Christmas Spirits

I stirred awake with feverish anticipation. It was the first week of December. Yes, you heard me—the first week of December!

Christmastime—ah, beautiful, joyous, merry Christmastime!—is my favorite time of year. No other season or holiday could compare.

And this year would top all other Christmases because I, Kate Harper, event planner extraordinaire, would be planning and facilitating the biggest Christmas event of the season in my small town.

Carlton Fitzgerald, the wealthy and eccentric hotel owner, finally asked me to plan the Christmas Eve Gala at his hotel this year. For which hotel? Well, the only hotel that matters—especially in the town of Holiday, Colorado.

Carlton Fitzgerald owns the elegant, holiday-themed, extravagant hotel, The Holiday Hotel.

The Holiday Hotel is twelve floors high, decorated with mistletoe, pine trees, poinsettias, and countless other Christmas flourishes. It smells of sugar cookies, ham, and every other delight you remember from your childhood Christmases.

Personally, I’m not sure how he does it. He’s incredible. Dare I say, he actually loves Christmas more than I do?

Well, I could, but I wouldn’t. No one loves Christmas more than I do. I practically wait for it all year long.

I’d been hoping for years Carlton would finally ask me to plan the Gala.

The plan was all set, perfectly documented and organized in the event planner I’d had for years. I honed every little detail, every decoration—from the appetizers to the drinks to the main course to the desserts to table placements to the musicians—and even to my choice of Santa.

I would need a distinguished man to play the part—not too fat, or too old, or too grumpy, or even too joyful. No one else would do besides our very own local Broadway show actor, Robert.

Well, he wasn’t really a Broadway actor; he’d starred in some minor plays in our town and a few nearby cities. Still, he was a big deal and the perfect man for the role. I couldn’t think of anyone better. I was surprised Carlton Fitzgerald had never had the idea to pick him.

And that was why this year’s Christmas Eve Gala at the Holiday Hotel would be the best one yet.

I shrieked internally as I rolled over in bed, removing my festive Christmas eye mask adorned with a sparkly Santa and tossing it onto my red festive sheets. I glanced out the window and noticed the landscape covered with snow.

Ah, beautiful—and so festive too! I couldn’t have asked for a better first week of December. I sighed happily.

There was something magical about this time of year. This was the season where joy touched everything; it spread into the air, into towns, into people’s lives, and into their hearts.

I grew up knowing that Christmas was a special time filled with cheer, especially for my family. My family loved Christmas. They always celebrated with family gatherings, meals, presents, decorations, even baking and Christmas caroling.

I knew that my uncle played Santa since I was ten years old, but I didn’t care. I just enjoyed that he wanted to do it for our sake. Even if it was pretend, he committed to playing Santa for us, just to make us happy.

My parents were still big Christmas aficionados. They loved decorating the tree, putting the star on top, baking Christmas cookies, making their signature Christmas ham, and even organizing Christmas dinner and Christmas toy donations.

And twenty-three days until Christmas Eve.

I reached for my phone and flipped through my calendar, looking for the to-do list for today. At the top of the list was a call with Robert to go over the script, then a visit to the bakery for the cake, cookies, and cupcake order, then the pickup of holiday decorations from the best holiday store in town—well, the only holiday store—called Santa’s Choice.

A busy day was ahead, and I could not wait to get started!

I pressed my feet into the floor and skipped joyfully toward the bathroom. I admired myself in the mirror for a moment.

I looked a bit unkempt—my blonde curls were frizzy, leftover mascara clung to the bottom of my eyes, my skin was a bit dull, and I was in desperate need of a facial—but my insides tingled with anticipation for the day ahead.

The warm water cascaded over me, cleansing my skin and awakening me for the day ahead. Soon, I’d be freezing and bundled tightly inside a warm jacket, but it wouldn’t matter.

Inside, I’d be warmed with the Christmas spirit, surrounded by beautifully decorated holiday decor.

I dressed myself in a festive ensemble—a peplum green dress—applied my favorite cherry red lipstick, brushed out my blonde curls so they were more waves than curls, and zipped myself into a white down parka and a pair of black heeled boots that covered my calves.

Now, I was in desperate need of some caffeine—specifically, a peppermint mocha from my favorite local coffee shop.

So, I got into my car—a car that’s only fit for a girl with my personality and obsession with Christmas: a white Jeep Cherokee.

Hey, I like snow, and snow did not like me when I had a Prius, so a Jeep Cherokee was a necessity in Holiday.

I shifted into reverse and backed out of my perfectly snow-lined driveway, heading toward the cute local coffee shop.

Everyone in my neighborhood, especially in the area of Holiday Lane, had decorated for Christmas already.

I had beautifully decorated my outdoor trees with gold, white, and silver ornaments, set up a life-sized Frosty blow-up, lined my roof and bushes with warm-colored lights, and lined my walkway with cute little light-up candy canes.

On the right side of me lived a newly married husband and wife, the Normans. They stuck with the classic Christmas scheme of green and red lights and decorations. How adorable.

Across from me lived the Lis, who decorated their home in beautiful colors of gold and red, with lights that dazzled and sparkled.

Next to the Lis were the Perrys, who decorated their home with bright lights and classic lit-up reindeer.

Next to the Perrys lived the Acostas, who decorated their home with large blow-up snowmen, Santas, and presents.

Next to the Acostas lived the Carsons, who decorated their home with my favorite decoration of all: old Christmas decor. It reminded me of my childhood. They used old light-up figures of elves and Santa, and even put a sleigh and reindeer on the roof. Amazing!

My eyes drifted over the beautiful Christmas decorations of my neighbors and landed on the empty yard to the left of my house.

A few months ago, a new neighbor moved in—Nate Smith. He hadn’t said more than a word to me in the last few weeks.

It wasn’t that I minded it—well, if I’m being honest, I did mind it. In our neighborhood, we all talked to each other, baked cookies, sang carols, and had parties. We were the definition of neighborly.

But Nate was far from it.

I didn’t know the first thing about him. I didn’t know if he was my age (twenty-eight years old) or older, if he had a girlfriend or wife or husband or boyfriend, or kids, or where he was from.

The only thing I knew about him was that he worked for a construction company.

He kept to himself. He didn’t like talking to neighbors or going to parties. In fact, he barely left his house. And beyond that, he hadn’t put up any decorations.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that he hated Christmas too.

But that was a hefty accusation. How could I accuse the man of hating Christmas just for refusing to decorate?

And who knows, we still had over three weeks until Christmas—maybe he’d decorate soon.

Still, the bareness of his house was unsettling. Only snow lined the roof and covered the yard.

I sighed, deciding that I would give him the benefit of the doubt before I labeled him a Christmas hater—that was the worst label I could give anyone, in my opinion.

I pulled into an open parking spot in the downtown Holiday area, exited my car, tapped off the salt that stuck to the bottom of my boots, and hurried toward my favorite coffee shop: Holiday Beans. Even the name was perfect.

A few of the local customers were in front of me—Brenda, Harry, and Tasha. I smiled and waved at them as I waited in line for my coffee.

Finally, I made it to the register and happily ordered my peppermint mocha.

My order was finished and placed into a festive seasonal paper cup. I smiled at the cup, twisting it in my palm and joyfully smiling back at the baristas, waving and calling out thank you.

I brought my coffee cup to my lips, shoved the door open—it took an ungodly amount of strength for some reason—then heard a thud against something solid.

I lowered my coffee cup and met the eyes of the person I’d slammed a glass door into.

None other than my neighbor, Nate Smith.

I stumbled nervously as my coffee slipped from my hands. I gasped audibly as the coffee spilled all over the snowy sidewalk.

“This can’t be happening,” I muttered, staring down at the ground in shock.

Nate just looked at me, like he had something to say but didn’t.

“Come on,” he said, holding the door open for me and pointing inside.

I looked at him, half puzzled, half taken aback, but I followed him inside anyway because I knew I needed another coffee.

Nate stepped forward and ordered two peppermint mochas, and I swore I froze.

It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be ordering me a coffee, could he?

But then he did something that surprised me. He handed me one of the sparkly festive snowman and reindeer cups.

I was speechless.

“How did you know?” I practically stuttered.

“You seem like the kind of girl whose order is that all year round.”

I cleared my throat, accepting the coffee cup from him and offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

He stared at me for a moment, studying the uncertainty in my face and in my voice, but nodded anyway, still refusing to smile.

Then he yanked the door open and walked out of the coffee shop.

“Bye!” I called out, out of habit, but cursed myself as I did.

Bye? Um, what was that? What a strange experience.

I never imagined grumpy Nate Smith would guess my coffee order, then order me another one, then walk away like nothing ever happened.

I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him as he walked away.

The brown Carhartt coat he wore fit perfectly over his muscles and broad shoulders, and I liked the morning stubble that clung to his face.

His hair was dark brown, the perfect color resembling warm, rich hot chocolate, and he was tall—much taller than most guys in town, at least six foot three.

His hands were calloused too, and even his skin was tinted with dirt from his profession: construction.

I thought he was the type of man who probably hated Christmas and all things that brought normal people joy, but now I figured there must be more to Nate than met the eye.