“What is this place?”
“This is Carlisle Castle,” Mac said. “It was built by a furniture tycoon during the late 1800s. It’s still owned by the same family and they converted it into a hotel about ten years ago. What do you think?”
Snow-covered and surrounded by tall pines, it looked like a storybook Christmas castle. Maybe I had misjudged Mac’s planning-on-the-fly abilities. I smiled and squeezed his hand.
“Who needs Mexico?” I said. “This definitely makes up for the canceled flight. How did you know about it? Do you think they’ll have a room?”
“I saw a brochure back at the gas station and remembered someone mentioning it,” Mac said. “It didn’t occur to me that it would be full. . . .”
The full parking lot ramped up my concern. Mac pulled in and found a spot as far from the entrance as possible.
We exited the car and looked up at the castle. Mac stood behind me with his arms around my waist. “It’s not Mexico,” he said, “but it’s not Crystal Haven, either.”
We headed toward the entrance holding hands. I glanced down the row of vehicles and saw an orange smart car. It looked just like my mom’s. I shrugged off a brief flash of worry and followed Mac through the rapidly falling snow.
Inside, the entryway glowed from Victorian lamps reflecting off the dark wood of the front desk, tucked beneath a wide curving staircase. I imagined a cozy weekend with Mac, curled up by the fire—surely there was a fireplace somewhere—and not dealing with dogs, nephews, parents, aunts, or anyone but Mac. We shook the snow off our coats and stamped our feet.
At the desk, a young man smiled at us from behind a laptop and Tiffany lamp.
“Hello, welcome to Carlisle Castle,” he said. His name tag read: WALLACE PRESCOTT. He wore round glasses, a bow tie, and a thatch of dark hair flopped over one eye. “Whoa, cool!” he said as I stopped in front of the desk. “Your eyes are two different colors!” Wallace pointed at my eyes and squinted his own as he examined me. He wasn’t the first person to announce it to me as if I hadn’t noticed in the past thirty years that one eye was bright blue, the other brown.
Mac cleared his throat and Wallace seemed to remember that staring at the customers was not in his job description. Mac asked about a room for the weekend.
Wallace’s smile fled. “I’m sorry, we’re completely booked. We have a group here this weekend and all the rooms are taken. . . .” Wallace clicked on his laptop but shook his head the whole time.
“Let me check some other nearby hotels for you. I looked at the weather channel before you came in and they say once the snow starts we’ll get two inches an hour.”
Just as Mac turned to me to discuss our predicament, we heard, “I knew it!”
I felt Mac stiffen next to me as my stomach dropped. We both turned in the direction of the voice and, as I had already surmised, there stood my Aunt Vi. At five foot two, she was shorter than me by several inches. She wore her gray hair in a long braid down her back and favored brightly colored skirts with layers of cardigans. Like my mother, she was in her seventies, but refused to acknowledge it.
“I just had a feeling your flight would be canceled,” Vi said as she rushed toward us. “This is a great place, don’t you think?” She waved her arms to encompass the entire castle. “I can’t believe you came here! Are you staying for the whole weekend? This’ll be a hoot! Wait ’til I tell your mom and Lucille.”
“Lucille?” I squeaked.
Vi cocked her head at me. “Remember I said I was going to ask her to come with us since she’s such a good knitter?”
Mac turned to me, his eyes a bit wild.
“My mother is here?” he said.
It came back to me in snippets. I’d been so excited about my escape from a snow-covered and frozen Crystal Haven that I hadn’t paid much attention. I remembered talk about yarn and knitting classes and how my dad and my nephew, Seth, would have a boys’ weekend . . .
“The knitting conference is . . . here?” I asked.
Vi nodded and grinned. “You should see this place, Clyde, it’s so . . . castle-y. Wally here will give you a tour.” She nodded toward Wallace.
“Ms. Greer, I don’t have a room for them,” Wallace said. “And it’s Wallace.” He pointed to his name tag. She looked him up and down and then turned away.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “They can stay with us. Rose and I have double beds and Lucille has two twins in her room. Clyde can stay with us and Mac can stay with Lucille. It’ll be great!”
Mac and I exchanged a terrified glance. Vi was unstoppable when she got an idea in her head and we both felt the tide of this vacation washing farther out to sea.