“The decorations are very intentional,” I said coolly, adding another hundred dollars to his bill just for the smart comment. I doubted he even looked at his statements. It was an asshole surcharge. “We pride ourselves on creating an authentic Christmas experience for our guests.”
“Seven hundred now, is it?” Kent asked, apparently having caught the adjustment. But instead of looking annoyed, he seemed almost amused by my blatant price manipulation.
“Late check-in charge,” I said without missing a beat. “And just so you know, check-out is at nine a.m. sharp.”
Stacy sucked in a breath. It was two hours earlier than our usual time, but the sooner I got the man out of my hair, the better. If Mr. Bancroft wanted to sleep late, he could book a second day.
He reached out to touch one of the ornaments hanging from garland that had been hung from the ceiling.
“Don’t touch the ornaments.” I processed his payment and printed out a keycard. “Some of them are family heirlooms.”
That was a complete lie. Most of our ornaments had come from the discount store in town, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Noted,” Kent said solemnly, though I could see he was fighting back a smile. “I suppose a lot of this stuff looks like you’ve had it for generations.”
The comment erased any lingering guilt I had about charging him extra. I had saved him from being stranded in the snow, and he was still insulting our lodge. If he was too good to stay here, he could go back out into the snow.
I swallowed the thought. We needed the money and his rotten attitude wouldn’t be my problem for too much longer.
I grabbed his keycard and stood up from behind the desk, gesturing for him to follow me toward the staircase that led to the guest rooms. “Right this way, Mr. Bancroft. I’ll show you to your suite. I trust it’ll be to your liking.”
As we walked through the lobby, I could feel Stacy’s eyes boring into my back. She had to be dying to know what was going on. Why I was personally escorting this particular guest to his room. All questions I would have to answer later, assuming I could come up with explanations that didn’t make me sound completely unprofessional.
I led Kent up the stairs to the second floor, where our luxury suites were located. The Northwood Lodge might not be the fanciest place in the world, but our suites were genuinely nice, spacious rooms with period furnishings, updated bathrooms, and views that showcased the best of what our property had to offer.
“This is the Evergreen Suite,” I said, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “It’s our nicest accommodation.”
Evergreen Suite had a rustic elegance with a heavy emphasis on natural materials and, yes, more Christmas decorations. But these were tasteful ones. Subtle garland around the windows with a small tree in the corner that complemented rather than overwhelmed the space. It filled the air with its scent.
Kent walked over to the window that looked out over the tree farm. From this angle, it actually looked quite magical, like something out of a Christmas card. Even his Grinchy butt had to acknowledge that.
“There’s a brochure in the side table,” I said, pointing to the small booklet we’d put together showcasing all the local events and activities available during the first week of December. “In case you decide to stay longer than one night. We have quite a lot going on around here during the holiday season.”
Kent picked up the brochure and flipped through it, his eyebrows rising as he read some of the event listings. When he got to one particular page, he actually laughed out loud.
“A sleeping bag race?” he said, looking up at me with undisguised amusement. “Seriously?”
I felt my cheeks warm slightly. “It’s an annual tradition that’s lasted over thirty years. People take it quite seriously.”
He blinked at me like I’d just told him that adults in Northwood also believed in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy.
“Right,” he said slowly. “Sleeping bag racing. Very serious business.”
I could tell he was making fun of our local traditions. It stung more than I wanted to admit. The sleeping bag race was silly, sure, but it was also one of those quirky community events that brought people together and created memories that lasted for decades.
“Anyway,” I said, changing the subject before he could make any more comments about our “quaint” local customs. “If you need anything, just call down to the lobby. Dinner is served at six thirty in the main hall. Tonight we’re having roast beef with all the fixings.”
I was already heading toward the door, ready to escape when his voice stopped me.
“Are there any nice restaurants in town where I could take you to dinner?”
My brain completely stalled. Had he just… Did he just ask me…
I turned around to stare at him, sure I must have misheard. But he was looking at me with an expression that was definitely expectant, like he was waiting for an answer to what was clearly a dinner invitation.
I started, then stopped, then started again. “What?”
“Dinner,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You. Me. Somewhere with good food and maybe fewer Christmas decorations.”
