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

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Three

“I thought you told me Ryan Detweiler was a guy.”

“I did tell you Ryan Detweiler was a guy.”

Sara and I have been pounding on the storage room wall for twenty minutes, our voices hoarse from shouting, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure the person who finally answered us is not a guy.

“What’s going on?” a very high-pitched voice calls out. “Where are you? Are you all right?” There’s banging on the bookshelf side. “I think I just broke a nail!”

Yep. Probably female. Definitely concerned.

When I imagine being in her shoes, I get it. This woman thought she was entering an empty house to judge its potential as a high-end vacation rental. Once inside, she hears screaming. Muffled screaming, but still. She comes into the den, which on the surface appears to be a deserted room, except for the cries for help coming from the other side.

Disconcerting to say the least.

“Are you Ryan Detweiler?” Sara yells, her voice cracking on the name. Probably from a combination of too much yelling and too much exhaustion, mixed with a big dose of relief.

“How do you know my name?” the woman yells back.

“She’s the homeowner,” I shout, trying to help preserve Sara’s voice. “We got trapped in here last night by accident.”

“I promise we’re friendly,” Sara shouts, and my chest tightens. She’s not wrong. The two of us did get a little friendly last night. And I would’ve gotten friendlier if Sara had been up for it.

“Also, I’m not technically the homeowner,” she hollers. “I’m their daughter! Sara Hathaway? The one you’ve been texting with?” Her raspy words sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“You aren’t supposed to be here during an evaluation,” Ryan Detweiler yells. “Platinum Stays is very particular about that!”

“We didn’t plan this.” Sara groans, waves of frustration vibrating off of her. Under her breath she mumbles, “If this delays the approval process for the house, my mom’s going to lose it.”

“Ms. Detweiler?” I call to her. “If you could help get us out of here, we’d be very grateful.”

“But … how?”

“At the top corner of the bookshelf on the left, there’s a lever. Just climb the stool, and tug it down—hard. The wall will open up into the room we’re in.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No.”

“Fine! But you’re paying for my manicure.”

This Ryan Detweiler person doesn’t sound happy, but I’m more focused on Sara right now. It’s still too dark for me to make out her face, but the poor thing sounds absolutely miserable. I know she’s worried about disappointing her mom, so I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.

A minute later, the bookshelf groans open, revealing both daylight and Ryan Detweiler.

She’s about our age, in a wool suit and heels with her hair slicked into a bun of strawberry blonde. She kind of reminds me of my sister, if Nella were a few years older and wearing a look of horror on her face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sara blurts. “I’ll be right back!” She darts past the evaluator, sprinting out of the den and heading straight for the bathroom.

Ryan Detweiler’s brow flies up, and she snaps her gaze to me. “Was that Sara?”

“Yeah.” I manage an apologetic grimace. “She’s had to go for a while, so thanks for letting us out, Ms. Detweiler.”

“Call me Ryan.”

“Thanks, Ryan.” I glance toward the bathroom. “Anyway, things got pretty desperate last night.”

Ryan sweeps her gaze around the room, surveying all the visible space from where we’re standing. “So I see.”

The den itself is littered with colorful leis, strands of white lights, and a staple gun. Out in the living room, remnants of popcorn garland cover the coffee table, along with strips of construction paper, scissors, glue, and tape.

Sara’s sewing pouch remains on the couch. Bags from the Five and Dime sit abandoned on the floor. There are pineapple lanterns along the wall. Even the Christmas tree looks out of place, considering the lack of ornaments or a star.

I can only imagine how this scene appears: the exact opposite of what an upscale vacation rental site would offer. In fact, the interior of the Hathaway’s newly renovated lake house looks nonsensical at best, and at worst, unsafe.

Ryan sniffs. “May I ask why there are pink flamingoes and tiki torches in the yard?”

“It’s not what you think,” I say, ruffling my bed-head hair. “Sara threw together a last-minute Hawaiian Christmas luau for me last night, and I’m sure she was planning to have everything cleaned up before you arrived this morning, but like I said, we got trapped inside that room.”

“Trapped?”

“Well, we couldn’t find a handle to get out.”

Ryan’s forehead creases. “You’re telling me there’s a room in this home that actually locks people inside with no means of exit?”

Oops.

Sara’s parents already don’t like me. I can’t be the reason their house gets rejected. “There’s probably a handle or a lever in there somewhere,” I rush to say. “I mean, I’m sure there is. But after the lightbulb burned out, we couldn’t find anything in the pitch black.”

Ryan pulls down her brow even further. “So you’re saying there’s insufficient lighting?” She makes a note on her clipboard. I probably shouldn’t tell her Sara ripped the only light right out of the ceiling.

“I know things probably look kind of bad right now.” I wince. “But I grew up in and out of this house, and what the Hathaways have done to it is just?—”

“Three!” Sara calls out, rushing toward us from the bathroom. “Please stop talking! Now!”

Ryan arches a brow in my direction. “Your name is … Three?” I shrug, but I don’t respond. After all, I was told to stop talking.

When Sara reaches the doorway, she converges on us panting and out of breath. “Hi there, Ms. Det?—”

“Ryan. Please.”

“Great!” Sara presses a grin across her face. “I’m Sara. It’s so nice to finally put a face to all the texts. To be honest, I thought you were a?—”

“A man, right?” she interrupts. “I know. Ryan isn’t common for a woman. But my mom liked it. And since I’m not supposed to see the homeowners, I never bother warning anyone.” She shifts her focus to the messy room. “But did I come at the wrong time?”

“No, no, no.” Sara’s eyes pop wide. “You’re right on time, actually. Ten o’clock!” A nervous laugh trills out of her, and she flicks her gaze over to me. “Ryan, this is my friend, Three Fuller.”

“We already met,” I say. “Sort of.” Bobbing my head, I reach out to shake her hand, trying to ignore the twist in my gut at being introduced as Sara’s friend .

“Anyway.” Sara pushes out a chuckle. “I’m sorry the house isn’t exactly put together now…”

“Yes, your friend was just starting to explain the situation.” Ryan presses her lips together. “He told me you were throwing a party when you both got stuck in that room behind the bookshelves. A room with no handle and no working light fixture, I might add.”

“Well, we’re not sure about the handle. And as for the light, I?—”

“Ms. Hathaway, I’m afraid there’s no need for me to evaluate any other part of this property. I won’t be approving your home for Platinum Stays.”

When Sara’s face crumples, I immediately go into fix-it mode. I’ve got to make this better for her. “Now hold on a minute.” I lift my hands as if in surrender. “I have a suggestion, if you’d be willing to hear me out.”

Ryan’s eyes flick to me. “I do apologize for my abruptness, Mr. Fuller, but this home is simply not up to our standards.”

“I’m only asking for the chance to prove to you that it can be.” I offer her my friendliest smile—the one my students and their parents can’t say no to. “You see, underneath all these holiday extras, this home—the entire property—is elegantly appointed. The finishes and decor are new and on trend. The views of the lake are unmatched. Inside and out, this place is truly spectacular.”

Ryan sniffs. “Including the flamingoes out front?”

“Heh heh heh.” I force a laugh. “The flamingoes are optional. I just don’t want you to make the mistake of allowing your company to miss out on a gorgeous rental home that’s temporarily buried under my friend ’s enthusiastic attempts to cheer me up.”

I cut my focus to Sara who’s staring at me, gape-mouthed. Sure I swooped in when she didn’t ask for my help, but if I succeed, she’ll hopefully forgive me. Plus erasing the look of failure on her face is all that matters now.

“The sad truth is,” I continue, “I’m stuck here in town, missing out on a family vacation due to a most unfortunate injury.” I tip my head, pointing first to the bandage, then at the lump.

“Oh, dear,” Ryan says. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes,” I say. “It was.” Sara lets out a little yelp, but I keep my eyes lasered in on the evaluator. “I’d sure hate to think Sara’s kindness to me might jeopardize the approval of this home for her, Ms. Detweiler.”

“Ryan,” she corrects.

“Right.” Another smile from me. “So, Ryan , I’m guessing Sara only needs an hour or two to put this whole place right again. In the meantime, I’d be happy to show you around Abieville. As a lifelong resident, I can point out all the one-of-a-kind amenities our town has to offer future vacationers. Then, if it’s all right with you, we can circle back here for you to complete your evaluation.”

Sara opens her mouth. “But I?—”

“You’d only need a couple hours, right?” I lift my brow, hoping she’ll catch on to what I’m trying to accomplish.

“Ahem.” Ryan clears her throat primly, drawing my attention back to her. “Mr. Fuller?—”

“Three,” I say.

“All right, Three. I’m afraid that even if these … umm … party supplies were cleaned up, that room behind the bookshelves would remain a problem. It’s simply unsafe.”

“True enough,” I say. “But you haven’t heard the rest of my proposal yet.”

“There’s more?” Sara squawks.

“Of course,” I say. “If Ryan finds everything else about this place suitable, I’ll make all the necessary safety adjustments myself, including an accessible handle on the inside of the room, and adequate lighting.”

Sara and Ryan eye me. “You can do that?” they both ask me at the same time.

“I can, if you’re willing to come back tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning”—I pause to point at the bandage again, aiming for sympathy points—“but I’m not a man who makes promises he can’t keep, and I guarantee I can have the work done by the late afternoon.”

Ryan’s gaze flits to Sara then back to me. “I’m sorry, but my schedule is booked solid tomorrow.”

“Then make it Wednesday.” I cock my brow. “Please.”

“Wednesday is Christmas Eve.”

“It is.” I drag a hand along the back of my neck, wincing. “And since Sara graciously agreed to postpone your original appointment when you had car trouble, I’m humbly requesting you extend her the same courtesy.” I let my hand drop to my chest, palm over my heart.

“Three.” Sara clears her throat. “You don’t have to?—”

“Least I can do,” I insist, cutting my gaze to her. “After all you’ve done for me.” I’m being a friend. That’s what she called me. I bob my head and smile.

“So.” I swing my smile back over to Ryan. “If you’re up for it, my offer stands to give you a personal tour of our town with a native Abievillian.”

“Hmm.” Ryan takes a moment to consider, her gaze darting between Sara and me.

“Three.” Sara clears her throat. “I’m not sure being dragged around town by a stranger is in Ms. Detweiler’s job description.”

“Well, I hadn’t thought about that,” I admit, ducking shyly. “How about if our first stop is the sheriff’s station? Sheriff Bender and Deputy Townsend are friends of mine, and I’d love to introduce you to our town’s law enforcement. Give you a real sense of the safety here in Abieville. After that, we’ve got some shops and restaurants we can drive by. Over the bridge is a gorgeous inn I’d love to?— ”

“I’m sure she gets the idea, Three,” Sara interjects. “But you’re not safe to drive, remember? The concussion…”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” I lift my chin. “And I never said I’d be the one doing the driving. So.” I turn to Ryan and offer my brightest smile. “What do you say?”

Her lips part. “I say … we can take my car.”