In his room, Trevor grabbed the padded envelope from the top zipper of his bag. He sighed and sat on the corner of his bed and hit speed dial on his home number. When his mother’s cheery voice answered, he dove right in.
“Really, Mom? Are you in cahoots with Mrs. Claus?”
“Whatever are you talking about, Trevor?’
“I’m looking online for a place nearby where I can give my guests a nice quiet break in the middle of our tour and guess what I found?”
“No idea.” She attempted to keep her voice matter-of-fact, but Trevor heard the undercurrent of excitement in her tone. It rang through his ear loud and unmistakably obvious.
“A charming resort packed with the makings of a quiet rest on the beach but only minutes from a town bursting at the seams with festivity.”
“Sounds like the perfect place to bring your group.” She hesitated. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Son?” Her voice held no apparent misgivings as to her role of interference in his life, only more of her teasing enthusiasm.
“It so happens the theme this month at the Inn, and the entire town of Pineville, is Christmas in July. Have you ever heard such nonsense?”
Trevor’s mother squealed. “I love Christmas.”
“And why you do is beyond me. Considering last year, I’d think the holiday should leave a sour taste even in your mouth. I could definitely do without two in the same year.”
“Lighten up, Mr. Scrooge,” she said. “Your father loved Christmas. He’d caution you in giving up on the season of hope.” Trevor had to agree on that point. Braxton Dristoll had led the craze-parade in their home every year with gusto and made sure his family passed along the spirit of Christmas to the less fortunate through acts of kindness. His mother’s voice rattled on with uninterrupted fervor. “I’ll make cookies and send them in the mail, to compensate for your second-rate attitude.”
“I know my job, Mom. I can smile and go along with just about anything.” Trevor chuckled. “But here’s the amusing part. Are you ready?”
“Fire away,” she said.
“Heritage Inn is famous for the pair of owls that live in the barn on the property.”
“Owls!” Trevor had to push the phone away from his ear. He’d done it now. Sandra Dristoll would never let this coincidence go. “Oh, Trevor, it’s providence! You must visit the owls. Maybe they have a message for you.” She gasped. “Did you say a couple – as in male and female – like your ornament gift from Mrs. Claus?”
“Settle down, Mom.”
“Can’t you feel the magic, Trevor? Surely you’re not that hard-hearted. It’s been three years since Gloria kicked you out of her life. It’s time to find that someone special.”
“And you’ve gained that tremendous foresight from a fluke owl occurrence? No, Mom, there will be no romancing going on at the Inn. I’m working, remember?”
“Of course, you are, dear.” Trevor suspected she’d tuned him out, already busy contemplating her next strategy. “Give me the address and I’ll mail the cookies. How many are on your bus again?”
“Thirty. But I haven’t even called the resort yet. There may not be enough rooms available. Don’t go rushing things.”
“Who me? I’ll bake my favorite cinnamon cookies, and wait for you to text the address.” In the background, Trevor heard her opening and closing cupboards doors. “Gotta run, Son. Don’t forget to unwind and enjoy yourself. Sounds like a mini vacation for you in the middle of a job. Take advantage of unexpected blessings.”
Trevor listened to the disconnecting click, unable to hold back the smile. His mother was a gem that would never lose its shine. Although his job was vacation-based, he seldom relaxed long enough to enjoy it. Spending time on a beach would do him good. He could easily avoid the Christmas town, and his clients would be free to come and go as they pleased. Yes, it sounded better all the time. He glanced at the marketing folder for the phone number of the resort then made the call. His last thoughts before the cheery voice picked up the line on the other end was that he had absolutely no intention of visiting the famous barn. Two love-struck owls, Mrs. Claus, or his mother were not going to choose the next woman in his life.
*****
“You will never guess who that was?” Angie said to the assistant manager at Heritage Inn as she replaced the receiver onto the cradle of the antique desk phone.
“By the look on your face, I’d say more business,” said Charles.
“Yes! Isn’t it perfect? The guide of a tour bus needs twenty rooms for his passengers and one each for himself and the driver. They want to stay for at least five days, but we can give them seven if they decide they like it here.”
“And who doesn’t like it here?” Charles beamed with fatherly pride at the last remaining member of the Parkinson family. He puffed his chest with thankfulness to have worked at this remarkable Inn for twenty years.
“This is Thursday, and the next influx of scheduled guests don’t arrive until next Friday.” Angie was excited. “These are brand new people to the Inn. We must be overly accommodating to their wants and needs.”
“As always,” Charles said. “It looks like that little break you were bragging about to the staff just got postponed, indefinitely.”
“You’re right. I hope it won’t upset the staff.”
“They all know July is the busiest month in Pineville and at the Inn. The town is gearing up
