Just Add Mistletoe: Christmas in Gingerbread, Colorado Read online

  Graham glances down, his lips upturned at the idea. “Next year? I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too.”

  We call Noel over, and Graham picks her up while I struggle to get the three of us and our lopsided snowman all in the same frame. Eventually I do, and I take picture after picture to prove it.

  “You ready for that walk around the lake?” He lands a heated kiss to the top of my head, and that simple action makes me feel as if I were the most special girl in all the world.

  I shake my head as I look up at him from under my lashes. “My lips are a little cold. I was hoping maybe you could warm them.”

  His dimples ignite as he washes over me with those daring blue eyes. “I’ve got an idea, but it will take time.”

  “The best things always do.”

  Graham lands his mouth over mine, softly, deliberately—right here in the open, and it feels as if we’ve just crested into brand new territory. His arms fold around me as he holds me tight, and our kisses pick up pace as if the fate of the planet depended on this one perfect moment. Graham and I ignite a blaze right here in the snow, heating up the vicinity with the fire of a thousand suns.

  Deep down, I always knew that kissing Graham Holiday would be hotter than a kitchen fire. I just never figured that I would be lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that inferno. And boy am I ever glad all of the vengeful stars aligned this fateful December and landed this beautiful man in my arms, his mouth fused over mine. Graham and his singeing kisses are all I ever want for the rest of my life.

  What I feel for Graham burns brighter than any flame.

  If this is what it feels like to fall in love, then all I can say is burn, baby, burn.

  Graham

  Icicles line the branches of the evergreen boughs, the shadows from the forest cast a blue hue over the sparkling snow, and every rooftop visible to the human eye is laden with a thick coat of sugary icing that fell from the sky. There is nothing more intoxicating than Gingerbread in winter—with the exception of Mistletoe Winters. Yes, Missy is the finest wine, and those kisses have made me drunk off our love. I had seen people I know fall hard and fast—watched their affect change, their habits, and ultimately their legal status, as one by one my friends have gotten married. I swore it wouldn’t happen to me. It seemed unnatural, as if they were suddenly under a spell and they had no control over their good senses. It never seemed to happen slowly. It was always so quick. One moment they were hanging out in bars with you, and the next they couldn’t pencil you in for coffee. They had a place to be, and it wasn’t with their friends. It was that invisible leash I swore I would never don, and here I don’t want to move an inch away from Missy, let alone spend hours a day apart. I get it. It happened fast, and it happened hard. I’m in love with Missy.

  A goofy grin glides over my face as I drive through the countryside on my way to the family orchard. I’ve been back in Gingerbread for three weeks now, and I’m just now getting around to making the trek. And as much as I feel bad about it, I refuse to let the guilt get to me. Over the last few years, Tanner has never made me feel welcome on that plot of earth that’s been in my family for generations. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that it’s the last place I want to be.

  Noel barks up a storm as we near the orchard as if she could feel the excitement of the ranch herself. It’ll be her first time on the property, and I know she’ll love it. It’s acre after acre of free roaming and enough backwoods to get lost in for a year. I plan on keeping her leashed for the most part, but once she looks at me with those sad brown eyes, I know I’ll have to let her loose. She’s been pretty good about bouncing right back to me after her playful forays into the unknown. I guess she understands what side her bread is buttered on—and thanks to Missy, it’s buttered with only the finest ingredients. I’m pretty sure Noel is on the crème de la crème of doggie diets—and for Noel, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Tanner sent a cryptic text this morning, so I thought instead of texting back, I’d head up to the orchard to hear what he has to say myself. Besides, what’s better than the element of surprise to see what’s really going on at this place day to day?

  I drive under the large iron sign that reads Welcome to Holiday Orchards! and a chill runs through me. Even when I was a kid, driving under that monolithic banner gave me a sense of pride. It made me feel as though my family was truly special and that anything we set out to do in this world was for our taking. Success runs in my family, and I’ve clung to that fact for years. It’s what’s fueled me along the way in becoming one of New York’s most prominent selling realtors. I simply believed that I could do it, that success was an inevitable part of the equation—and it seems to be. Sometimes in life that’s all you need, a little faith to bolster you to where you need to be. It can take you to the stratosphere every single time.

  I park out by the sturdy oak, with its sprawling wingspan, just shy of the barn. Noel races from window to window as I glance down at the text one more time before getting out of the truck. Just a heads-up, you’re under investigation.

  I have no clue what my brother is babbling about. Noel and I jump out and take in a lungful of fresh Holiday Orchard air, and she tugs and bites at the leash, already wanting a taste of freedom. It’s crisp out, the sky is a comfortable shade of gray, and I take a moment to feast my eyes on the grounds where the foundation of my life was laid.

  The orchards to the far right have netting around them and sheeting to protect the more fragile trees from the frost. The garden just beyond that is buried in snow at the moment. There’s a greenhouse the size of a shopping mall in the distance, and it glows a beautiful shade of emerald. That’s where the seeds germinate for spring plantings, and anything that can’t survive the winter gets stored in. To my left, the barn sits tall and proud. The paint is chipping and the color has faded to a rosy pink, but it welcomes me with its toothless smile like that of an old faithful friend. The main house sits just behind it with cheery peach lights on in various rooms.

  Mom and Dad called this morning and let me know they were headed to Denver to take care of a few last-minute holiday details, but the house is most likely being prepped for their annual Christmas dinner by a small crew my mother hires for the event. Every year they invite a few dozen friends to share in the feast. It’s become a time-honored tradition that those who make the cut look forward to. I used to look forward to the event myself, still do.

  Behind the main house there are at least six cottages that dot the property. Tanner has made the biggest one his home. I have no clue what kind of luck he’s had with the ladies, but I’d hate to think he’s spending one too many lonely nights in that thing. As much as Tanner and I have distanced ourselves from one another, I really do care about my brother. And being alone is no way to live.

  A familiar looking dude with a dove gray cowboy hat planted over his head strides out of the barn with a wheelbarrow treading in front of him, and I jog on over.

  “Tanner Holiday.” I flash a quick grin his way before looking into the manure pile he’s laden his cart with. “Still slinging bull, I see. Some things never change.”

  He takes off his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow. “I keep forgetting to laugh whenever you’re around. I see you brought your better half.” He bends over, and Noel makes a beeline for him, licking his face and giving him all the love she has to offer. Noel is clearly a lover and not a fighter. And it’s becoming quickly apparent she’s not choosing sides between my brother and me.

  “She definitely brings out the best in people.” Noel keeps trying to get deeper into the barn so I drop the leash and let her run wild as she darts inside. “So, what’s up? You sic the IRS on me? Or did you find someone far more lethal to teach me a lesson?”

  He grunts as he leads us to the wet bar inside the barn. Yes, there is a bona fide granite counter with stools dotting around the outskirts with enough seating for ten people. My mother thought that the ranch hands needed to t
ake a seat and have a nice cold drink once in a while. The full-sized fridge next to it is stocked with tea and lemonade mostly, and there’s a microwave for reheating food if needed. She also had a few bathrooms installed in the back, taking our barn to the next employee lunchroom level.

  Tanner pulls out a bottle of water for the both of us before plopping down next to me.

  He falls forward on his elbows, hanging his head a moment as if claiming defeat. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you train her on me?”

  “Train who? Are you being investigated by the IRS?” My heart thumps wildly because I wouldn’t do that to anybody. I learned a long time ago that messing with the IRS was like catching a tiger by the tail. No thanks. I like my body parts just where they are.

  “Sabrina Jarrett.” His dark brows dip down, and he looks decidedly like me after a rough morning in the gym, far too red-faced and sweaty for my own good.

  I lean back in my seat and marvel for a moment. “So that’s where she went.” It’s been a blissful week of almost zero contact from the woman, save for the daily texts wishing me a good day, letting me know she’s thinking about me, sending me snapshots of her feet propped up while in the bathtub. Thankfully, that’s as explicit as those pictorials have gotten. But there’s a thin rail of terror in me whenever I get another message from her. You never know when Sabrina will be moved to take things to the next level.

  He inches his head back. “What do you mean ‘that’s where she went’? She’s been here all week hounding me for information about you. Now she’s hanging around, pretending to be interested in every facet of the orchard. She even hitched a ride to the factory with me yesterday. We were there for six hours, and she followed along as though she were on some sort of an internship. Did you put her up to this? And for God’s sake, why?”

  My mouth opens for a moment. I can’t seem to figure this out. “I didn’t put her up to anything. She’s been after me ever since I set foot in town. She kept alluding to the fact we’re meant to be.” My jaw grinds hard. “Meant to be a safe distance from one another is more like it.” I down a third of my water bottle before turning to my brother.

  “Huh.” He studies me a moment. “You do seem rather clueless.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means what it always means. You come into town, shocked to hear the factory is closing, and yet you haven’t even looked at the finances in years. How did it feel getting out of that fancy truck of yours today? I bet the landscape looked foreign. There’s not a thing on this ranch you’ve seen or touched in a decade. It’s all on me. Every frigging tree that’s standing is standing because of my care, my hands. After Dad retired, he left everything to us. What a joke. The only thing you’re good at is collecting a fat paycheck at the end of the month.”

  “It’s not that fat.” I can’t help but stick him with the dig. I don’t like his tone or the fact he’s inferring that I don’t care. I do care. Something deep inside of me cinches because I’m not quite sure how true that rings.

  “Those checks might be a little fatter if you gave a damn.” He knocks back his water. “A lot of things might be different around here if I had a hand or two helping me out where I really need it—marketing, sales. I’m too busy doing the grunt work to put my head where it really belongs. Instead of working smarter, I’m working harder.” He gets up and makes his way back to his wheelbarrow. “You know what that feels like? It feels like I’ve got a giant boulder the size of New York City planted over my chest, and I can’t get out from under it.” He glares at me a moment. “Go on. Get out of here. I bet you can’t wait to get back to New York just to make that boulder on my chest that much heavier. It’s what you do best.” He takes off, and my body goes numb from the sting of his words. As much as I want to speed the heck away from this place, from my brother and his glaring accusations, I can’t seem to move. A part of me knows he was speaking the truth. And in this instance, the truth very much feels like a knife to the chest.

  I muster the strength to collect Noel, and we hop into the truck and drive through the back roads of the orchard while I let that entire conversation sink down to the marrow in my bones.

  I hate that I’ve become a weight for my brother.

  I have never wanted to hurt him.

  And I have.

  * * *

  Downtown Gingerbread is lit up from top to bottom with its zigzagging twinkle lights strung high over Main Street. Every roofline, pole, and wreath is wrapped with its own string of lights, and the enchanting visual alone makes me realize I’ve missed Gingerbread far too much to ever be away for long spates of time. New York City definitely has a charm of its own, but it’s not home. I don’t think it ever can be.

  And on this magical night, I’ve asked Missy to dinner at what looks to be Gingerbread’s newest fine dining facility. But it’s not the delicious meal I’m looking forward to most. It’s the stunning woman by my side.

  Missy and I find a parking spot right in front of Le Roux, and I hop out to help her out of the passenger’s side. Missy Winters outshines every last light bulb in this tiny town combined, not to mention the fact she puts the stars and all their glory to shame.

  “Sprig”—I say as I pull her in close, our eyes locking with a boost of electricity that lets me know I’m in far too deep to ever get out—“you take my breath away. You look beautiful tonight.”

  She wrinkles her nose at me, looking decidedly adorable in the process. “Thank you—for the fifteenth time.” Her strawberry stained lips twist to the side. “You know, you don’t have to keep repeating it, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll be the last person to stop you.” The apples of her cheeks fill with color. “I’m rather partial to hearing it from the horse’s mouth.” Her thumb swipes over my lips. “And I do love this horse’s mouth.” Her brows dip with concern. “Do you think Noel will be fine with Holly and Tom?”

  “Are you kidding? After seeing Savanah’s face light up like the sun, we’ll be lucky to get her back tonight.”

  “That’s true. And technically, this is Savy’s first babysitting job. I know she’s pretty excited about the puppy. Maybe more so than the fact she’s getting paid.” She shivers as she pulls her black wool coat tight around her tiny body.

  “Let’s get you inside before we turn into Popsicles.”

  “I thought you liked Popsicles?” Her eyes flirt with mine as she bats her lashes. “You know, licking them up until the very last drop.”

  “Whoa!” I tug at the collar of my dress shirt. “And it’s suddenly way too hot to have this coat on.” I tuck my hand on the small of her back, and we head inside where the subtle scent of something homey cooking thickens the air.

  I’ve never been to Le Roux before. It’s a new addition to Gingerbread since the days in which I regularly roved these streets. It’s dark inside, dim to be exact, and it feels as if candles power the entire restaurant. The maître d’ leads us to a private table near a window in the front, and Missy looks down at it with apprehension. I know she’s not hot on her family—namely her brother—discovering anything about us before we’ve had a chance to explain things formally to everyone. And the reason that hasn’t happened yet is because we’re still trying to figure things out ourselves. This would have been much easier if we had met in New York. No past, no thorny family history to have laid out before us like an obstacle course.

  I pull out her seat and help her off with her coat, revealing a bright blue dress that clings to her in all the right places. My God, Missy Winters has really shaped up nicely in the most literal sense, and I feel like a dog for scouring her with my gaze.

  “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” She flicks a finger over my cheek playfully as I take a seat across from her.

  “And what gorgeous eyes you have.” I lean in a moment and just lose myself in their hypnotic powers. “Has science classified a unique phylum for your family yet? I’m pretty sure those eyes are anything but human.”

  Her pink glo
ssy lips round out into a perfect O. “Are you calling the entire Winters family subhuman?” Her eyes sparkle and dance, and for the life of me, I don’t ever want this perfect moment to end.

  “I’m calling you out of this world.”

  “Oh, now that’s an improvement!” She belts out a laugh just as a couple strides by, but Missy and I don’t dare take our eyes off one another. The couple stops cold, and I glance up, only to do a double take.

  “What the heck?” Nick Winters looks as if he just caught us chopping the tails off a litter of puppies.

  “Mom!” Missy’s alien eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.

  “Missy?” Mrs. Winters looks to me with horror before her mouth rounds out with surprise. “Graham Holiday!” she squeals and stomps her foot to the floor three times fast. She sucks in another lungful of air and clutches at her chest. “Oh my goodness, this is a date, isn’t it!”

  Nick folds his arms over his chest and silently slaughters me with that merciless stare.

  “No way,” Missy protests loud and clear, and my gut cinches because a part of me wishes we could have come clean. It’s just days before Christmas. It would have been perfect to let them in on our burgeoning secret.

  “Hey, dude.” Nick kicks me in the shoe and ticks his head for me to follow him. “Excuse us,” he says to his mother before shooting Missy a dark look. “I need to get Graham’s opinion on something to do with the lot.”

  Missy glances my way with a disbelieving scowl. Neither of us is buying this tree lot baloney. Looks like I don’t have the only brother who likes to sling some bull.

  Nick stalks over to the corner of the foyer before spinning into me with venom ready to spit out of him. “Are you seeing my sister?”

  “What? Me and Sprig? What’s gotten into you, man?” My heart thumps a mile a minute, and as much as I’d want to say something to set him straight, I can tell he’s too amped up to handle any news I might be willing to give him. Right now, I just want to take off without him gifting me a black eye. There’s no way I want to break it to Nick like this, in some hallway separated by Missy by what feels like miles. Nope. We should both be present when we break it to Nick. “Look, she’s a nice kid, but we’re just a couple of old friends trying to enjoy dinner out.” There. That should allow him to rest easy for tonight. And when Missy and I are ready to tell him about us, he can gift me the black eye then. Although a sick feeling has suddenly come to rest in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t look Nick in the eye when I spewed those half-truths.