Page 71 of No Room in the Inn

Font Size:

Page 71 of No Room in the Inn

Sarah sniffs haughtily. “Thank you. You may go now.”

Nixon’s smile grows. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he says with a grin. He shoots me one last glance, and I see his eyes soften. Then he turns and walks away, threading back through the crowd.

When I can’t contain my laughter anymore, I let it loose. It feels amazing to laugh like this; it’s been too long. “You’re ridiculous,” I say to Sarah, shaking my head. “And amazing.”

She grins impishly at me. “I’ve been practicing acting like a snob.”

“Well done,” I say. I look around us, taking in more of the decor. The inn looks incredible. There are two long banquet tables set out in the living room—the dining room still isn’t completely finished yet—and even a section where couples seem to be dancing. I shake my head. “How did he get all this done?”

“My guess?” Sarah says. She jerks her chin to the side, and when I look, I see Nixon in conversation with Gerty, who appears to be pointing to the tables and giving orders.

“Gerty?” I say, surprised. I look at Sarah. “You think so?”

Sarah nods. “Yeah. Look at how she’s bossing him around. Plus she loves this stuff—planning parties, hosting events, all that.” She hesitates for a second, then looks at me. “You know he did all this for you, don’t you?” she says softly.

I swallow. “Notallfor me.”

Sarah shrugs. “He did it for Granny and the inn, sure, but I doubt he would have gone to the trouble if you hadn’t been a factor.”

Deep down, I think she’s right. And that’s a little bit scary. I look at her. “What do I do if he apologizes?”

“What do youwantto do?” Sarah counters.

My eyes drift to Nixon. “I want to date him,” I say. Then I look back to Sarah. “But it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs again. “Why don’t you just wait until the two of you talk? And I’ll support you no matter what.”

I give her arm a little squeeze, grateful for her friendship.

***

As it turns out, Sarah’s theory about Gerty turns out to be correct. While Nixon is the one who stands up and gives a little speech about Granny and about the inn, Gerty keeps nudging him and whispering more things he should say until finally he glares at her and she sits down at the table with the rest of us. It’s moving to hear Nixon speak so passionately about Granny, about how knowing her changed his life. Because I have no doubt he’s right. From what he’s told me, it sounds like he was just sort of drifting before he met her.

“As you all know,” he says after he finishes talking about Granny. “The proceeds from this event will go toward the inn.” He pauses, and his gaze swings to me. “I’d like to tell you all more about that.” He pulls his eyes away from me, looking around the room now. He bends over and picks something up from the floor, holding it up.

I gasp when I see my greenhouse sketch. I did it while I was still debating whether to take Nixon up on his proposal, and I have to admit, I was pretty excited about the idea of adding something to the inn that Granny would have loved.

The sketch has been blown up to the size of a poster, but it’s undeniably mine. My heart expands as Nixon nods his head toward me.

“This is a sketch Willow did,” he says, and tears spring to my eyes. “The proceeds for this dinner will hopefully go to the addition of a greenhouse. I didn’t know Granny for a long time, but I know she would have loved this.”

He pauses, and then he raises his glass for a toast. And although he says, “To Granny,” his eyes never leave mine. And when he smiles at me, I can’t stop myself from smiling back.

Nixon’s smile just grows bigger.

I’m torn between wanting to smack that smile off his face for leaving me and wanting to kiss it for the greenhouse, so I look away from him, focusing on the food now being brought out from the kitchen. The scent is heavenly, and I recognize it at once: Granny’s chicken and dumplings. There are rolls and salads and vegetable options on the table as well, but I sort of just want to go through two or three of these bowls of chicken and dumplings.

When my stomach is pleasantly full, I sit back in my chair, relaxing a bit. Sarah’s shoving some extra rolls in her purse to take home for Flora, but she stops mid-action to nudge me.

“Hmm?” I say.

“Hot Santa is staring at you,” she whispers.

“I wish I were staring at Hot Santa,” I say without thinking. “Wait, no,” I add when I realize what I’ve said. “I don’t wish that.”

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, right.” She goes back to putting food in her purse.

I sneak a glance at Nixon, who’s sitting at the opposite end of the table, and sure enough, his intense gaze meets mine. He stands and gives a little jerk of his head, indicating that I should follow him.