Her lips twitch because she knows it’s coming.
“That way”—I start slowly, trying my best to hold back the urge to laugh—“come Christmas morning, she can decide who she wants to live with. You, the woman who dressed her in a Christmas sweater featuring her archenemy—acat—or me, the man with a soothing voice who read her the best Christmas book ever.”
She swats me over the arm before adding to the stack I’m holding.
“She’ll choose me,” Missy says, leading us to the counter out front. “I’m the only soothing voice she’s used to. The way you scream the wordnoat her all day, I bet she thinks that’s her name.”
“It’s partially her name. And I can’t help it. She’s tearing up my rental. I’m pretty sure I owe the Spitzers a new wool rug in the living room.”
Missy groans as we head to the cashier, and she pulls out her wallet with the deft and ease of a magician.
“Oh no, you don’t.” I set the small mountain of books down before whipping out my own wallet. “This one’s on me. You’re not the only do-gooder around here.”
“Graham! No, please don’t. You’re going to think that’s the only reason I dragged you in here.” She lifts her credit card to the cashier, and I gently land mine over hers.
“How about this? You let me get the books, and I’ll let you get the pizza.”
Her lips twist to the side, and I can’t help but wish I could taste them one more time.
“Fair enough.”
We ante up and lug our load back to Main Street where a sprinkling of snow falls to earth, soft as powdered sugar.
Missy lifts a hand in the air and laughs as her dark curls become dotted with snowflakes. That sight alone takes my breath away.
Missy and I make a mad dash down the street and toss the books into my truck before heading across the street toward Angelino’s.
“This way!” Missy takes up my hand, and instead of leading us to the left and into the safe harbor of the establishment that holds the scent of garlic—and is it ever heavenly—we head right, straight toward the fifty-foot pine at the end of Main Street.
Gingerbread adopted the overgrown evergreen about forty years ago as its official Christmas tree, and each year it’s strung with lights and oversized ornaments in every size and color. This year is no exception. It’s so gray and dark out, regardless of the fact it’s merely afternoon, its brilliant white lights glow like a thousand fallen stars. It is most definitely a breathtaking sight, but the tree has nothing on Missy Winters.
My heart wallops in my chest like a shotgun as we duck behind its thick protective branches. Life may be bustling on the other side of this enormous jolly tree, but you would never know it. For all practical purposes, it’s just Missy and me, alone in this frozen magical world, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
She flashes a quick smile, but her cheeks burn bright as Rudolph’s nose as if she were blushing. “I take a selfie in front of the tree every year, and I thought this year maybe you could join me?”
“By all means, Sprig, let’s get ’er done.” I lean in as she snaps a few pictures, and I toss two of my fingers up over the back of her head.
“Graham Holiday!” She tries to sucker punch me, and I take the opportunity to wrap her arms around me instead. My heart picks up like a jet engine preparing for takeoff, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I steal the moment to wrap my own arms around her as well. “You’re really something, you know that?” Her mouth falls open, and I’m half-expecting some quip about my ego, but she doesn’t give it.
“You’re really something,” I whisper. And as much as the old me demands to barb my words, say something caustic that might make her laugh, I can’t seem to do it. This isn’t the old us. This is the new us, a better version, one I can’t seem to stop thinking about. And then it hits me like a freight train in the dark.
I’m in love with Missy Winters.
“You know what?” I tip my head and come shy of winking.
“What?” she whispers, breathless, and I can feel her chest pulsating against mine like a jackrabbit ready to skip over a mountain.
“I think I see mistletoe.” My head inches toward hers ever so slightly. I can’t help it. I can’t seem to help anything about the attraction I feel toward her. It’s unavoidable. Missy is beautiful inside and out.
“Where?” She doesn’t take those violet eyes off mine.
“Right here.” My lips fall over hers, and we exchange a heartfelt kiss that says so much more than words could ever hope to. Missy and I move over one another with long, lingering kisses that electrify the ground we stand on, that send sparks flying straight up to heaven to that magical star that led the wise men to their destinies that holy night so long ago. This right here feels holy and right.
I’m back in Gingerbread, right where I belong, with the girl I’ve craved for the last five years.
I’m in love with Mistletoe Winters, and it feels like a relief to admit it to myself at last.
