The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates

to offer something unique to draw people to such a small town, and I banked on old-school fun and frivolity. Dances, trekking, water sports on the lake, and games, canasta, bingo nights, pottery in the west wing, and still-life drawing in the east. Language lessons, cooking classes, and singing and theater for those who wanted to perform. Chalets with reinvigorated claw-foot baths and a wall of books for those who wanted peace and quiet. But I needed the numbers in order to hire the staff…

      I wanted to recreate that time, that feeling, when holidays were about relaxation, or being awed by the natural beauty of the elements. Having a place where you could do as much or as little as you liked. The entire train of thought made me realize again just how much work I had to do on the marketing front. I took my phone from my pocket and snapped a picture of Kai standing by the front door of the chalet. Social media would eat him up. “Mind if I post this online?” I indicated to the photo.

      “Sure, go ahead.”

      With deft fingers I posted the pic with the description: Our project manager Kai at one of the #CedarwoodLodgeChalets before renovations.

      “Why did the lodge close?” he asked, arms folded as he leaned against the balustrade.

      I lifted a shoulder. “As far as I can tell, they struggled through wartime, and recessions, and I guess they never really recovered financially. The husband left first and then the wife, for reasons unknown, and not long after she closed the place down.”

      “Why’d he leave her?”

      I clucked my tongue. “That part is a little hazy. I was too young to understand.”

      “It’s a shame when they had all of this.” I might have mistaken it, but I was sure I caught a glimpse of longing in his eyes. Like he had fallen under Cedarwood’s spell.

      “The thing is, it’s not a broken heart. We can fix this,” I said, smiling up at him.

      He faced me, and the full force of his gaze hit me. I envied the girl who’d lose her heart to Kai. Loving him would be like tumbling into an abyss – he had a depth, a magnetism, that was compelling.

      “Cedarwood has a murky past, but it’s being reborn and I have this idea that it’ll be a place where people fall in love, and lives will be changed for the better.” Too whimsical? I had to remind myself I wasn’t in an office full of women who planned weddings for a living any more.

      He took an age to reply, like he was absorbing my words, pondering his answer. “There is something special about this place. It’s not just you who feels it.” A blush crept up his skin.

      While his words were innocent, my heart knocked a little harder. I fumbled with a response before sticking to the rudimentary. “So… don’t forget to lock the gate. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kai stared at me so intently, I blinked and walked away, unsure of what exactly had happened, and why I felt a charge in the air.

      Twenty minutes later I pulled into Mom’s driveway, my thoughts inexplicably fuzzy. I took a deep breath and focused my mind on Mom, reminding myself not to push too hard; not to say anything I’d regret. If I did, she’d shut down and I’d never get to the bottom of what was bothering her. My mom, despite having run an inn where she dealt with guests for most of her adult life, was insular. She didn’t socialize, her only real friend was my Aunt Bessie, my father’s sister. Aunt Bessie was so full of life that no one could avoid being swept into her world, so I’m sure my mom just gave in to it.

      I killed the engine, and gazed up. The kitchen curtain shivered, alerting me to Mom’s presence.

      Donning a friendly smile, I went to the door and knocked, waiting an age for her to open it, as if she was trying to decide whether to pretend to be out or not. How had we come to this?

      Finally the door swung open and she feigned surprise. “Clio! I wasn’t expecting you.”

      I held out a bag of groceries I’d stopped off to buy. “Thought we could rustle up some dinner, what do you say?” I held back the real words that threatened to pour from my lips: Why haven’t you come to see me?

      She darted a quick peep behind her.

      “Is someone here?” I ventured. Mom hadn’t dated after Dad died. Did she have someone special now, and that was what was distracting her? At least that would be progress.

      “No, no. It’s fine. Come in.”

      I held in a sigh. “I thought we could make lasagna and roast vegetables. Are you hungry?” Mom had lost weight, too much weight. She’d always been whisper-thin, but now she was almost invisible.

      “My favorite,” she said, attempting a smile.

      The cottage was immaculate, not a cushion out of place. Mom had always been tidy but this was next level. The small living room sat solemnly; the kitchen was pristine and smelled of cleaning agents, not a place where food was made.

      “Help me peel the vegetables?” I stood at the sink and washed my hands.

      She did as instructed, and worry hit me anew, watching her tiny frame move around the kitchen. I should have come over sooner. I debated whether to ask her outright what was wrong, but she fixed me with her Mona Lisa smile, so I let it go, hoping she’d eventually soften and confide in me. There’s a first time for everything… right, Clio?

      “Where’s Aunt Bessie? I thought she would have called in at the lodge. I’ve called her a few times but got the machine.”

      Mom washed potatoes and carrots and placed them on a tea towel. “You know Bessie – she’s desperate to see you but she’s on a cruise with her book club. When she phoned I told her all about your homecoming and how you turned up unannounced.” There was a light rebuke to her voice, and I realized that no matter how I approached my mom it would never be the right way. “She gets home soon and, whirlwind that she is, will no doubt come straight to you.”

      As if visiting me first up was out of the ordinary. I was grateful for Aunt Bessie in my life. She’d always been there for me, and made up the shortfall my mother had left.

      She owned a gourmet donut shop in town called Puft. My aunt took the basic donut and transformed it into a sweet-lover’s delight. Big, custard-filled donuts balanced precariously on a cloud of Chantilly cream on top of thick chocolatey shakes. Donuts were stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa, each with different fillings – from passion-fruit curd to chocolate hazelnut custard, hand-spun candy floss on top. Or for those wanting simpler fare there were mini pistachio and honey rings, or lemon-flavored churros with orange sauce. My Aunt Bessie always emailed me the menu to proofread and it was torture not being able to taste the words.

      Once she was back from her cruise I planned to go in and roll out, having my fill of her delectable treats.

      She was a cuddly, bubbly person and had been a refuge in my formative years. Aunt Bessie was the type of person people confided in, and she welcomed them into her open arms. Along with confidentiality, she also provided advice, hugs and donuts. So many donuts.

      “You should come by the lodge with her, Mom. We had a slight issue with the plumbing, but thankfully it didn’t blow the budget.” She turned away, but I kept on, hoping it would sway her. “The electrics have been fixed. The wainscoting has been replaced but still needs painting. The floors need to be sanded and polished, but we had a problem with a patch of rotted wood in the—”

      “Do you want me to chop and fry garlic?”

      Was I speaking too softly? “Sure. Did you hear me, Mom, about the lodge?”

      Her hands fell to her sides and she stared out the window as if debating what to say. She’d gone so pale, I worried I’d pushed her over some invisible precipice. “I heard.”

      “Well?” I asked softly.

      “Well, what?” When she turned to me her eyes were bright with tears. What could have provoked such a thing?

      “What is it, Mom? Why are you