Dawn at Mistletoe & Midnight*
1000 Words
The first pale light slipped through the frosted panes of the Alpine Inn, painting the snow‑covered ridge in soft pink and gold. Inside, the fire had dwindled to a gentle ember, its warmth a comforting whisper against the chill that still lingered in the air. Maya stood by the window, a mug of steaming coffee crested with a swirl of cinnamon in her hands, watching the world outside slowly awaken.
The night’s chaos had left the inn looking like a winter wonderland after a storm. Broken beams had been hauled away, the ballroom’s shattered window patched with a tarp, and the lounge—now the heart of the wedding—glimmered with twine lights and pine‑cone garlands. A faint scent of pine resin mixed with the lingering aroma of roasted chestnuts and mulled wine.
Luca emerged from the kitchen, his hair still damp from the snow he’d brushed off his coat. He carried a tray with fresh pastries, their buttery tops dusted with powdered sugar. “Morning,” he said, setting the tray down on the rustic table. “Sleep well?”
Maya smiled, the corners of her eyes crinking. “Like a log in that fire. I’m still half‑asleep, but the coffee’s doing its job.”
He poured her a cup, the dark liquid steaming in the early light. “The bride will be here in an hour. She’s driving up from the valley—her car’s a little… stubborn, just like the weather.”
Maya’s mind flicked to the checklist she’d kept tucked in her coat pocket. Venue, catering, décor, timeline… all the pieces were falling into place, but there was a nervous flutter she couldn’t shake. “Did the florist make it?”
Luca nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Marta’s already out there, coaxing the last of the winter roses from the greenhouse. She swears they’ll bloom in time for the ceremony.”
Just then, a soft chime rang from the front door. The heavy wooden door swung open, and a gust of cold air rushed in, scattering a few snowflakes across the polished floor. A woman stepped inside, her cheeks flushed from the wind, a veil of white hair framing a face that seemed both youthful and ageless. She carried a small, weather‑worn suitcase and a bouquet of dried lavender.
“Elena?” Maya whispered, recognizing the bride’s mother from the emails.
The woman smiled, her eyes bright. “Maya, dear! I’m so glad you’re here. The roads were a nightmare, but we made it.” She set the suitcase down and embraced Maya, the scent of pine and lavender filling the space.
Luca bowed slightly. “Welcome to Mistletoe & Midnight. We’ve turned the lounge into a ballroom for you. I hope it meets your expectations.”
Elena’s gaze swept the room, taking in the fairy lights, the crackling fire, and the piano where Marta was already playing a soft, hopeful melody. “It’s perfect,” she breathed. “Just perfect.”
Maya felt a surge of relief. The night’s disaster had become a charming backdrop, and the guests who had arrived early were already mingling, their laughter weaving through the timbered walls. The photographer, Theo, was adjusting his lenses, capturing candid moments of the bride’s family huddled around the fire, their breaths forming tiny clouds in the cool air.
As the morning progressed, the inn buzzed with activity. Luca and his staff hauled in more firewood, the scent of pine filling the corridors. Marta moved her piano to a corner of the lounge, the notes now bright and uplifting, co‑mixing with the clatter of plates as the caterer, Chef Antoine, arrived with a snow‑covered van. He stepped out, his cheeks rosy, a wide grin on his face.
“Bonjour, mes amis!” he called, setting down a tray of croissants and fruit tarts. “The storm tried to stop me, but I am not so easily deterred.”
Maya laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You’re a lifesaver, Chef.”
The day unfolded like a well‑orchestrated dance. The bride, Elise, arrived with her father, a stoic man in a tweed coat, his eyes softening as he took in the transformed lounge. The veil of her dress caught the light, shimmering like fresh snow. Maya guided them through the seating arrangement, adjusting place cards and ensuring the centerpieces of pine cones and holly were perfectly placed.
By late afternoon, the sun had melted the last of the snow from the roof, leaving a glwet sheen that reflected the golden hour. The guests gathered around the fireplace, a toast was raised, and glasses clinked. Luca stood beside Maya, his hand brushing hers as they shared a quiet moment.
“Who would have thought a broken beam could bring us together?” he murmured.
Maya glanced at him, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Sometimes the best stories start with a little chaos.”
As the evening approached, a soft wind began to whisper through the pines outside, and the inn seemed to settle into a contented hush. The night’s magic was far from over; there were still secrets hidden in the old woodwork, a mysterious ledger Luca kept locked away, and a tradition that spoke of love found before the next snowfall.
Maya felt a thrill of anticipation. The wedding was only the beginning. She turned to Luca, a playful spark in her gaze. “What’s next on the agenda?”
He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “First, a slice of cake. Then, I’ll show you the hidden pantry—rumor has it it’s stocked with the best hot cocoa in the Alps.”
She laughed, the sound echoing through the hall. “Lead the way.”
The inn’s doors remained open to the night, welcoming the promise of new stories, new laughter, and perhaps, a love that would linger long after the snow melted.
- Writer
