“I refuse to apologize for her,” Marshall joked. “She shall rule the world, and I just hope I’m around to see it.”
“I hope I am, too,” Gracie agreed, blowing a kiss for luck to Benny.
Olivia guided them to some temporary benches at the rink’s edge, right beneath a giant cluster of lights and hanging candy canes. She’d used scarves and gloves to save three seats.
“Right here, you guys! You can see everything!” she called proudly.
“Perfect,” Gracie agreed—and realized just how perfect when she noticed the giant mistletoe hanging above them. A few sections down, she spotted her mom with Cindy, Jack, Nicole, and Cameron.
Catching Nicole’s eye, they waved to each other. Then her cousin gave a completely not subtle thumbs-up, then pointed over Gracie’s head and mouthed, “Mistletoe!”
Maybe she mouthed it. Maybe she yelled it. The blood was rushing too noisily in Gracie’s head when she turned to Marshall who, of course, saw the whole thing.
“Friend of yours?” he joked.
“My cousin. And mom. And aunt, uncle, future cousin-in-law, and…yeah. My clan.”
He peered over her shoulder and gave a friendly wave. “Of course. I met them all last year. Want to go sit with them?”
She let out a sigh, sensing that he didn’t want to move or make this a social event. “I like it here.”
“Same.” He put a light hand under her chin, guiding her face up so she had to look at what hung over their heads. “There’s an old Christmas tradition about…mistletoe.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I think I know it.”
They stood there, face to face, the crowd and noise and snow fading into the background as they looked into each other’s eyes. Gracie could feel his warmth through his coat, could smell the faint hint of his cologne.
“Can I watch from the railing?” Olivia called from somewhere behind Gracie. “Please, Dad? I want to be close!”
“Don’t go too far,” he replied, barely taking his gaze from Gracie.
She and Kat took off down the aisle, and then it was just the two of them—under the mistletoe, in the glow of the Christmas lights, the air alive with music and laughter and the sweetest tension.
“This night’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“It could be if…”
“If we follow…tradition.” She pointed up, feeling her expression soften as if to give him the permission she could see him silently asking for.
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to move away if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Not even close. The world faded to nothing but the warm curve of his mouth, the snowflakes clinging to his lashes, the faint sound of carols and bells in the distance.
When his lips brushed hers, everything disappeared—no noise, no nerves, no worries. Just him. Just them.
The kiss was slow and tender and wonderful.
When they finally eased back, her cheeks were warm, her eyes still closed. “Wow,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Wow.”
“Wow!” A sharp hand jabbed so hard at the back of Gracie’s shoulder, she actually stumbled closer to Marshall.
Turning, she met the highly amused gaze of Eleanor Locke, who clutched a clipboard and wore a fur hat.
“Would you look at you two!”
Marshall gave an uncomfortable laugh, but Gracie felt way too much blood rush to her face, suddenly aware that Eleanor knew?—
“I guess the scheming, matchmaking, and deal-brokering worked.”
