Santa’s workshop stood nearby, where children could build simple wooden toys under the guidance of local craftspeople. The gingerbread house attracted steady streams of families eager to decorate cookies and learn basic baking techniques. And the gift-wrapping hut had become surprisingly popular, staffed by professional wrappers who taught courses on everything from basic box wrapping to elaborate bow-making.
When Sylvie first proposed the gift-wrapping booth, everyone had poo-pooed the idea. But then we did a little research and figured it was a cheap way to make money. With the crafts being sold at the market, which was still in the process of becoming a thing, people would be inclined to have those gifts wrapped. We were projecting the market would be a bigger deal in the years to come.
But the real transformation had been in our programming. We now hosted events year-round. We had everything from quilting retreats, writing workshops, wellness weekends, to photography tours. The natural beauty of the mountainlocation had attracted guests seeking everything from creative inspiration to spiritual renewal. We’d maintained seventy percent occupancy since March. Summer had been absolutely insane, and this winter we were completely booked through New Year’s.
It was everything we had hoped to accomplish and then some. We had tried to temper our expectations, but it was hard not to dream big.
I was heading down to help Ozzo open the tree farm gates. I spotted him struggling with the heavy metal barrier. There was a line of eager customers already forming in their cars behind him.
“Need a hand with that?” I called out, jogging over to grab the other side of the gate.
“About time you showed up,” Ozzo grumbled, but he was grinning. “These people have been waiting for an hour. You’d think we were giving away free money instead of selling trees.”
We swung the gates wide and waved the first cars through, directing them toward the parking area near the payment booth. As we walked back up the hill, Ozzo promptly face-planted in a patch of snow, windmilling his arms dramatically as he went down.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I helped him up, brushing snow off his coat. “Grace and dignity, my friend. Grace and dignity.”
“Bite me, city boy,” he replied cheerfully.
We waved at Wesley as we passed the main lodge. He was already in full Santa regalia, preparing for another day of delighting children and adults alike. Emmy was halfway around the world in Australia, living her best life and sending us pictures of beaches that made our snow-covered landscape look like an alien planet. But Wesley had stepped back into his Santa role with the enthusiasm of someone who’d truly missed it.
I had gotten to know him a lot better the last few months. He was a good guy. I loved getting to know all the different characters that called Northwood home.
We walked toward the new and improved payment booth. It was better insulated and heated this year for the comfort of whoever was manning the register. And that just happened to be Scrooge.
Phineas looked up from his crossword puzzle and pointed an arthritic finger in our direction.
“Stay out of trouble, you two!” he called out with mock severity.
“When have we ever caused trouble?” I asked innocently.
He guffawed and rolled his eyes.
The old man had become a part of Northwood Lodge. It was like the Northwood family adopted him like they brought me in. Since he had basically become an honorary member of the family, he’d been a lot happier. Yes, he could still be a grump, but not nearly as bad as he used to be.
“Kent!” Sylvie’s voice carried across the snow.
I turned to see her hurrying toward us, though “hurrying” was relative when you were six months pregnant.
My heart swelled with joy when I saw her. She was bundled up in a winter coat that barely closed over her growing belly. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she was absolutely radiant. Beautiful.
Mine.
“You’d better be taking it easy,” I said as she reached us, automatically putting my arm around her waist to steady her on the uneven ground.
“Never,” she replied with that stubborn grin I’d fallen in love with. “We’re supposed to be going over blueprints with Dad up at the new plot. Hurry, before we’re late!”
I winked at Ozzo, who rolled his eyes and shooed us away with exaggerated impatience. “Go build your love nest. Some of us have actual work to do.”
“How’s our girl?” I asked, taking her hand in mine.
“She’s getting in her aerobics today,” she said.
“Remind me to add a fence to our blueprints. I have a feeling this one is going to be a runner.”
Sylvie and I made our way toward the cleared area of land on a previously untouched acre where we were building our family home. She moved with the careful gait of someone carrying precious cargo, one hand resting protectively on her belly where our daughter was growing stronger every day.
The house was coming along beautifully. The frame was complete, and most of the exterior walls had been raised. We had designed it to complement the lodge’s rustic charm while incorporating modern conveniences that would make family life easier. Large windows faced the mountains and there was a wraparound porch perfect for morning coffee. Every room had been planned with an eye toward the kind of life we wanted to build together.
