Page 42 of Mistletoe All the Way

When he steps down, I dim the lights in his home, then I plug in the tree.

I back up, taking it in.

My heart feels glowy. “How does a tree not make you happy?”

I turn to my client—yes, I’d do well to remember he’s my client—but Noah’s not looking at the lights. He’s staring intensely at the window.

“Eloise,” he says, low and ominous.

I follow his gaze. Oh, hell. There’s a blanket of snow now covering the driveway, the car, and everything out there now.

“I think you should stay the night.”

The words hang between us, filled with questions.

Like where and whose bed. And the private question—why is my heart beating even faster?

14 A DOG MISTLETOE MAGNET

Noah

Best to use this extra time to prep for the competition. As the snow falls harder and faster, like it has no intention of ever stopping, we sit on the couch while Eloise tells me about last year’s Mrs. Holiday contest.

I do my best not to think about the way it’s just us here in my cabin, how the snow is creating that serene, quiet feeling, how the firelight flickers across Eloise’s pretty face, dancing in her irises that I just can’t look away from. Rusty’s tucked into a ball on the couch by her feet.

I listen as she shares every horrifying detail about last year’s event, from the candy cane hunt to a Secret Santa challenge that makes me want to curl up and die. Yep, death would be preferable now that she’s showing me a photo on her phone of a woman hoisting a jumbo candy cane above her head in the town square. “Ahsha won last year. Then she got the promotion to manager at the Mistletoe Emporium, so clearly the contest is full of good karma.”

“There’s no glass that isn’t half full for you, is there?”

“I’m just saying—it all worked out.”

I drag a hand through my hair, picturing traipsing through Evergreen Falls searching for candy canes. Not exactly how I imagined spending December. And yet, I say, “What do I need to do to prep?”

She shrugs happily. “Get in the Christmas mood. Listen to Christmas songs to feel the holiday vibe. Read some Christmas stories. Think holiday thoughts—Santa hats and helping out, and gingerbread houses and being generous,” she says, and I want to grumble to the ends of the earth and back, but I behave since she clearly finds this fucking delightful. “But in terms of specifics, you can’t really develop a plan of action because Mayor Bumblefritz will reveal each challenge a day or two before it happens. That keeps it fair, so we don’t actually know what the five challenges will be.”

“Oh, great. So it’s hell and a Christmas competition, baked together like a fruitcake?”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t fire off a retort.

I point at her, victorious. “See? Even you don’t like fruitcake. I finally found something you don’t like.”

She holds out her hands, like an admission. “Fine. You have me there. I don’t care for fruitcake. Anyway, the mayor will announce the first challenge when the competition kicks off.”

After she reminds me of the date and confirms I’ll be back in Evergreen Falls then, she lowers her phone to set it on the table. But she does a double take, yanking it back up. Her finger flicks across the screen, and her expression brightens. “Oh, look! Sailor just texted to say they’ve had some new inquiries today about Frosty and Clint.”

I can’t help but smile. “They’ve both been in foster for a while. That’s great news.”

“See? It was a good thing I flew out today,” she says, setting the phone down again. “Just admit it.”

No way am I going to admit I’m having a good time. “Maybe,” I grumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She gazes out the window, staring contentedly for a long beat.

Maybe this is when I should clear my throat, show her the guest room, and see if she needs anything for the night. Be a good host and all. But the words don’t come out of my throat. The thought of her retreating behind a closed door is like a brick in my gut.

Scanning the room, I spot a Scrabble board on a shelf. I clear my throat. “Do you want to—”

But she’s speaking at the same time. “Should we watch a—Oh, what were you going to say?”