That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sara

“What the … what?”

Three’s gaping at me from the hallway, probably because I just finished displaying my haul from the Five and Dime next to the Christmas tree. Propped along the wall is a trio of pink lawn flamingoes, four purple pineapple lanterns, and six tiki torches with a collection of leis hanging from them.

“Surprise!” I chirp. “Merry Hawaiian Christmas luau!”

His gaping turns into a crooked smile. “I must admit, I did not see this coming.”

I let out a breath of relief. Maybe I was only imagining that he’d seemed a little off when we were finishing dinner. “I had some help from Cami at the Five and Dime,” I admit. “By the way, you didn’t tell me she was on the basketball team. Maybe you can wear this to your next game.” I toss him the green Hawaiian shirt, which is so big, he can slide it on directly over his long-sleeved henley.

My red one’s too small to fit over my cardigan, but I have a tank top layered underneath, so I slip the sweater off, and exchange it for the Hawaiian shirt. “So what do you think?” I twirl around, modeling it for him. “Are we liking these shirts?”

“Absolutely.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “But … why?”

I glance at the bowl of popcorn, the strips of construction paper, and the bag of extra lights beside the ornaments. “I just wanted to add a little bit of island spirit to all our pre-existing yuletide decor.”

He blinks, his eyes softening at the corners. “Is this because I’m missing the cruise?”

“Because you’re missing your family. ” I pluck one of the leis from the tiki torch and slip it on. “Luckily plastic flowers can survive in snow, unlike real hibiscus.”

“Good news.” Three crosses the room, takes a lei for himself. Then he stands in front of the flamingoes, surveying their spindly legs. “Am I crazy, or are these guys dying to keep Henry company?”

“Ummm … yes to both questions.”

“And we could stick these tiki torches along the front of the house too.” A grin stretches across his face, and I can’t help smiling back. Three’s embracing the Hawaiian Christmas spirit even more than I’d hoped. He looks down at one of the bags by the Christmas tree stand. “What about these leftover lights? The tree branches are already full, and we haven’t even put the ornaments or popcorn on. I was thinking we’d return these extra lights, but maybe we should hang them on the porch instead.”

“We could do that,” I say. “But the tiki torches and flamingoes will already be out there.”

“Don’t forget Henry.”

“I’d never forget Henry.” I fake a scoff. “But maybe we should spread the holiday fun inside the house.” I nod in the direction of the den off the living room. I only went in there once to check the space when I arrived, but it was definitely lacking in holiday cheer. “Let’s string up the extra lights in the den.”

“I like the way you think.” Three flashes another crescent of a smile. “You want to get started on that, while I introduce our little pink friends to Henry?”

“How are you feeling? Not dizzy at all? Light-headed?”

“I’m great after that grilled cheese.”

“Okay.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m trusting you, but just be careful out there and come right back in.”

While Three scoops up the flamingoes and heads out front, I take a couple of the leis, the leftover strands of lights, and a staple gun to the den. The room is freshly painted in a deep forest green. A chair rail of dark rich wood runs the length of the walls. In one corner is a large globe on a display you can spin, and I immediately hang a lei on it. Opposite the globe is a telescope with the business end aimed out the window. Another a great place to hang a lei.

The rest of the space is taken up by two overstuffed armchairs, a pub table flanked by a pair of high stools, and a small leather sofa across from the old brick fireplace. Built-in bookshelves line either side of the brick. But instead of books, the shelves are filled with Adirondack knickknacks like bears holding fishing poles and stained glass art featuring mountain scenes. It’s all expensive, but still rustic and kitschy.

Like my poor reindeer placemats now living in the garbage.

Dragging one of the stools over, I climb up to access the top shelves. I’ve got the extra strands of lights lassoed over my shoulder, and the staple gun wedged at my side. Lifting one end of the lights to the top right corner, I begin to attach the strand to the wall stapling every six inches or so. Then I climb down and nudge the stool over to begin the routine again. It’s slow work, but hopefully the effect will be worth it in the end. I’m midway through the process when Three’s voice rumbles from the doorway.

“Looking good, Hathaway.” I peek at him over my shoulder, and find him leaning against the door jamb. My cheeks flame hot at the compliment, not to mention the fact that I’m on top of a stool, so my butt’s basically at his eye level .

As if reading my thoughts, he adds, “For the record, I’m not talking about your …”

“Oh, I know!” I cough out a laugh. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’m not staring at your head either.” His mouth goes crooked. “Just admiring your handiwork. And you were right. This was a great idea.”

My heart does a little leapfrog at this, until my inner Sara whispers in my ear again.

Don’t enjoy this too much, Sara . This is all temporary.

“Need any help?” he asks.

“Nope, thanks.” I hitch my shoulders. “I like doing some decorating myself for once.”

“So you want me to just watch you hang those lights by yourself?”

“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

He salutes me, then ambles across the room dropping onto the sofa. “I guess I’ll just sit here and do what I’m told then.”

I swallow hard, turning back to my task and hoping my face doesn’t burst into flames. When I reach the bricked-in chimney above the fireplace, I place the last staple. I’m about to slide the stool to the other side, when I spot a wooden lever between the brick and the thick wooden mantel. Kind of like a cabinet handle.

“Huh.” My brows knit together.

“Something wrong?”

“Not wrong. Just weird.” I tug on the lever, and the handle moves easily at first. When I finally meet with some resistance, I pull down harder until something gives. And that’s when the other side of the fireplace shudders.

With a sound like a small, creaky cough, the whole bookshelf moves inward like it’s collapsing into the wall. Just a few inches. But the sliver of an opening appears.

The bookshelf is ajar.

“Whoa!” Three’s already off the sofa, a little-boy-on-Christmas-morning expression on his face. “Did you know your parents have a secret door to a secret room?”

“Ha! No.” I guffaw. “I’ll bet my parents didn’t even know about this space, or they probably would’ve turned it into a usable room during the renovation.”

Three slides between the bookshelf and the ladder, pushing against the shelving with both hands. The entire wall moves inward with a long, dusty groan. He cranes his neck, peering inside. “It’s a room all right. Maybe for storage or something.”

I climb down the ladder. “What’s in there?”

“I can’t see,” he says. “It’s pitch black.”

I creep behind him into the dark space, batting at cobwebs, resisting the urge to reach for the safety of his hand. When Three stops short, I bump into the back of him, grateful for the closeness in the dark.

Then suddenly there’s a click, and the space floods with light. I blink and Three’s holding on to a metal chain hanging from a naked bulb.

Moving out from behind him, I survey the now-lit room. There are stacks of boxes and a few crates, a couple of dust-covered oil paintings. Propped against one wall is a large framed mirror. A crack runs across the top, but the rest is perfectly intact. Three and I look at our reflections at the same time, our gazes finding each other in the glass.

“This is so cool,” he says, his voice full of breathless wonder, then he drops to a crouch in front of a stack of unlabeled boxes. “There could be anything in here.”

I swipe at a cobweb. “Those boxes don’t belong to us.”

“True.” He nods. “But I’ll bet your parents would want you to check what’s inside. If the evaluator discovers something unsafe in here, he might not sign off on this as a potential listing.”

“Fine.” I take two steps backward. “Go ahead, Sherlock Holmes. But those boxes better not be full of skeletons.”

Three peels at the strip of duct tape sealing the top of the largest box. On his knees now, he gently opens the lid, and I inch forward until I’m positioned just above him. Inside, I catch flashes of silver edges. Piles of scuffed white leather. A tangle of laces.

Three looks up at me and grins. “Ice skates.”

“I used to love ice skating,” I say, as he removes one pair after another. “I haven’t been in years, though.” In fact the last time was with Bristol the winter of our senior year. After graduation, I never felt like I had time for unproductive stuff like … recreation. I was either working to enhance my law school applications, or studying after I got in. I’d collapse into bed at the end of each day. On weekends, I barely had enough energy to do anything besides laundry.

“This is amazing,” Three breathes out as he finishes unpacking the box. “Eight matching pairs.” He lines up the last set of skates on the ground beside him. “They look like they’re all different sizes.”

“I think the previous owner had six grandchildren, so these are probably theirs. Grandma Peabody, Grandpa Peabody, and the grandkids.”

“Probably. Do you think any of them might fit us?”

“Only one way to find out.” I plop onto a crate next to the now-empty box.

Three’s brow quirks. “ Now look who’s excited that we came in here.”

“You can say ‘I told you so’ if you want.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’ll save that for later.”

“How kind of you.” I try on the second-to-largest pairs of skates. They’re a little big for me, so I just lace them up extra tight. When I attempt to stand, Three lunges forward to help me. His touch is warm and strong—both electric and encouraging at the same time. He watches me while I take a few awkward stutter steps around the room.

“With our luck, you’re going to fall and hit your head on one of those crates,” he warns. “Then we’ll both have concussions.”

“Pessimist,” I smirk, willing my ankles to stop wobbling .

“On second thought,” he says, “it’s pretty refreshing to see you looking this awkward.”

“Awkward?” I reach up to tug at my Santa hat. “I think you mean adorable.”

“Honestly,” he tips his chin, “you remind me a little of Bambi on ice.”

This gets a real laugh out of me. “Then it’s a good thing I always wanted to be an animated woodland creature. And you know what?”

Step. Step. Step.

“What?”

“After the evaluator comes tomorrow, I think I’ll take these babies out on the lake for a little test run.”

“I believe I was promised a turkey dinner,” he says.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” I scoff. “I happen to be an excellent multitasker.” I take a few more tentative steps back toward the entrance to the den, just as the single lightbulb flickers. “What was that?”

“The bulb’s probably just loose,” Three says, moving toward the light. But before he can tighten the connection, the bulb pops and sparks, then dies plunging the room into darkness.

“No!” I gasp, as the air fills with a burning electrical smell.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I can’t see any—ACK!”

The blade on my right skate slips, and I lose my balance, stumbling forward blindly. When I try to stop my fall by bracing myself against the bookshelf, the full weight of my body shoves the wall back into place.

We’re shut inside.