“Okay, but just this once until after Christmas. I’ve got a million gingerbread houses on order.” It’s true. A million and one to be exact. People come as far as Denver to purchase a gingerbread house from Gingerbread. It’s as if the town name lends to the credibility of the delectable, sturdy, yet seldom noshed upon dessert.
“Great,” she trills just as Holly gifts her a large cup of coffee to go. “I’ll see you girls later. Holly, hold down the fort. Mistletoe Winters, comb your hair and slick some gloss on your lips. Rumor has it, you’re about to meet an out-of-towner with a dashing smile and a big fat wallet. At twenty-six, you’re not getting any younger.” She gives a little wave as she heads for the door. “Toodles!”
“Toodles,” Holly and I shoot back without the proper enthusiasm.
Holly smirks my way. “You think it’s a setup?”
“Are you kidding? When has our mother missed an opportunity not to set me up?”
I glance at myself in the mirrored wall behind my sister. My nose has a dot of flour on it, and my hair looks as if I’ve just jogged around the frozen lake at the end of town.
“That looks about right,” I mumble as I head for the door.
“Hey!” Holly calls after me. “Aren’t you going to comb your hair?”
“Mr. Right won’t care what I look like on the outside, Holly. It’ll be my quick wit and fudgies I snag him with!” I laugh as I hit the frozen tundra right outside the bakery.
Whoever is waiting for me at that realty office isn’t getting anywhere near my fudgies.
* * *
There isnothing like spending the holiday season in a cozy little town like Gingerbread. The clouds above are filled with their wintery wrath, and the snow on the ground sits fluffy and white, strewn across the entire expanse of Main Street as if someone set out a heavenly white blanket. The shops that line either side of the street are each festooned with wreaths swathed in large red bows. Garland and twinkle lights fill all the shop windows, and there is even a large life-sized Santa standing on the corner where tourists and locals alike stop to take a picture with the plastic man in the red suit. But the real magic happens at night. A couple of years ago, Mayor Todd had the expanse over all of Main Street laced with white lights, and it adds a fairy-tale appeal that makes our small town feel downright enchanting. It’s perfectly romantic, and I suppose that’s why the romantic in me has truly blossomed. This last year alone, I played an intricate part in pairing six different couples together.Six! That’s a record, even for me. Two of which are engaged. Molly and Richard have their wedding slated for June, and Tova and Mark have their sights set on Halloween night because they’re unconventional that way. I guess you can say I have an eye for all things heart-shaped, and I certainly am great at reading people. I pretty much know right off the bat who a person would be best suited with. And even though she’ll deny it to her dying day, it was me that paired Holly with Tom all those eons ago. I knew the second he said he was partial to Italian food, but not necessarily cheese, that only a person as equally as quirky could respond well to that. Case in point, Holly has a dairy allergy and yet loves pasta Bolognese. Match made in marinara heaven.
I pause a moment as I scowl at the window of the Knit Wit, the knitting shop that Samantha Holiday owns along with Caroline Lindy. Samantha is more or less a silent partner. It’s Caroline who operates as boots on the ground any given day. But neither Samantha nor Caroline is the reason I’m scowling at it. I can’t help it. Every time I look that way, it reminds me of anotherknit wit, Graham Holiday, Samantha’s son. Graham and my brother, Nick, were best friends growing up, and they spent a vast majority of the time tormenting my sister and me.Boys will be boys, my mother used to say. I try to shake all thoughts of Graham right out of my head.Think about someone too long and they’re liable to materialize right before you.That’s another thing my mother used to say.
I quickly come upon Mountain Realty at the end of the street and bustle my way through the egregiously heavy glass door. It’s a wonder they have customers at all with that unfriendly fifty-pound greeting. I give a casual wave to Debbie, the receptionist, who currently has the phone cradled to her cheek, her fingers busy gliding across her keyboard. The Mountain Realty office isn’t all that big, with just six micro offices set inside the tiny box-shaped building. But in its defense, the inside has recently been remodeled with slate gray vinyl flooring and a mirrored coffee table set in the entry. The scent of fresh paint still clings in the air, and everything about the marble desktops and oversized leather office chairs screams new, new,new! I stride by a few of the realtors’ offices—Jim, my mother’s mentor, whom I can tell is playing a video game on his laptop from the reflection upon the window behind him—something to do with a spacecraft. And there’s Gail Diamond, my mother’s only real competition in getting that coveted realtor of the year title. Mom told me so herself last week, and to hear her lay it all out, you can tell there is some bad blood brewing under this roof.
I hit the last office, my mother’s, and stop in my tracks when I spot a man with broad shoulders, a dark head of hair tilted down as he scrolls through his phone. My stomach does that totally adolescent roller coaster thing that I’ve grown to despise over the years. Where does my body get off commandeering my emotions without my permission? I never did think it was fair.
I clear my throat as I stride right past him and take a seat. Just as I’m about to welcome him to Mountain Realty—where dreams are only a sold sign away!—I stop cold. My muscles freeze solid, and I can’t seem to take my next breath.
“Oh, it’s just you.” I sag as I stare out at the Adonis before me. Yes, it’s true. Graham Holiday is every bit the ovary popping god who stepped down from Mount Olympus to dwell with us mortals. But he’s also my brother, Nick’s, lifelong best friend who just like my brother imposed enough sisterly torment my way I can’t help but glare at him a little. Graham may be gorgeous, but he full well knows it. That’s the worst trait by far in a human being if you ask me. Okay, so maybe it’s nottheworst, but it sure does head the top of the list.
His bright blue eyes widen with surprise, and that dimpled grin of his beams my way without hesitation.
“Mistletoe Winters.” He holds out his arms a moment, and just as easy as that smile glided over his face, it glides right back off. “Wow, you’ve really grown up.”
“Yes, well, a decade will do that to a person.”
His dimples press in, and just witnessing the sight gives my stomach that blissful free-fall feeling once again. I really do hate biology right about now.
“It hasn’t been a decade.” He frowns a moment as he scours my features. “You are beautiful,” he whispers, and my mouth falls open, incredulous as if my so-called beauty were the last thing he expected.
“Pardon me? I’m here as a professional, and I’m assuming you came seeking my mother’s services. I’m her temp, so I’ll have you treat me with a little more respect than you’re used to.”
“I just meant I hadn’t been in New York that long.” Graham has lived in New York City for what feels like an eternity, although I’ll be the last to admit it. He just so happens to be a high-powered realtor himself.
“So, what are you doing here?” I straighten the piles of paperwork over my mother’s desk just to keep my hands busy. My fingers have a panache to want to wrap themselves around Graham’s neck whenever possible. There is no one else on record who can push my buttons the way Graham used to. Well, maybe Sabrina. “Let me guess, you’re here to steal the Mountain Realty playbook in order to sharpen your game? Need a few hints from my mother, big boy? Manhattan real estate must be really rough.”
“Ha!” he barks out a laugh so loud the windows rattle. “I’m not here to steal any secrets, I promise. Maybe a few hearts.” He gives a little wink, and my insides flip-flop.
“Well, you’re not stealing this one. Trust me, I’m keeping the old ticker under lock and key. How long are you in town for?” My finger wraps itself around one of my ashen curls over and over like some biological reflex.
“Around a month.” He leans in, and the scent of his spiced cologne warms me. I can’t help but note how that deep navy jacket really sets off the cobalt color of his eyes. And how relaxed and outdoorsy he looks in those inky jeans and beat-up boots as if he’s trying to convince all of Gingerbread that he’s just one of us hardworking folk, not some high society, running in the big leagues city player. Nick has regaled me with one too manyyoushould see what Graham is doing nowstories. Little does good old Graham know that I’m on the inside track as far as his astronomical sales, the unbelievable models he’s mass dating, and let’s not forget the penthouse with a spectacular view of Central Park. I’ll admit, there was a spark of jealousy in me over his ritzy lifestyle a time or two.
“A month?” I balk. “It must be nice to have retired early. I don’t know too many people who can take an entire month off work and still keep a roof over their heads.”
A dark chuckle comes from him, and he looks that much more comely. Graham’s good looks have never played fair. “I’m here on business. Sort of. Tanner called a family meeting regarding Holiday Pies. I figured why not spend Christmas in Gingerbread. But I need to be on that next plane out day after Christmas. Duty calls, and it’s not in Gingerbread.”
