shopping bags of clothing from Penny’s store up the broad porch steps, she couldn’t help noticing every thoughtful detail, from the basket of lawn games to the rack of fishing poles. The owners of the establishment certainly seemed keen on ensuring their guests had a good time during their stay.
Kat breathed a contented sigh as a delicate bell chimed, greeting her as she crossed the threshold. Immediately, the homey scent of gingerbread enveloped her like a welcoming hug.
“Hello, dearie! Welcome to the Morning Glory Inn. You must be Kat.” Seemingly from out of nowhere, a lithe, sprightly woman appeared in the hallway. “I’m Gertrude Hobbs, but everyone calls me Trudy. Here, let me help you with those.” Without waiting for a response—or a hello—Trudy plucked the bags from Kat’s grasp, unconcerned with the fact that both of her hands—and every inch of her festive apron—were covered in flour.
Flitting toward the antique check-in desk, Trudy called out over her shoulder, “It’s a Christmas miracle I had a room available. Not more than two minutes before Penny called, a guest canceled. Her mother took ill, the poor dear. Nothing too serious, thank goodness. But she didn’t feel right leaving her home alone under the circumstances, which is perfectly understandable. At my age, the sniffles can turn to pneumonia quicker than the time it takes to boil a pot of chicken soup.”
Kat hid a smile as Trudy set the bags on the polished hardwood floor before flipping open her guestbook. The woman sure had the gift of gab.
“That’s why my husband, George, and I have a full refund cancellation policy,” she continued. “Things happen outside our control. And the last thing the poor dear needs is financial stress on top of an ill mother. Besides, our rooms rarely stay empty for long. As the only inn in Poppy Creek, our No Vacancy sign is practically a permanent fixture.”
“You’re the only lodging in Poppy Creek?” Kat asked, speaking for the first time since her arrival.
“Officially, yes. And let me tell you, it can put quite the strain on two old-timers who’ve been running this place for nearly forty years. Although, Dolores Whittaker has been known to put up a guest or two in her large farmhouse. She lives by herself, you know. And I think she likes the company. Would you believe she does it all online? It’s amazing what you can do with technology these days. But I prefer to handle everything the old-fashioned way.”
She plucked a brass key from a wall of hooks behind her, passing it to Kat by the end of a green satin ribbon. “You’ll be staying in the Cedar Suite upstairs. It doesn’t face the garden, but you have a prime view of the forest, which looks lovely covered in snow. And we’re supposed to get a nice storm sometime this weekend. Not according to the weather station, of course. But Bill Tucker’s pig, Peggy Sue, has been accurately predicting snowstorms for years.”
“Unfortunately, I’ll only be staying one night.” For a fleeting moment, Kat regretted her brief visit. Since she’d lived her whole life on the coast of California, she’d never seen snow before.
“Oh, now that’s a shame.” Trudy made a tsk-tsk sound in tandem with a disappointed shake of her head. “Well, I’ll hold off on booking your room for the rest of the week in case you change your mind. Christmas in Poppy Creek is a magical time of year. You really can’t appreciate it unless you stay a few days, at least.”
Before Kat could respond, a loud trill reverberated down the hallway.
Trudy clapped her hands, scattering a puff of flour. “Oh, heavens! I forgot all about the cookies.” Scampering from behind the desk, she said, “I’ll have George carry your bags up to your room. I’d love to stay and chat, but time waits for no man, as the saying goes.”
Something about the woman’s words resonated with Kat, but she wasn’t sure why. “I can carry my own bags, but thanks for the offer. You take care of those cookies.”
“Thank you, dear. Do come down once you’re settled in. We’re watching White Christmas tonight and we’d love for you to join us.” With a fluttering wave, Trudy scuttled down the hallway and disappeared from sight.
Lifting her bags off the floor, Kat smiled. Trudy was an interesting woman, to say the least, but Kat appreciated her warm, gregarious demeanor.
As she mounted the creaking staircase, admiring the eclectic assortment of artwork hanging on the wall, Trudy’s words