Page 22 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the front door with the stack of plates in hand, imagining how they were all speculating about his relationship with Wren. Even he could admit that if anyone had been watching them the other day when they stood on the sidewalk outside of Kiss My Donut talking, they would probably assume she was questioning him about something. While he hadn’t been in legal trouble since he was a teen, Sam didn’t make a habit of hanging with cops. Partly because the ones he’d met on the Mistletoe force were just this side of douchey.

He climbed into the car and started it up, thinking about Wren walking down the hall of their high school the first time he’d noticed her, wearing a pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips as she swayed by. The square neckline of the black tank top she’d worn showed off a deep V of cleavage, and he remembered thinking she had to be at least a D cup. She was cursing down the hallway with a female teacher walking behind her, speaking in a low, calm manner that did nothing to stop Wren’s ranting.

Why am I getting dress coded when half the girls in school are wearing the same thing or worse? Just because I have bigger tits—

Miss Little, there is no need to be vulgar.

No, screw that. You’re enforcing an oppressive dress code that punishes women for being tall, curvy, or stacked. You need to ask yourself, Mrs. Pillier, who are you protecting?

As she’d passed by him, Sam couldn’t help giving her a once-over, and she’d returned his perusal with a middle finger.

Take a picture, perv.

Not another word, Miss Little, or we’ll call your father.

Sam took the long driveway out to the main road and turned left toward town, lost in his memories. He’d spent the last week of his junior year asking about Wren, balking slightly when he found out her dad was a cop. Was the tough-girl thing all an act to piss off Daddy?

He’d spotted her that Friday, sitting on top of a street bike parked next to his rebuilt chopper.

I heard you’ve been asking about me.

What can I say? Sam had stopped alongside her, crossing his arms over his chest. You made an impression.

She’d swung her leg over and faced him, her band T-shirt stretched across her impressive chest. Me? Or my body?

Are you going to slap me if I say both?

Wren flashed a grin. Maybe. I guess you’ll have to take your chances and find out.

That was all it took for him to ask Wren Little out, and for the next year, he’d realized that she was more than just the girl who fought the dress code on a weekly basis. She was a complex person who would organize a food drive in the morning and drag him under the bleachers during seventh period. She was as sweet as honey with a fire that could scorch everything around her. The closer Sam got to her, the harder he fell.

When his senior year ended, Sam knew he wanted a fresh start, and he begged her to come with him. She was a month shy of seventeen, and even though she had a year of high school left, he tried to convince her to get her GED and leave everything behind. It was a stupid plan, but he was willing to take on her dad and any legal hassles Sheriff Little threw his way if it meant keeping Wren in his life.

Sam could still remember his body shaking as he stood under the old pine at the Welcome to Mistletoe sign, away from the prying eyes of people driving past. Wren stood quietly, listening to his plan with silent consideration until he finished.

Sam, if I go with you, it will ruin your future. He’ll make sure whatever you’re charged with sticks. I can’t have that on my conscience. Staying together isn’t worth the price.

Those words shattered something inside him, and he’d taken off on his bike before she saw him cry. He’d left a few days later, but by that time, he no longer believed that she was as resolved as she pretended to be about their separation. He ended up hiding a note for her in their spot. He’d told her that he’d be back in a year, right after her eighteenth birthday, and if she wanted to leave with him then, there was nothing her father could do.

Sam had kept his promise and came back, but she hadn’t been here. She’d already left for college in Arizona. There was no goodbye note in their tree. Not a phone call or explanation. He’d realized that what he’d built up in his head as this epic love was just infatuation on her part. She’d moved on with her life without him. So, he’d returned to Oregon, determined to put Wren in his rearview.

Until he lost his savings, and Sam decided to join his brother and nephew back in Mistletoe to start over.

And now Sam and Wren were in the same space again. Was it a second chance for the two of them to, at the very least, have closure?

The police station was at the edge of town, just to the right after the stop sign, and Sam passed by the gated parking lot with an Employees Only sign. Sam took one of the parking spots out front of the station and jogged around to the other side to gather up the plates. His heart pounded a rapid tempo as he drew closer to the front door, wishing he wasn’t so nervous. He carried the plates inside to the police station steps and into the front lobby, where an old guy with glasses hung out behind the reception desk, reading a John Grisham novel. George Willers set his novel down, plastering a welcoming smile over his face when he recognized Sam.

“What can I do for you, Sam?” George asked. He’d been the head of the Agricultural department at the high school when Sam was a student, and while he hadn’t been a part of Future Farmers of America, Sam had loved the welding program the FFA offered.

“I just got some food here for you and the crew,” Sam said, holding up the stack of plates, “if you’re up for it.”

“Well, that’s mighty nice of you. Let me buzz you in,” George said, pressing something under his desk and then climbing to his feet slowly. Sam thought he could hear the old man’s bones creaking and grinding with every step.

“It’s actually from the Winters,” Sam said when George finally opened the door, letting Sam pass through.

“Please give Victoria and Chris my best and thank them.” George waved to a counter on the side of the room with a coffeepot, fridge, and microwave. “You can set them there.”

Sam did as George asked, glancing around the back, but all the desks were empty. “Anyone else here with you?”