Page 1 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

Chapter One

Sam Griffin sprawled out on the couch with the remote in his hand, watching Young Sheldon after scrolling through all his streaming services and finding nothing that caught his eye. On a normal Friday night, he’d either be working or heading to the Wolf’s Den or Brews and Chews for a drink, but tonight he’d taken his ten-year-old nephew, Jace, so his brother could have a date night with his pregnant wife, Merry. While Merry’s parents would have been happy to have their adopted grandson, Jace had requested a guys’ night with his favorite uncle.

Jace actually called Sam his original uncle, since he now had Merry’s brother, Nick, but tomato, tomahto.

Jace had crashed out an hour ago and was soundly sleeping in Sam’s room, and Sam was restless. Although he’d tried to get comfortable on the couch, he could not sleep. It wasn’t only the lumpy, secondhand cushions under his back keeping him awake, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially late at night in the quiet of his one-bedroom apartment.

Sam climbed off the couch, groaning at the pull in his back. Although he was in great shape, his body was starting to feel all of its thirty-seven years. Knees creaking. Back aching. As he shuffled to the kitchen, a picture of an elderly Sam, all alone with a cane in his hand, popped into his head, and he grimaced. How was he three years shy of forty? He could still remember being twenty-five, doing backflips into the river and not having a twinge the next day. How had his life flashed forward twelve years?

He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and quietly opened the high cupboard where he kept his good snacks when his nephew visited. Sam loved the boy dearly, but there was no way he was sharing his Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes with him. They were his guilty pleasure, a basic-bitch trend he could get behind, and they always ran out well before Christmas, so he made sure to stock up to get him through the holidays. No one touched these babies but him.

Sam returned to the couch with his milk and cake, placing the plastic wrapper between his teeth.

“Uncle Sam?” Jace’s voice called from behind him.

Sam froze, opening his hands and mouth carefully to drop the cake to the floor and away from the prying eyes of ten-year-old boys. “Yeah, pal?”

“Jilly G wants to talk to you.”

Sam twisted around, staring at his nephew for several moments before realization struck him like an eighteen-wheeler, and he asked slowly, “The . . . radio show host?”

Jace nodded, his expression wary.

Sam turned away briefly from the sheepish child to check the time before meeting the boy’s gaze again. “Why is there a radio show host on the phone wanting to talk to me at eleven at night?”

Jace’s eyes were enormous in his small face, but his voice came out steady. “I listen to her before bed, and she was doing a show about people who were alone, and I thought of you. So, I called in, and after I explained what was going on, she asked to talk to you.”

Sam wanted to sink into the couch with a groan. “Who introduced you to the radio?”

“Dad. He always listens to it when he can’t sleep.”

Sam climbed to his feet and came around to take the cell phone from Jace. “I’m going to kick your dad’s”—Sam caught himself before he owed Jace two dollars to the swear jar—“butt.”

“Why?” Jace asked.

Sam covered the receiver. “For buying you a cell phone,” he whispered. Sam heard a woman’s voice calling his name, and he put the cell to his ear, scowling. “This is Sam.”

“Hi, Sam. This is Jilly G at 103.2 FM. How are you tonight?” Her tone was sweet and soothing, almost distracting him from the fact that his nephew had called up the local radio station for Mistletoe, Idaho. Her tone would have relaxed him, except he remembered that even now he was live on the air, and people he saw every day were listening.

“You know, Jilly, I was doing great until this moment, so maybe we can cut to the chase?” Jace jumped up onto the couch, watching Sam, and he pointed at his nephew and mouthed, You’re in big trouble.

Jace didn’t seem disturbed.

“Well, Jace called in very concerned about you. He said you’ve been spending all your time alone, that you haven’t had a girlfriend in years, and you’ve been binging sweets in front of the TV like Homer Simpson.”

Sam’s gaze skirted to the floor where he’d dropped his tree cake and grimaced. “My nephew doesn’t know who Homer Simpson is, so I know he didn’t say that.”

“No, I inferred it from his description.”

“I look nothing like Homer Simpson!”

“Of course not, Sam,” she crooned gently. “He’s a cartoon character.”

“I mean,” Sam ground out between his gritted teeth, “I’m not an overweight sad sack, eating in front of the TV! I like an occasional treat, and I’m fine being single. In fact, I prefer it that way. I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s plans or feelings—”

“You sound like a very . . . self-reliant and isolated person.” Sam’s jaw dropped at the dig, and before he could respond, she chirped, “Oh, we have a caller. Hang on, Sam. I’m going to loop in Molly in the Mountains.”

“No, don’t loop in—”