his family live in the lodge itself, since they run the day-to-day operations.”
I was getting excited now, the way I always did when I talked about our family history. “The Christmas tree farm was added in the early 1900s when one of my great-great-grandfathers realized that the soil and climate here were perfect for growing evergreens. We’ve been providing Christmas trees to families throughout the region for over a century, and?—”
I stopped mid-sentence when I noticed Kent’s eyes starting to glaze over. It was a look I’d seen before, usually from people who weren’t particularly interested in local history. I felt a little stab of disappointment but quickly switched gears.
“Are you planning to spend some time here in Northwood for the holidays?” I asked instead.
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
He paused, looking almost sheepish for the first time since I’d met him. “I haven’t actually booked anything yet. I was planning to find something when I got into town.”
This was it. This was my chance to turn one tree sale into something much bigger. I could practically see the dollar signs dancing before my eyes as I launched into my most enthusiastic sales pitch.
“You should stay at the lodge!” I said, gesturing toward the beautiful building that was my family’s pride and joy. “We have luxury suites available, and one of them even has a hot tub on the balcony. The views are incredible, especially with all the snow. We have a full-service dining room with three meals a day. My sister-in-law, Stacy, is an amazing cook. There’s a grand stone fireplace in the library where you can relax with a book and a glass of wine. We host events in the main hall almost everynight during the holiday season, everything from carol singing to cookie decorating to storytelling.”
I was really hitting my stride now, painting a picture of cozy winter luxury that would make anyone want to extend their stay. “The suites are comfortable with modern amenities. You’d have privacy when you want it, but you’d also be part of the lodge community. And the location is perfect. You’re right here on the property, so you can enjoy all the winter activities we offer. Cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, sleigh rides.”
Kent was looking around the property as I talked. I could see him taking it all in. But his expression wasn’t what I had hoped to see. He looked bored. Maybe even a little repulsed.
“A tree farm isn’t really my scene,” he said finally. “I was thinking something more modern. In town.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Well, you could try, but I don’t think you’re going to find what you’re looking for. Northwood isn’t exactly a metropolitan area. We’ve got a few bed and breakfasts, but nothing that would qualify as modern. Good luck, though.”
Kent nodded, apparently taking my words as a polite dismissal rather than the reality check they were meant to be. He walked around to the driver’s side of his car, pausing to check that his tree was still securely fastened.
I watched him drive away. What was a guy like him doing in Northwood? He clearly had money—serious money, based on his clothes and his casual attitude toward spending a hundred dollars on a Christmas tree.
Wait, where was he going to put a Christmas tree?
I was still staring after his taillights when Emmy appeared beside me in her elf costume. With all the bells on her costume, she couldn’t exactly sneak up on me. She followed my gaze down the road where Kent’s car had disappeared.
“That one is a red flag,” she said as if she’d been reading my thoughts.
“Maybe.” But even as I said it, I knew Emmy was probably right. There had been something about Kent Bancroft that didn’t quite add up.
“Come on,” Emmy said, linking her arm through mine. “We’ve got work to do. Santa’s expecting his afternoon hot chocolate, and I’ve got three more families waiting for the full elf experience.”
We got back to work, but I found myself distracted for the rest of the day. Every time a car pulled up, I found myself looking to see if it was the sleek black sedan returning.
Around midday, Brom came down from the lodge to check on how opening day was going. I could see the question in his eyes before he even asked it.
“How are we doing?” he said.
I did a quick mental tally. “Eight trees so far. Eight hundred dollars.”
Brom nodded, but I could see the disappointment he was trying to hide. Eight hundred dollars on opening day was… well, it was better than nothing, but it was nowhere near what we needed to make this season successful.
Four or five years ago, opening day would have brought in close to ten thousand dollars. And every day after that would have looked similar. The lot would have been packed with families, the parking area would have been full, and we would have run out of hot chocolate twice.
Now we were celebrating eight trees like it was some kind of victory.
