Just Add Mistletoe: Christmas in Gingerbread, Colorado Read online

  All of those memories of picking Missy up from the library, meeting her there to sift through the stacks come rushing back. Missy has been a bookworm for as long as I have known her. One year, Nick asked what she wanted from him for Christmas, and she said books—young adult mysteries, I believe were the order of the day. So I’m not surprised in the least Missy believes that books are still the best gift going. My lips curl to the side at the thought.

  “What better gift to give than books, indeed,” I say as I hold the heavy glass door open for her. Missy strides right in, and I take a moment to enjoy the vanilla sweetness she leaves in her wake.

  Peabody’s Bookstore has been a staple in Gingerbread far longer than I have—than either of us has been. Inside, the thick scent of paperbacks takes me back to a simpler time, a time when I didn’t have to worry about sales reports, deals falling through, or trying to upsell a building that should have been condemned to begin with. I give a sigh of relief as I take a look around the colorful establishment. Rows and rows of shiny new books abound in every direction, each one just waiting to find its reader. The display in the center of the store is a Christmas tree comprised solely of books that stretches to the ceiling. It’s an architectural feat on a micro level, and judging by the wonder on Missy’s face, I can tell she’d love a tree just like this one in her own home. Now that’s something I’d love to make happen for her someday.

  “Don’t you just love it here? I mean, who wouldn’t love to run wild in this place and scoop up all the delicious books they can carry? Reading isn’t only good for the mind, it settles your spirit in a way like nothing else can. How else could you possibly travel the world, travel time, live a thousand lives—all without leaving the comfort of your home? My perfect day consists of eating and reading next to a cozy fire. Can you imagine if that’s all there was to do in life?” She groans as if she yearns for that day with everything in her. “And no matter how old I get, I still have a place in my heart for picture books.” She pulls me in by the arm and squeals as she leads us to the children’s section—rife with holiday pop-ups, board books, chapter books with cartoon covers, and a rainbow painted bright over the wall. “Since I’m a bookworm by nature, I figure it’s never too early to get a kid reading.”

  “I do love it here,” I say, thumping a book called Oodles of Purple Noodles. It sounds like something I would have loved as a kid—especially if I happened to be stuck in the hospital. Missy has a heart of solid gold, and as much as it warms me, it makes me proud to see her as the generous woman she’s grown up to be. “And I couldn’t agree more. I’m a bookworm by nature, too.”

  “No, you’re not.” She looks up at me, disbelieving. “You’re forgetting we have a long, and dare I say, annoying history together. I know you too well to believe you.” Missy starts right in on snapping up book after book.

  “I’m not kidding. Reading’s been a hobby of mine for as long as I can remember. My mother got me started by bringing me right here to this very bookstore. I don’t think I’d be who I am today without spending copious amounts of time combing the aisles of Peabody’s.”

  Missy stops short and frowns over at me, her left brow hiked up on one side. “You wouldn’t be who you are today?” she tosses my own words back at me with her mouth agape. “So the moral of this cautionary tale is that I should probably put these books back.”

  I bark out a laugh. “What’s so bad about me? You’re not afraid of a little success, are you?”

  “Are you kidding?” Her eyes grow twice their size, and my stomach squeezes tight. Missy is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. My heart starts hammering, my adrenaline races through my veins, and I want nothing more than to kiss her right here in the middle of a display that expounds the differences of elves and trolls. And speaking of kisses, those soulful exchanges that happened last night are quickly becoming the elephant in the room. I’d love to bring it up, but for the life of me I can’t figure out how.

  Missy hands me the stack of books in her arms, and I marvel at their heft a moment. This seemingly innocent pile easily weighs twenty pounds.

  “Graham, let me be the first to tell you that you didn’t have a little success.” She shakes her head my way. “You are living the dream. You left Gingerbread and hit the jackpot in New York City of all places. I’m surprised they haven’t done a write-up of you in the paper.”

  I wince a moment before confessing, “They may have called, and I may have forgotten to get back to them.”

  “Ah-ha!” She arches a brow. “Well, at least you’re hard to get in some capacity.” She speeds past me as she snaps up picture book after picture book.

  “Whoa.” I take off, struggling to catch up with her. “Was that a dig at my friendly nature?” My chest bounces with a silent chuckle. “You would be right, though. I haven’t exactly played the part of recluse for the last few years.” A move I’m quickly regretting. I’m pretty sure it’s the last thing Missy is looking for, someone with a long history with just about everybody. I know I wouldn’t want that for her. My heart thuds hard in my chest because it’s becoming increasingly clear that I do want something with her.

  She twists those pretty little lips in a bow while kneeling to pick up a stack of felt covered books with the title The Christmas Puppy and His Magic Bone.

  “Hey, at least you’re honest.” She pops right back up and drops another load into my arms. “And speaking of honest.” Any trace of a smile glides right off her face, and her lips do that quivering thing. My stomach spikes with heat at the sight because I’m terrified she’s about to cry. A part of me is wondering if this is when she’ll bring up last night. If I’ve done anything to hurt her, I don’t think I could forgive myself. “Sabrina doesn’t quite know you’re over, does she?”

  My eyes close a moment. As relieved as I am that it’s just Sabrina she’s worried about in truth, I’m a bit worried about that situation myself. “I don’t think a skywriter could properly convey the message. But I’ll do my best to make it clear.”

  Missy groans and shakes her head furtively. “Whatever you do, you have to leave me out of it. That woman has a vengeance out for me like no other.” Her mouth opens and closes as if she chose to cut loose whatever else was about to bubble from it. “Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about Sabrina.” She cranes her neck over at the children’s book section one last time and gasps before speeding over to the table in the center of the room. “The Night Before Christmas!” She wraps her arms around the hardback, cradling it close to her chest, and I can’t help but envy the book right about now. “Oh, I love this story so much! My mom and dad used to read it to us on Christmas Eve before we went to bed. I’ll have to get a few of these for sure. It’s the best Christmas book ever!” She hesitates a moment. “Would it be weird if I bought one for myself?” Missy thumbs through the book quickly, moaning and cooing with every turn of the page.

  “That part wouldn’t be weird, but if you made those noises each time you read it, your neighbors might think you’re strange. On second thought, your neighbor already knows that about you.” I give a slight wink. “Get the book. We can read it to Noel on Christmas Eve.”

  Her features soften as she looks to me with those watery lilac eyes. “Really? That’s so—sweet.” She shakes her head as if it were an impossibility.

  “Yes, really. I think Noel needs some quality time with both her parents.”

  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—a cat—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 s
cream the word no at 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.

  Making Merry

  Missy

  “Christmas is in seven days,” I lament to Holly as we put together enough sugar cookie trays to feed a small island nation. “SEVEN DAYS!” I howl at the top of my lungs as everyone in the bustling bakery stops cold for less than a second. Every single employee in the shop is wearing the requisite Santa hat with cute little jingle bells attached to the pompom on the end. It’s adorable for about ten minutes, but after wearing the earsplitting chime for the better half of eight hours, you begin to hear it in your sleep. I may have attempted to snip them off, but Holly warned me my fingers would be next. She thinks they add that extra layer of holiday cheer. She might be right, but our sanity hangs in the bounds. Cheerful in December—incarcerated in January.

  The bakery is beyond busy, with an output of at least thirty gingerbread houses a day. Thirty. You would think the closer we got to the big day, the demand for homes built from molasses would dwindle, but that’s not the case. The demand actually continues to rise on a steady basis right up until Christmas Eve. Jingle jingle!

  “Oh, stop it, Missy,” Holly hisses as she wraps the oversized platters with cellophane. It’s the annual sugar cookie decorating contest at the Boys and Girls Club, and each year Holly and I graciously supply all the undecorated sugar cookies they can handle. Of course, we supply the icing, the non-perils, the sprinkles—which I still like to call jimmies once in a while, the spicy red dots, the chocolate chips, and every conceivable cookie accouterment known to man so that the kids will have the arsenal they need to turn the Boys and Girls Club into an annual mess. But a cheery mess no less.

  Jenna comes in and starts lifting the trays right out of Holly’s arms. “I’ll get these delivered as soon as you girls button them up.”

  “Thanks!” I call out, trying desperately not to pass out in a pile of golden brown snowmen.

  “So?” Holly shrugs with that awkward look on her face she gets when she’s about to say something salacious. “How are things going with Graham? Anything exciting and X-rated I should know about?”

  I can’t help but avert my eyes to the ceiling. Holly might be my best friend, but she is also my sister. I have no intent on sharing anything salacious with her ever.

  “Holly!” I toss a broken reindeer her way. We have a long-standing tradition of hanging onto the cookies that didn’t quite make the cut and feasting on them ourselves—or using them as weaponry as evidenced by my wise decision to do so. “There’s absolutely nothing X-rated about the two of us.” I give a sly glance around in the event anyone is within earshot. News travels fast in Gingerbread, and I’ll be the last person to fuel the gossip train. “We kissed.” That’s about as much as I would ever share with Holly. Kisses are practically chaste in nature, but my cheeks heat ten degrees because there was nothing chaste about those kisses.

  “What?” Holly squawks so loud Jenna bolts back in with a look of alarm.

  “Never mind her.” I shake my head at my clearly over-excitable sister. “Jenna? Can you man the counter? I’ll finish loading the van. I think I just heard a customer come in.”

  “Sure thing.” She takes off, and it’s just Holly and me once again—with me glaring at my sister.

  “It was nothing.” I bite down over my bottom lip so hard I’m about to squirt blood.

  “Nothing?” She laughs as she says it, her voice still hitting its upper register. Holly has always had the ability to see right through me—something I continually find annoying on every level. There are some things I’d like to keep to myself—case in point, Graham.

&nb
sp; “Okay, it was everything, but don’t you dare say I told you so.” It was everything. It felt like the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders to admit it. Kissing Graham was like finally being able to exhale after a lifetime of holding my breath.

  “Why wouldn’t I say I told you so? Clearly I was right.” She wraps another tray before sliding the entire project to her left. “Now, tell me every dirty little detail.”

  “There are no dirty details. The first time we kissed was at the tree lot. Sort of,” I mumble out that last part. Technically, I kissed him—on the cheek. But in all fairness, it led to that very reciprocated kiss we shared in my living room after putting up my tree. That kiss outshined the star we eventually set on the highest bough.

  “Aw!” she moans as if Noel just scampered into the room. That’s pretty much the requisite reaction whenever anyone meets my pretty little pooch. She’s so stinking adorable, I keep a picture of her in the office so I won’t miss her that badly when I’m stuck at work. But oddly enough, I only seem to miss her more when I see it. “Did Nick hold up the mistletoe above your heads and take a picture? I’m betting he loved seeing his best friend hook up with his little sister.”

  “Oh, stop.” Speaking of stopping, my heart gives an abnormal thud at the thought of my brother witnessing the event. “He doesn’t know, and we’re not going to tell him. We like our brother among the living, remember? Honestly, I think it’d kill him.” I know it would. Nick has always been ultra protective of Holly and me. I’m still not quite sure how Tom got away with marrying my sister. I thought for sure Nick was going to take him out long before the nuptials. Nick just wants the best for us, and according to Nick, the “best” doesn’t quite exist in nature.