I didn’t look up. That was my first mistake. My second was only half listening to my younger sister.
“Busy with what?” I asked, already typing a response to an email marked URGENT.
“Life,” Lydia said cheerfully. “The inn. Christmas. Me.”
That tracked.
“Who is it for?” I questioned, not because I was interested, more because I was trying to be somewhat polite.
She waved her phone vaguely. “Some online holiday channel. They found us through the Winter Carnival posts. I think they want decorating tips or something. Maybe a behind-the-scenes vibe.”
I hummed noncommittally and shuffled a stack of forms into a neater pile. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad about it? The last time you made social media posts we were swamped with bookings before we even had rooms renovated.”
Lydia laughed. “We are still renovating rooms. People don’t seem to care as long as they can be involved in the next new thing. I think we should capitalize on being trending while we can.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Maybe Lydia had a point. While we hadn’t been really ready to be open, let alone booking guests, somehow it had all turned out okay.
“I’m just saying,” I said carefully. “A little caution isn’t a bad thing.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Kitty, relax. It’s not a real interview. It’s just a livestream.”
That got my attention.
I looked up. “A livestream?”
“Yes,” she said brightly. “But the poster said they would keep the interview up for a while on their blog.”
“Hopefully you make a good impression,” I murmured.
She grinned. “You worry too much..”
I shrugged. Someone should be worrying because Lydia certainly wasn’t. I kept working at my list of things to do and finalize, unconcerned until I realized that Lydia was setting up her phone right here at the kitchen table, propping it up against a sugar canister to get the right angle. She adjusted it until the light caught her just right.
“You aren’t going to get me on screen, are you?” I asked, conscious of the fact that I hadn’t brushed my hair this morning, simply opting to put it in a messy bun. Nor had I put on any makeup.
“No. They just asked to talk to me. I didn’t think you would want to be on camera wearing that top. Really Kitty, it’s time for that old shirt to be made into cleaning rags,” Lydia offhandedly commented.
I touched my hoodie. “I like this shirt.”
“It has a sauce stain,” Lydia remarked.
“Where?” I looked down, trying to find the offending stain among the faded print on the shirt that advertised for a hardware store I once worked at during high school.
Lydia’s phone screen lit up with a cheerful face and a countdown. Three. Two. One.
“We’re live,” the interviewer said brightly. “Hi everyone. I’m here today in Maple Ridge with Kitty Bennet.”
My stomach dropped as I froze in place.
Lydia smiled and waved. “Hi.”
The interviewer continued, unfazed. “You’ve had such an exciting winter season already. Between the inn, the WinterCarnival, and your relationship with Caleb Green, things must be busy.”
I turned slowly to Lydia. Her smile wavered, just slightly, as she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
I shook my head. Once. Sharp. Clear.
She nodded, then leaned closer to the phone. “Yes, it’s been very busy. We’ve always loved the holidays.”
