A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’m doing my best,” I reply, gesturing to my half-unpacked supplies.
Gladys’s gaze flicks between Logan and me, a knowing look in her eyes. “Are we all getting along this morning?”
My cheeks burn. “For the most part.”
“Good. Good,” she mumbles as she moves on to greet Logan.
He smiles easily at her. “Gladys, you look like an angel this morning.”
I’m facing my tree and I roll my eyes. He’s such a flatterer. I steal a glance at Gladys. She’s changed her clothing. Instead of the heavy sweater she had on last night, she’s wearing a turtleneck and pair of slacks. She must have a stash somewhere. Do homeless people do that? I don’t know. I can’t even say that she’s homeless. Maybe she’s staying at the assisted living center, though she’s much too young for that.
As the morning wears on, I find myself struggling to take the next step in decorating. The white tree towers in the corner, mocking me. Every time I reach for an ornament or a strand of lights, I second-guess myself. Is this the right color? Will this pattern work? The more I overthink, the more paralyzed I become. I don’t want to string the lights and then have to take them off the snow-covered tree. That would make a huge mess and I’d have to spray the tree again.
“I’d love to grab a box of doughnuts,” Gladys says as she accepts a crisp bill from Logan. “I’ll be back before you can yell Hark!”
Logan chuckles.
I catch myself chuckling too. She’s carrying this angel thing all the way.
I glance over at Logan’s tree, which is already starting to take shape. His design is somewhat traditional, as I expected, but there’s an undeniable elegance to the navy blue and silver motifs. It’s not lost on me that these are the local high school’s colors. It’s a little spot on for my taste, but with the hotel’s owner being an alumni, his color choice may give him the advantage. Each ornament seems perfectly placed, the lights twinkling just so. A pang of envy shoots through me, quickly followed by a wave of frustration with myself.
“You seem to be having trouble.” Gladys’s gentle voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. She’s holding open a doughnut box, the offering too sweet to pass up, even though Logan bought them.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I just... I can’t seem to make what’s in my head translate to reality.”
Gladys nods understandingly. “Sometimes, when we’re too in our heads, we lose touch with our heart, with the source of our creativity.” She places a comforting hand on my arm. “Why don’t you try something for me? Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”
I hesitate for a moment, feeling silly, but something in Gladys’s warm gaze convinces me to try. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
“Now,” Gladys continues, her voice soothing, “center yourself. Focus on your breathing. Let go of all the doubts, all the fears. Just be present in this moment.”
As I follow her instructions, I feel a sense of calm washing over me. The bustling sounds of the ballroom fade away, and in my mind’s eye, I’m standing in front of the white tree, just like I am in real life. Except, in my head, I’m alone.
“This isn’t a competition. You’re decorating this tree to showcase its beauty, to bring the joy that it represents to life. What would you do first?”
I mentally glance down at the ornaments and lights tangled at my feet. Suddenly I know. “I’d light it up. White and brilliant. Like hope.” No sooner have I said the words than I can see the tree shining brightly.
“That’s it,” Gladys encourages. “Let the inspiration flow through you. This is God working through you to create something beautiful.”
I open my eyes, feeling a renewed energy. The design that seemed so elusive before now feels within reach. “Thank you, Gladys,” I say softly, overcome with gratitude.
She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “Your talent is a gift from God—trust it.”
As Gladys moves away to offer doughnuts to the other contestants, I turn back to my tree with newfound confidence and take a big bite of the vanilla cake goodness. For the first time since arriving at the inn, I feel truly centered and ready to create.
I set my doughnut on a napkin off to the side and reach for a strand of ultra-bright white lights. As I hang them on the tree, I steal a glance at Logan. He’s focused intently on his work, his strong hands delicately arranging a garland. For a moment, I allow myself to admire his dedication and his obvious passion for what he’s doing.
Evelyn pulls out a portable speaker. “Does anyone mind if I play some holiday tunes?”
“Go right ahead,” I say at the same time everyone else agrees.
The deep, happy voice of Michael Buble croons through the air. I like his old-time feel with a new twist. Kind of reminds me of me. I smile at the thought.
My tree begins to take shape, a vision of modern elegance with unexpected pops of color. Silver and ice blue dominate, but I’ve incorporated splashes of coral and deep purple that catch the light in surprising ways. As I step back to assess my progress, I feel a sense of pride swelling in my chest. This is me, my vision, brought to life.
I chance another look at Logan’s tree. Norman Rockwell has nothing on this guy. Navy and silver ornaments glisten among pine cones and berries. There’s a Christmas train in a box nearby. I can already see it making circles around the base of the tree. Despite our different styles, I find myself appreciating the skill and care evident in every detail.
As if sensing my gaze, Logan looks up. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I see a flicker of admiration in his green eyes. I startle. He offers a small smile and a nod. To my surprise, I find myself returning the gesture.
