The cat—now affectionately named Reba because of the way she bellows at the top of her lungs to country music—looks grumpy.
I look tired.
It’ll do.
I hit SAVE.
The app flashes:“Your profile is live.”
Well.
Guess we’re doing this.
three
. . .
Bristol
I slidethe stack of books across the counter. “Here you go, Tessa. I’m loving the assortment—romance and a little mystery. One that screams ‘I’m secretly looking for inspiration.’”
She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You mean the one with the scandalous cover?”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Exactly. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice the age gap between the hero and heroine. Classic forbidden-romance trope.”
Tessa grins. “You’re ridiculous. But yes, a little taboo. Not that I would knowanythingabout that.”
I lean forward on my elbows, conspiratorial. “Uh-huh. Because nothing says "small-town coming home romance”’ like being back for a project and accidentally living out your own romantic cliché. Older guy, charming, slightly mysterious, authority figure…classic.”
She rolls her eyes, laughing. “I didn’t come back to film a romance story, Bristol. I came for work, remember?”
“Sure,” I say, tapping the edge of a book. “The whole town already knows you’re staying because of a certain Chief of Police.” I wiggle my brows.
It’s the truth. Mistletoe Bay has been buzzing since Tessa Pope came back to town. And as a romance aficionado, I can’t help but notice the parallels between her story and my favorite books. The woman is literally living a romance novel. The only thing missing is the over-the-top proposal sealing their happily ever after. My hopelessly optimistic heart is willing to bet that Nathan Hale proposes by Christmas Eve.
If only I could have that kind of optimism and ambition when it comes to my own love life.
“Can you blame me? You’ve seen the man.” Tessa doesn’t even bother to hide her blush.
Tessa tucks the books against her chest. “Alright. I’ll let you get back to running the most festive library on the coast.”
“Festive is one word for it,” I say, glancing at the half-finished Christmas display behind me that still smells faintly of glitter glue and pine needles. “Borderline hazardous is another.”
She laughs. “I’ll see you later, Bristol.”
“Bye, Tessa.” I wave as she pushes through the glass doors, the cold December air rushing in behind her. The bells above the frame jingle cheerfully, and then she’s gone.
The moment the door closes, the library settles into that cozy hush I love. The faint sound of someone rustling pages among the bookshelves and the gentle twinkle of the string lights we put up last week really adds to the whole vibe.
I exhale, leaning back against the counter.
And then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, expecting a text from my friend Harrison, goat farmer extraordinaire. Who also happened to still be madly in love with his old high school flame and co-owner of Winterberry Tree Farm, Jeremy Price.
Instead, the notification at the top of the screen has me sucking in a breath in shock.
It’s a match!
