Page 62 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“My dads said the same thing.” Jo helped me drape the final cloth on the table before we moved over to everyone’s entries, and my phone pinged with an email alert.

Crap.

I didn’t have to open up the notification from Adventure Italy Academy to know what it was about.

“You good?” Jo asked as she and I took the different sides of one entry and carefully moved it over to a contest table.

“Yeah, just got an email from AIA.” I took the nameplate of the entry and flipped it around so the judges wouldn’t see. “A reminder to sign the commitment agreement before December twentieth.”

Not that I needed it.

No matter how busy I stayed, that deadline was always on a loop in my brain.

Jo and I grabbed another entry that looked like Santa’s work-shop. “Why haven’t you signed it yet?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Don’t put off your dreams because of what’s happening here, G.” She made a face. “This is the chance of a lifetime. You deserve this.”

“I know. I just don’t know that I’ll really be able to celebrate it if The Market goes under.” Which is why I can’t let it.

Once all the entries, including our Market-themed structure and the Baileys’ cathedral, were in place to be judged by the Mullings Creek Town Council, Sam pulled up in his father’s cherry-red vintage 1952 Chevy truck. The driver and passenger doors had their Holt Christmas Tree Farm logo, and a fresh wreath hung on the front grille. As his family, including Gram, piled out, my throat grew thick while I watched Sam offer his arm to Gram. Family and tradition were everything to him. To them.

The Holts loved helping out this town, watching it flourish.

I knew Jo was still semi-optimistic, but what if the new store in place of The Market took away some of their business or made it harder for them to sell their stock?

I couldn’t let that happen.

No sooner had they entered The Market than the music from our local band Restless Dad Syndrome began their set. Normally, this group of retired dads played covers of classic rock favorites, but today and over the next few weeks, they’d be heard around town doing only seasonal hits.

Jo hurried off to the stage where she would, no doubt, dance till they took a break. She didn’t need a partner, but that never stopped her from grabbing anyone standing nearby. As I backed up a bit to avoid being her next victim, I bumped into someone, earning a loud grunt and a pair of large hands grabbing on to my elbows to keep me from falling.

“I’m sorry!” I whirled around and came face-to-face with Sam and Gram.

“No apologies needed, honey,” Gram said. Her eyes dropped to Sam’s hands, still holding on to my arms.

He dropped them the same time I took a big step back.

Gram winked, and I looked for the nearest exit or sinkhole to disappear into. “Sam’s gotten so strong that nothing takes him down anymore, right, Sam?” she asked.

He kept eye contact with me for a beat longer than I expected before looking at Gram and saying “right.”

“I think I’ll go find Silvia.” Gram patted her grandson’s cheek. “Why don’t you just ask the girl to dance already before someone else does, hon.”

Oh, sweet Lord.

And with a knowing grin, she scurried away before either of us could remind her that Sam didn’t dance.

Or that I was already dating someone.

Sort of.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “She spends far too much time with your Nona.”

You can say that again.

He smoothed down the front of his Home Alone sweater and then motioned toward the dance floor. “Um, did you maybe want to—”