Dad dropped me off at the front of the inn and I waved to him from the porch steps as he drove off. Doing my best to balance the two large plastic bags and gable box from the Gingerbread Café, I entered the front lobby.

No one was at the front desk, but that wasn’t unusual. The Hoyden wasn’t a Hilton. If a person wanted help and no one was around at that given moment, they could ring the bell.

But I spotted three suitcases by the desk itself, one quite large and two others more of the carry-on variety. Odd. I didn’t recall anyone scheduled to leave today. Everyone was booked through Christmas.

The tumble of footsteps on the stairs drew my attention and I was surprised to see Arthur coming down, wearing his green jacket and a pair of Wranglers. Looking cute.

“Oh, hello,” he said, as he crossed to the front desk and set down two room keys. “Is it all right to leave these here?”

I blinked and ignored his question for one of my own. “What’s going on?”

“We’re checking out.”

I did a double take. “Checking out?” I repeated.

He nodded. “Yes.” And turned to lift the straps of one of the two overnight cases over his shoulder.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

I shook my head and set the plastic bags filled with pie boxes and cakes and whatever else Mrs. Buzzard had ordered down on the desk ledge beside the room keys.

Then turned to face him.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be here through the twenty-seventh.”

“That was the plan, but the plan has changed.”

“Why? What about your aunt? Isn’t she supposed to be having dinner with Grandma Jo?”

“Not anymore.” He picked up the black canvas bag with the sturdy leather handle. “Thank you so very much for all you’ve done to bring the spirit of Christmas to our stay here. You’ve truly gone above and beyond.”

Of the permutations in Arthur’s moods since I’d come to know him—from snobby to rage rooster to goofy to sweet—I had never seen him quite like this. This Arthur was . . . polite.

To me.

I scowled at him. “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting so formal all of a sudden?”

“I’m always like this.” He shot me a wry look. “Lest you forget, you once accused me of sounding like I was seventy.”

“That was days ago.”

“Not so many days. Not enough to be . . .” He paused to choose his word with care. “. . . worthwhile.”

I could feel the back of my throat start to close up. Though I may not have known what was going on, I knew something awful had happened. “I thought I was going to show you Christmas. For Christmas.” My voice was tight.

“And indeed you did. I assure you, Finley, my auntie and I shall never forget our holiday here. Truly.”