When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 2

two

. . .

Poppy

A hint of light peeked through my curtain facing the street. The sun was probably pulsing off the hints of snow left behind that had come last night?—

Wait.

The sun was up.

My eyes flew open as I bolted upright.

Oh my God. The sun was up.

I swore I’d set the alarm. If I hadn’t set it or if I’d rolled over accidentally and hit the snooze, my phone would have gone off with my backup alarm. Wouldn’t it have?

It should have.

It was nearly nine. The house was an hour away, and I was supposed to be there by ten a.m. sharp. I’d planned on getting a shower and taking the time to properly wash my hair instead of spraying another layer of dry shampoo, which, like my randomly spaced naps, was taking the place of something much more important.

I tore out of my sheets, not bothering to make them—basically, morning routine sacrilege.

I yanked on a white blouse with a pair of stretch dress pants with red bows printed down each leg. I looped my stiff hair up in a somewhat put-together, yet also very messy, bun.

Seriously, how did Alison get her hair to look so nice when it was pulled up? Michelle would be pursing her lips at me right now if I walked into the office this way during a meeting, constantly reminding us all about first impressions as women who wanted to be taken seriously. Something that still needed to be done in this world, no matter how much talent one had.

However, I believed being on time might be way more important.

All last night, I’d lain awake, going through my plans and trying to convince myself that if I needed to make any changes, the house would let me know when I arrived. Sure, the place still wouldn’t be the luxury space Alison was working on with plenty of time to spare. It didn’t mean that a small home that the homeowner’s family requested be transformed for an ideal family Christmas wasn’t going to be just as charming.

Charming.

Based on what had been printed in the first issue of Home Haven Magazine so far, I wasn’t sure charming would be enough.

Scrambling down the stairs, I glanced down at my watch.

“Where’s the fire?”

A chuckle interrupted my internal spiral.

My stepfather, Simon, raised a dark, bushy eyebrow and his holiday-themed mug of coffee. I looked around, and everything was decorated for the holidays—from the cabinets thick red ribbons to an ornament-free plastic tree stuffed in the corner.

I must’ve missed that yesterday. Mom must’ve gotten in the spirit immediately post-Thanksgiving this year.

Not even Simon’s morning mug, which usually boasted a picture of a cartoon golfer, had been spared. Not that it mattered exactly. Simon golfed as much as he admired the red-cheeked jolly Santa he drank out of. Which was never, as far as I was aware.

“I’m late!” I offered as an explanation.

I yanked my coat off the front hook before shoving my arms through each wool sleeve.

Simon lifted his mug toward the door. “Be careful. It’s slick out there.”

“I will.”

“Your mother wanted to see you off.”

“I’m late!” I repeated, shouldering my tote bag over my coat. I was starting to sweat already—and not only from the heat. Adrenaline pulsed down into my knees.

I’d never known it could do that. Or that knees could sweat.

Simon cocked his head, as if considering if this kind of explanation would be perfectly acceptable to my mother. Likely not. When I saw her early yesterday, she’d insisted on wanting to see me off on my first big job as if I were a kindergartener going to school for the first time instead of a very stressed DIY lover turned interior designer about to be scolded for not showing up on time, let alone having any clue of where I was going beyond what I punched into my phone’s navigation system.

Jogging back up the stairs, I tried not to sound out of breath by the time I made my way through my parents’ room and knocked on the bathroom door. Steam snaked under the crack of the door from the shower.

“What is it, Simon?” my mom called.

“It’s me, Mom. I’m headed out.”

“Open the door!”

Himid air from the steaming water rushed out as my mom stuck her head out of the shower’s sliding glass door. A clump of bubbles from her shampoo was still clustered on top of her head in a soapy crown.

“Oh, don’t you look nice? I didn’t like those pants at first. They’re quirky, but very you .”

“Thanks, Mom.” It was best not to read into her unfortunately detailed compliments. “I need to go, but I’ll hopefully be back before you guys go to bed.”

“You were out late last night. Were you on a date?”

“No, Mom. I was working.”

She huffed. “Excuse me for asking.”

“I’m running kind of late,” I said, looking over my shoulder.

“We’ll talk later—no, wait. We’ll be out with the Carmichaels tonight. Don’t wait up. We’re trying that new Mexican restaurant even though Simon has been going on about how he hopes there isn’t any cilantro anywhere.” She rolled her eyes. “Let me know if we can bring you back anything.”

“Okay.” I reached to shut the door.

She waved a hand out into the bathroom, stopping me. “Have a wonderful day. You’re going to do great things. I can’t wait to see what you do with the place. It’s like a cabin, right?”

“Kind of.”

“Oh, then I’m sure it will be so cozy. Remember what you did to Aunt Shannon’s place after she broke up with that awful man she was with? You know, she went back on one of those dating apps and found her new partner. You would probably be a catch on one of those?—”

“I’m running really late.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to build your confidence.”

“Consider it overflowing,” I said. “I have to go. Thank you. See you.”

“Make good design choices!” she yelled after me.

In these moments, I saw how my mother and Simon worked so well together. Though my mother was loud and often overbearing, somehow, Simon, who was a little too book smart for his own good, mellowed her out. Yet even he couldn’t explain how they both had the same dorky sense of humor.

They just fit.

I shut the door to their bedroom, and my feet nearly stumbled over themselves down the steps until I was against the front door again.

Simon called out after me, “Have a good day. Be careful with the car!”

I jogged around the corner. Simon used the car more than I did, though he’d gifted me his old blue hatchback shortly after I graduated from high school, thinking I’d need it when I planned on moving for college or work.

It ran well enough.

Unless—

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” My shoulders slumped as I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

A few cars flew by, honking while their tires shoved more slush in my general direction.

At some point, the city had thought it was trying to help, and the roads had gotten significantly more snow-filled in the past ten hours. My car was another snowplow casualty, covered in the white mounds of heavy frost.

Now, it was a car snowman.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. It was fine. Everything was perfectly one hundred percent fine. It was going to be a good day?—

No, a great day.

I was starting my solo project on a cute home along the edge of the woods from what I’d seen in the picture. If that didn’t scream traditional holiday magic all by itself already, I didn’t know what did.

I balanced my stuff in my arms as I yanked one of the handles until the passenger door flew open enough so I could reach for the snow brush stashed under the seat.

I dug my way through the snow mounds blocking my tires. Water seeped through my shoes.

Once I was behind the wheel, I let the heat run on full blast, though it only started to get warm by the time I hit the highway, clenching the wheel and trying not to wiggle my toes.

When I did, I swore I heard them squelch.

Today is going to be a great day.

Even if my radio was also going in and out and?—

Why wouldn’t there be traffic?

I slammed on the brakes. Blinking, I watched as a car swerved in front of me before the next exit.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Great day.

By the time I pulled in front of the address my phone assured me for the second time was on the left, my hands were shaking. The drive would get better as I drove it more. I just wasn’t used to being behind the wheel for so long.

I nudged the car into park and twisted the key until the engine stuttered to a stop. My body slumped over the wheel, and I sighed in relief.

Made it.

Turning my head to look at the window, I held back a gasp. The pictures had not done the place justice.

The home I expected definitely wasn’t a warehouse, like my mother had insinuated. It wasn’t even a shack on the outside, considering I’d only seen interior pictures. What I was working on could only be described as the world’s coziest-looking cabin I’d ever seen.

Damp snow traveled up the exterior, sticking between the sharp edges of stone like icy vines. The porch was refinished, along with a metal roof, layered with dark brown gutters that dripped down into rain pots already coated in a shiny patina, which must’ve made it sound like wind chimes in the summer.

Everything was almost idyllic. Every thought I could’ve ever had to make the house stand out, as well as look at home among the thick shade of pine trees had to be considered.

This cabin was the perfect, cozy retreat in a storm.

I bet Home Haven Magazine could even quote me on that.

I gathered up my things, and my phone beeped from where I had it in the cupholder. When I looked at the screen, a notification popped up from my affirmation app.

I can do difficult things.

I smiled. I could do difficult things. Starting with my first big solo project today.

I fought a whistle as I made my way toward the side door that should lead to the mudroom. This way, I didn’t track snow through the house.

Those cheesy holiday film producers who dragged me into watching at least half a dozen movies about a girl finding love in a small town would be so jealous right now.

Here we go.

Today was day one of thirty—give or take. The client hadn’t specified when exactly they’d be traveling to fully occupy the house for the holidays quite yet. She was a high-earning lawyer with a family who was very busy. That was why it was my job to make sure the final renovations and everything for the holidays—from decor to planning the meal day—went according to plan so they could simply enjoy.

Home design wasn’t only something you lived in every day after all, and Home Haven saw to that as well. In some cases, it was all about the experience. You needed to properly set the stage for all the memories to happen.

It was what I was going to make happen.

Everything would be better from this moment on. The moment I walked through this door mattered. Not only for me and my promotion, but for them too. I made sure I remembered that, no matter what project I was working on.

Lifting my hand, I knocked.

No one came to answer. Eyebrows pinched, I knocked again.

The client was supposed to be here to meet me to confirm the design plans in person. Maybe I wasn’t as late as I’d thought I was.

Maybe she was just someone who ran even later than I was today. Wouldn’t that be amazing?

I reread the last email on my phone that had been forwarded to me from Michelle and another designer who was first going to take over the assignment; the homeowner said that she should be there, but could be running late. If she was, I could use the key left for Home Haven.

Fishing through my bag for the key, I unlocked the side door before I pushed my way inside. “Hello?”

There was no reply, but I didn’t want to startle her if she was here somewhere and didn’t hear me.

“It’s Poppy from Home Haven. I’m here for our initial home consultation.”

I pressed the phone to my ear, letting it ring until it went to voice mail.

“Hi, Ms. …” Oh God, I was suddenly blanking on this client’s name. Was it Robinson? Reynolds? “Sarah …”

I remembered that much.

“This is Poppy Owens. I’m currently at the property. I let myself in, using the key you sent for Home Haven. I know you were unsure if you would make it today, but I thought I would check in to see if you are on your way to configure plans for the space going forward. If you could give me a call back, that would be great. I’m looking forward to working on this project with you. Yes. Thanks—thank you! Bye.”

I sounded way too chipper. I needed to get better on the phone.

Unprofessional, I chastised myself.

This was good though. I could take this time to get a picture of the place on my own. Let the house—cottage? Cabin? Definitely cabin. Let the cabin speak to me.

Shrugging my bag off my shoulder, I toed off my boots in the small mudroom, leaving me in my knit socks. The floor was cold. The heat must not have been on or maybe not working as I walked inside the cleared-out kitchen, already installed with new cabinets. They looked amazing, though the handles weren’t attached, and the appliances hadn’t been put in yet.

I made a note.

Exposed beams lined the living room and extended into the kitchen, creating a large yet intimate space. Michelle, or whoever had started the renovations this summer—taking down a wall and addeding French doors that led to the outside patio, complete with a fireplace—had done an amazing job already, creating the bones of this place for me.

I could see the potential .

I could see the greenery to decorate around the old-fashioned brick fireplace that still had its original chips along the edges. Tapered candles and a tree in the corner for presents to be under.

Traditional yet elegant. Comfortable, yet with a creamy contemporary edge that Home Haven readers could replicate.

I bit my lip to contain my smile as it all started to come together. Kids would be running around the cozy space with the wide windows overlooking the acreage out back.

The walls needed to be painted … green. Definitely the darker forest green.

My previous ideas were added to and thrown out the window. They wanted a classic, elegant, yet family-friendly Christmas aesthetic while also creating a sustainable living home for year-round use.

They were going to get it and more.

The cracked flooring creaked in front of me as I finished jotting down the last of my thoughts, not making it to punctuation.

A deep voice snarled from across the room, “Who the hell are you?”

I might’ve screamed.