Page 52 of Mistletoe All the Way

I bristle at the sound of Stephen’s voice. But Hank throws his arms around his grandson in a hug. “Doing great. How the heck are you?”

“Fantastic. I’m about to open, and we have Christmas karaoke tonight,” Stephen says when they let go, adjusting his Santa hat. “Want to drop by later? Sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ like nobody’s business?”

“I’ll do my best, kiddo,” Hank says. “I do like that song.”

“No one can sing it like you do.”

My, my. Isn’t Stephen quite the sweet talker?

He turns to Noah next. “You should come along. You can sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ or ‘You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.’ ”

Oh, fuck him. Before Noah can even think about replying, I flash my most sugary smile. “And, Stephen, you should definitely sing ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ ”

“You think so?” Stephen asks.

“Absolutely,” I say with an emphatic nod. Just let him try to hit those high notes.

“You’d sound great,” Noah deadpans, jumping in on the fake encouragement.

Stephen squares his shoulders. “Thanks. I’ve always thought I could do a good job with that one.”

“It’s tiiime,” I add.

With a can-do smile, Stephen swings his gaze back to his grandfather. “Want to come in and grab an early dinner? On the house, of course.”

“Would love to,” Hank says, then with pride in his voice, he adds, “but we need to head to the Mr. Holiday kickoff right now. Noah’s in it. You should see his social. Eloise did it all, and it’s really something.”

Stephen cocks his head, his brows narrowing, cogs clearly whirring in his mind. “That so?”

“He already has five hundred likes on his new photo, or something,” Hank says, clapping Noah on the back.

Another pause—more wheels turning in Stephen’s head. He glances toward his bar. “Sweet. Well, I should take off. I left some peppermint bark on the counter that I need to… pack up,” he says, reminding us that his bar is known for that holiday delicacy. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

He whirls around and leaves the way he came, but I can’t shake that interaction. Something just feels off.

16 PEPPERMINT BARK IS THE GAME

Noah

It’s never too late to say no. That’s a truism my parents instilled in me. Even if something feels difficult to turn down—an invitation, an event, a second date—you can say no at any point. Even while you’re doing it.

Great advice, really.

And I’ve enjoyed the hell out of this permission slip over the years. I’ve happily said no to neighborhood potlucks, to after-work happy hours even when they were yappy hours, and to keynote invitations at veterinary conferences.

That last one was for everyone’s benefit. No one wants me as a keynote speaker.

I stand near the back of the crowded snowy town square, the Christmas lights on the gazebo twinkling faintly as the day coasts into twilight. Eloise is here, bundled up with a burgundy scarf and white mittens, and so’s my brother, as well as my dad and his wife.

Grams is, too, holding Gramps’s hand. “And tell me why you didn’t enter, Hank?”

Gramps snorts. “The town should be thankful I didn’t.”

“Because you’d win?” she asks, goading him.

He shoots her a look. “When horses fly.”

“I’d have openly campaigned through the whole town for you.”