Christmas In Icicle Falls. Sheila Roberts

a complaint you feel you can’t handle, don’t get upset with them—just come find me. Okay?”

      Meadow nodded. “Fine with me. I don’t like dealing with shits.”

      Hopefully, no shits would cross Meadow’s path when she was on duty. Olivia vowed right then to limit her time at the desk as much as possible.

      Their first guests arrived right at three o’clock, the official check-in time. They were a middle-aged couple, the woman bundled in a faux-fur coat, leggings and boots, her silver hair stylishly cut. Her husband, swarthy and handsome, wore a parka and jeans.

      “Fortelli,” he said, stepping up to the desk. “We’re booked for the week.”

      Meadow smiled at him. “Nice to have you, Mr. Fortelli.”

      Mrs. Fortelli, who was standing right next to him, frowned.

      “And Mrs. Fortelli, too,” Olivia added.

      “Oh. Yeah. Of course,” Meadow said and gave the missus a smile, as well. The missus almost returned it.

      “So,” Meadow said briskly, shoving a form at him, “give us your car license number and all that good stuff. And we’ll need your credit card. But don’t worry. We won’t charge you until you leave.” The man handed over his credit card. “Fortelli, that’s a cool name. It’s, like, Italian, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is,” he said.

      “Have you been to Italy?” she asked, and Olivia felt rather pleased with Meadow’s attempt at pleasant small talk.

      “Several times,” said Mr. Fortelli.

      “I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” Meadow said. “Somebody told me Italian men pinch you,” she added with a grin.

      Mr. Fortelli handed back the completed form. “Italian men do appreciate beautiful women,” he said. Now there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on Mrs. Fortelli’s face.

      “Oh, yeah? Then I definitely need to go. Make my guy jealous.” Meadow dealt efficiently with the credit card, then handed it back. She leaned on the desk, giving Mr. Fortelli a close-up view of Butterfly Mountain. “So what’s the best city to go to in Italy? Where would you tell me to go?”

      “To a guidebook,” the missus said, her voice frosty.

      They were wandering far from standard check-in procedure at this point. “How about getting the Fortellis’ key cards, Meadow?”

      “Oh, yeah.” Meadow straightened up but Mr. Fortelli remained fixated on her boobs.

      “So, are you folks are up here from Seattle?” Olivia asked, hoping to distract him.

      “We are,” the husband said, making himself the official spokesperson for the Fortelli family.

      “Is it your first time here in Icicle Falls?” Olivia asked his wife.

      “Yes, it is,” the woman said, frowning at Meadow.

      “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. We have some wonderful shops and restaurants. And Currier’s Tree Farm offers sleigh rides.”

      “They do? I’m so making Brandon take me on one,” put in Meadow. “I bet you’d like a sleigh ride, huh, Mr. Fortelli.”