Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson

the shipping boxes that represented months of planning. Red glass Christmas ornaments embellished with the bride’s and groom’s names and the date of the wedding, pinecones for place-card holders, fat ivory candles, canning jars to be filled with battery-operated fairy lights—all destined for a seven o’clock wedding on Christmas Eve.

      “True. But it does seem pretty dramatic, calling off a wedding so close to the ceremony.”

      “I’m going to have to look up an easy way to remove glitter-glued names from a hundred ornaments. Julie said she didn’t want any of the decorations and I hate to throw them away.” The wedding would have been absolutely gorgeous. Grace had planned on taking lots of photos to use as inspiration for other brides considering the Mirror Lake Lodge for their wedding.

      “There’s always eBay, I guess. Maybe another Mason and Julie will be getting married next Christmas.” Patsy peered at the boxes—one of the open ones was stuffed with pinecones. “What about the pinecones? I thought they were cute.”

      “I’ll save them. I can use them for something else. But the little canning jars are my favorite.” She had planned on taping the battery packs to the underside of the jar lids. “Festive Country Elegance” was her theme for this particular wedding.

      “If you still want to assemble them, we can put some on the mantels. Or maybe the restaurant will want to use them for the Christmas buffet.”

      “Okay.”

      “Speaking of the restaurant,” Patsy drawled. “Who’s going to tell Nico?”

      Grace shot her a pointed look.

      “Oh no,” Patsy said, her silver-and-red curls bouncing around her face. She threw up her hands. “That is so not part of my job description.”

      Grace wished it wasn’t part of hers, but as the events coordinator for the lodge she had no choice but to discuss the cancellation with the lodge’s most famous employee. The smoldering Italian chef would not be pleased. He’d worked on the menu for over a month, combining classic and elegant dishes to the delight of the bride, the groom and the bride’s quiet mother. They had all been thrilled with his creative ideas, particularly when he incorporated his now-famous cheese bar.

      Nico loved parties.

      He was not going to love this news.

      “He’s going to throw a fit.” Or worse, ask her to join him for a glass of wine while he flirted shamelessly.

      “No, he isn’t.” Patsy frowned. “Well, maybe a little fit. Did you see the episode when he got really angry with that actor, the one who was the villain in that time-travel movie, I think.”

      “The tall guy,” Grace said. “He thought it was funny to keep adding extra salt and pepper to the food whenever Nico turned his back.”

      “I thought Nico was going to punch him.”

      “He came close,” Grace recalled. The YouTube video of those fifteen minutes of television time had gone viral.

      “And the time the chicken wasn’t cooked properly in that restaurant he was trying to help. He told the cook to leave and never come back. In Italian, I think.”

      “‘Raw chicken kills’,” he said. Remember? And then he threw those pans out the back door and two of the waitresses were crying—and then they went to a commercial.”

      “I wonder what happened to that restaurant. I should look it up.”

      “He’s never thrown anything here, has he?” Grace had heard he was a perfectionist and an exacting employer, but nothing about violence. Still, he had a reputation in the tabloids for his passionate nature.

      “Well, just some utensils. But not at anyone directly,” Patsy replied. “I think he just cooks with gusto.”

      “Gusto,” Grace repeated, thinking of Nico’s enormous energy. She wondered if he ever slept—he always seemed to be in the lodge’s kitchen.

      “He loves weddings,” Patsy reminded her. “The bigger the better, he says.”

      “Well, everything has been paid for. The bride understood it was too late for refunds. Flowers, food, music, cake, everything. I hate to think of it going to waste.”

      “There’s always the food bank. We’ve done that before with leftovers.”

      “I’ll make some phone calls in the morning,” Grace said, wondering if anyone would want ruby-red wedding decorations with pinecone placeholders and fairy lights.

      “Ask Brian or one of the interns to take these boxes to the back room. Don’t do it yourself.” Patsy looked at her watch. “I’d better get back to the desk. I said I’d help Noelle with the tour group’s arrival at one o’clock.”

      “But they’re only here overnight, is that right?”

      “Yes. A quick in and out—a celebratory dinner, a sleigh ride to the cabin, and then they’re on to Boston in the morning after a leisurely brunch. Nico has planned some kind of decadent French toast for them.” She mock shuddered. “The man’s food is so good just the thought of it gives me chills.”

      Grace eyed the half of a protein bar she was saving for a late-afternoon snack. It sat on her desk next to her now empty coffee cup, mocking her and her perpetual diet, daring her to throw it in the trash. “Eating his food would make me gain ten pounds in one day.”

      “It wouldn’t show,” Patsy responded loyally, but Grace knew better. At five feet two inches tall, she had to watch every calorie in order to fit into her clothes, like the size eight petite red sheath dress she’d worn to match the lodge’s decorations today. Tomorrow she thought an ivory sweater and matching pencil skirt with dark gold suede boots would be appropriate, especially for the staff’s Secret Santa breakfast. She planned to wear her new dark burgundy lace dress for Christmas Eve. Grace believed that blending in, looking as if she belonged to the lodge, was a necessary part of her job.

      “Keep me posted on the wedding,” Patsy said, heading toward the door. “If there’s anything I can do—”

      “I’ll let you know,” Grace promised. But she didn’t intend to keep her friend away from her busy family and excited grandchildren during the holidays, no matter how many events were canceled. Patsy had already volunteered to work the desk on Christmas Eve so Noelle, who had a young son, could take the day off.

      It wouldn’t last forever.

      Five more days until Christmas craziness was behind her.

      Grace Clarke eyed the oversize calendar on her glass-topped desk and took a deep breath. She stayed organized using cell phone reminders and sticky notes, but she relied on her old-fashioned paper calendar to help her keep track of the Big Picture.

      And the Big Picture had just shrunk.

      Today was Monday, December 21. Yesterday Grace had overseen an intimate wedding between two eighty-year-olds and their immediate families, a Christmas party for the local chamber of commerce and a special family dinner for the resident bride and groom and their families.

      The dinner was to have kicked off the wedding festivities, which would culminate in a Christmas Eve ceremony for a couple who appeared to be made for each other. The bride had been cooperative throughout the entire year they’d spent making arrangements and, despite some strange behavior during a dress fitting yesterday, she’d been a joy to work with. The groom, a physician, had been agreeable and patient.

      In other words, he’d behaved the way a perfect groom should.

      Until he’d been dumped.

      Grace empathized.

      She consulted her agenda on the iPad. She needed to make sure that the twenty-six people from the tour bus would be seated in the dining room for dinner at five thirty. Their sleigh rides had been confirmed for eight o’clock, with a return between eleven and twelve. There were