Page 27 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

The room started buzzing with panicked voices.

Thirty days till everything changed for Mullings Creek.

And barely two weeks after that, I’d be leaving them all alone to deal with it?

I don’t think so, Scrooge.

“No,” I said, louder than I meant to, silencing the chatter. I handed Jo my cider and faced my town and my family. “He gave us a timeline for saving it.”

Chapter Eight

“This is my house. I have to defend it.”

—Home Alone

The next day, Mom asked me to drop off some Linzer tarts to the Baileys, who were now staying at Aunt Sofia’s B&B. Nona had apparently asked her to do it first, but she was in the middle of a commissioned piece she didn’t want to stop working on quite yet. When Mom had her “creative head” on, she was a force to be reckoned with, skipping meals and sleep until she was “done.” I knew better than to ask her to hit pause.

So, after our traditional Sunday brunch at Aunt Helen’s, I swung by Nona’s for the cookies before taking the long walk to the B&B. Riding my bike would’ve saved me several minutes, but I loved walking toward Aunt Sofia’s this time of year. The sun burned deep orange on the treetops, making their long shadows stretch across the sidewalks and streets.

Hal and his son Darryl were busy hanging new wreaths over their storefront windows as Sandy sat nearby with a candy-cane-shaped toy in her mouth, supervising. Mr. Phillips waved to me as he flipped over his sign to Closed at Chordcrafters, and a block down, Ann rolled her garland-covered carts of discounted books back inside while her Bengal cat Scout wove in between her ankles. Most of them would meet up for a cup of coffee to unwind at Eve’s before heading home, and then wake up and do the same thing the next day.

Once upon a time, I thought a life like that would be boring in its predictability, but after Mr. Bailey came to town and ripped the sleds out from under us, sending us spiraling down a hill toward a finish line we couldn’t see, predictability was all anyone could cling to.

Like me and my Christmas movies.

As I rounded the corner of Mistletoe Lane and Elm Street, Aunt Sofia’s sweet soprano drifted down the walk. In a wide-legged green jumpsuit with a ruffled red-and-gold-plaid top, she rocked back and forth in one of her old porch chairs, crocheting something and singing “That’s Christmas to Me.”

I smiled and lifted my hand to brush one of the white Christmas ball lights hanging from a tall oak in the front yard.

“Gianna!” Aunt Sofia waved before setting down her hook and yarn to hurry down the front steps. “How was brunch? I hated missing it.”

“It was good until Marco accused Nico of using his toothpaste again—”

“Oh boy…”

“And then Nico accidentally let slip that he uses Marco’s towel, too, because his was always ‘so much softer.’ ” I shook my head and cringed. “Marco almost gagged, and then the two of them started throwing food until Aunt Helen made them take it outside. They’re probably still out there rolling around in the dead leaves.”

Aunt Sofia put her arm around me. “To this day I don’t know how my sister-in-law didn’t need therapy while raising her three boys.”

Same.

As we walked up the steps to the front door of the B&B, I pointed to the red yarn on the rocking chair. “What are you working on?”

“Oh!” She held up something resembling a wonky beanie with weird vine-like things coming out. “It’s a new hat for Sandy, since she ate my last one. Isn’t it cute?” She flicked the vines. “I made antlers!”

God bless that poor dog.

I gave her my best fake smile. “I’m sure Sandy will love it.”

For about two seconds.

She opened the front door. “Did I ever tell you about the time we went skinny-dipping with Bruce Springsteen in Goose Creek back in eighty-one?”

I stopped. “You knew Bruce Springsteen? Like, the musician?”

“No, silly. The captain of the Mullings Creek High mathletes.” Aunt Sofia laughed and waved a hand at me. “But he and everyone else knew to swim in that creek on account of the eels. Good for the skin. Everyone knows that, Gianna.”

“Right.” How silly of me to forget.