Page 57 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Thanks. I figured that much out on my own, prince,” I say, pacing through the kitchen. “It’s a tough enough battle against Mr. Cheeky Old Guy, Mr. Nerdy Book Guy, and Mr. Help A Stranger Out. Now I need to add Mr. Thinks He’s Santa Claus to the mix?”

Chris turns around with a bottle of something the color of rubies. “Stephen does have a high likability factor, I’ll grant you that.”

“Thanks. So helpful.”

“But he likes things easy,” Chris goes on, setting the wine on the kitchen counter before he turns to me, strategy flickering in his eyes. “So keep raising the bar on the competition, and he’ll give up.”

I stop next to him, drumming my fingers. Maybe he’s onto something. “True. Stephen doesn’t like complications. He likes to flash a smile, make a joke, offer a free beer, and then be on his way.”

“Exactly. And he also likes to copy others. Like when I was learning guitar at age fourteen and he tried to copy me.” My twin nods to a silver electric guitar resting against an amp in the living room.

I snap my fingers. “Right. I remember that. He quit after three chords.”

“But I can play like a rock star,” Chris says, and just in case I forgot he grabs the sleek Stratocaster, and strums a guitar riff from a popular song.

“Like I needed another reminder about how perfect you are,” I say.

Chris grins, strumming another chord. “I haven’t even told you about the feedback I get after taking a woman to bed.”

“I don’t want to know,” I bark.

“I can’t help it. It’s useful, too, that I have a pretty face.”

“Uh, I have the same face,” I point out, gesturing from my matching face to his.

“It’s all in how you use it,” he says as he sets the guitar back in its home.

“Thanks for the tip.”

“The main tip is this,” he says, striding over to me and clapping my shoulders. “All you have to do is outlast him and—”

“Be more creative.”

Chris’s smile says, Now you’ve got it. “Exactly. So, let’s figure out how to do both with this parade float thing.”

I roll up the sleeves of my flannel, ready to get to work. Because working harder than Stephen? Working smarter? That I can do. “Let’s make it happen.”

“But first,” he says, returning to the kitchen and holding up the bottle, “good wine for my date later?”

“You have a date too?”

“Of course I do.”

Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door.

“She’s early,” I say.

But when Chris opens it, it’s not his date. It’s Eloise.

“I know what to do for the float,” she says, her eyes shining with excitement.

17 IS THAT A RIBBON IN YOUR BRA OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?

Eloise

I hit the button to record as Noah works quietly in Honey’s stall, practicing for the parade tomorrow. He’s focused, hands steady as he braids ribbons into her mane.

He glances over, nodding toward the pile of ribbons in a canvas bag outside the stall. “Hand me another red one?”