Page 21 of Mistletoe All the Way

Even though I’d rather be anyplace else, Rusty and I pass through the gates of hell—a.k.a. the carved wooden archway that reads CHRISTMAS MARKET. I stifle a shudder. Must stay strong, especially after that morning photo ambush.

I’ve got my trusty mutt by my side. I pat his right shoulder and brace myself for the onslaught of manufactured joy.

With my hat pulled low, I dodge a cider cart where a vendor hawks mugs for five bucks. Jostling past tourists and townspeople alike, all clutching cups of cocoa and carting wrapped gifts, I finally find Eloise waiting beneath a red-and-gold sign that reads ROASTED CHESTNUTS. She looks like she did forty-five minutes ago at the farm—bundled up in a red coat with a cute white hat pulled down over her wavy hair. The only difference is she’s holding a small brown paper bag.

“Surprised you didn’t hide behind a poinsettia plant at the entryway to ambush me again,” I grumble as I stop by her side.

“Who says I didn’t?” she asks with that sneaky smile.

“Of course you did.” The air smells like cinnamon, pine, and sugar. “The Christmas Song” drifts from the vendor’s cart, the record scratchy, looping the line about “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” for what feels like eternity.

Eloise bends down and waves a hand at Rusty. “Hello, handsome.”

With a happy whimper, Rusty accepts and then rubs his snout against her palm.

This dog. “He’s a little shameless,” I admit.

“He has excellent taste,” she corrects, then gives him a kiss on his snout before she finally stands and waggles the chestnuts my way. “Peace offering?”

“For your sneak photo shoot?”

“Exactly.”

“What are you going to do with the pics?”

“You’re thinking they’re for my personal stash, right?” she asks with a wiggle of an eyebrow.

“I know they’re not for that. Seriously—what’s your plan?”

She straightens, then says matter-of-factly, “Marketing for the competition.”

“Right. The social, also known as… the agony.”

“It’ll be ecstasy when I’m done,” she says, then shakes the chestnut bag again. “Just like these chestnuts. In fact, they might make you cheerier. Or is that what you’re worried about?”

“Yes, I’m allergic to mirth and glee.”

“We’re talking hives, right? Or do you break out in a rash”—she scans the grounds, like she’s making sure no one can overhear as she waves her hand in front of her jeans and whispers—“everywhere?”

A below-the-belt hit. But with Eloise, I’m learning it’s best to lean into her style. “Yep, and I often react badly to pageants too. So if you want me to withdraw from the contest, I’d understand.”

“Oh please. I’m not letting you weasel your way out.”

“Might as well take my chances then,” I say, dipping a hand into the bag. I peel off the chestnut shell and pop the meat of one into my mouth.

It’s surprisingly good.

She beams, like she truly did want me to enjoy the festive treat. “See? Chestnuts are fun. You can’t help but feel the holiday spirit as you eat them.”

“Pretty soon my head will spin like I’ve been possessed by it,” I say, once I finish chewing. “Can we use that in the talent portion of the competition? A Christmas-spirit exorcism?”

“I knew you’d be good at brainstorming. But unfortunately for you, there is no Christmas talent section in the pageant.”

I wind Rusty’s leash tighter in my hand, then cut to the chase. “Speaking of, I’m in the competition. Reluctantly.”

She raises an eyebrow, seeming a little perplexed. “I know. I signed you up yesterday.”

“But you didn’t know I was going to get my brother to do it,” I say, both since I like to keep her on her toes and also so she doesn’t think this contest will be easy.