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“Don’t forget to grab a ticket for the door prizes, Bran.”
I look to the left to see Hoyt standing with a roll of tickets in his hand. He tears one off and hands it to me and drops its twin into a large black bucket.
“Thank you.”
“Good luck,” he calls out as I make my way deeper into the space.
A dance floor rests at the edge of the gazebo, which holds a podium and microphone. Tables are draped in white cloth with illuminated lanterns in the center, flowers and greenery sprinkled around them. A buffet is set up in front of the stone fountain to the right. The high-vaulted glass ceiling above twinkles with string lighting.
I make my way over to the beverage cart beside the buffet and order myself a whiskey cocktail, and then I head into the crowd in search of Keller and Sammy.
I spot Willa and Norah across the dance floor, talking to the mayor’s wife while sipping from flutes of champagne.
“Wow, ladies. It should be illegal to look that good,” I say to the three of them as I approach.
“You clean up pretty well yourself there, Prince,” Norah offers.
I do a spin in my spiffy tuxedo, which I rented from Lydia’s shop.
“Very nice,” Norah says.
“This place turned out insane, Willa.”
“I agree; it’s extraordinary It’s just what the town needed,” Hoyt says as he joins us and wraps an arm around his stunning wife.
“It wasn’t me. It was all because of Hannah,” Willa says.
“That’s what we really need here in Lake Mistletoe,” Norah says.
“What?” I ask.
“Our very own Hannah.”
I don’t respond. I just drain my glass.
“You really love her, don’t you?” Norah asks me.
“Pretty much since the moment I laid eyes on her through that window,” I admit, “but she’d never leave her big-time job in Vegas to move here.”
“Did you ask her to?” Willa asks.
“No. I couldn’t ask that of her. Besides, this town would never have enough business to make it worth her while.”
“Maybe we have more to offer her than just a job,” Norah says.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Hannah standing there, looking like an angel in a green dress.
“Can I help you?” I ask her.
“Maybe. Do you dance?”
“Not very well,” I say.
“Why does every man say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“How about you pretend to spin me around the dance floor and just listen?” she suggests.
