Page 24 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“How does he know your name?” Sam whispered to me.

“Long story,” I whispered back as James and his father stepped off the stage and made their way toward us.

“I like long stories…” Sam’s voice turned cautious, guarded, as he stood up straighter.

“Dad, Gianna. Gianna, Dad.” James motioned between us.

Mr. Bailey stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. …”

“Mancini. Gianna Mancini, uh, sir.” I shook his hand and shivered. Definitely a different kind of hand than his son’s, but I pressed on. “I’m more than happy to show you around town—”

“As am I,” Sam stepped forward, offering his hand as well. “Sam Holt. My family owns the Christmas tree farm and greenhouses here in Mullings Creek.”

“Ah, a farmer.” Mr. Bailey shook Sam’s hand quickly. “That’s a pretty thankless job, or so I’ve heard.”

Sam’s smile vanished faster than fresh gingerbread in the same room as my brother. “My family always says that farmers are like teachers: We don’t do what we do for praise. We do it because we love giving to our communities.”

My dad used to say the same thing. I felt instantly taller listening to Sam and fought the urge to put an encouraging hand on his back.

“We actually have a lot of support here,” I added. “So much, in fact, that lots of families travel from over an hour away just to get their tree from our farm. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

He gave a short nod.

Leo appeared out of nowhere, a skill he inherited from Nona. “The Holts have three different species of pine trees on their farm, too!”

I patted his unruly hair and smiled.

“Is that so?” Mr. Bailey put both of his hands behind his back and then his eyes dropped to the green sweater around my waist.

Uh-oh.

“James, isn’t that—”

“My sweater?” James stepped forward. “Yes, it is.”

Sam bristled.

Mr. Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Care to explain why Ms. Mancini is wearing it around her waist?”

“No, I do not.” James smiled with all teeth.

And neither do I, thank you.

But my brother hated unanswered questions. Before I could stop him, he lifted the sweater and gasped. “Oh, G. You ripped your pants?”

Diversion. Need a diversion stat.

Fire alarm?

It does smell a bit like smoke in here.

Most certainly from the countless people who came from homes with wood-burning fireplaces, but what the Baileys didn’t know wouldn’t kill them.

I laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, buddy, I sure did. But enough of that. Let’s go ahead and start this tour, shall we?”

“Here.” Sam unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it before holding it out to me. “Why don’t you use this instead so James can have his sweater back?”

“It’s no problem.” James pushed Sam’s jacket back. “Green goes with her eyes better.”