Just Add Mistletoe: Christmas in Gingerbread, Colorado Page 4

  It’s starting to feel as if I never left Gingerbread.

  * * *

  As soon as Missy and I do a quick run through Pet Stop and pick up enough food, toys, beds, and blankets for a dozen dogs, I take her home and let her know I’ll gladly help pick up her car later. But she assured me it was fine. Holly has a spare key to the bakery van, and she’ll bring it by tonight.

  Missy mentioned that she’d try to shore up the details on the rental and give me the keys as soon as tonight, so I head over to the Winters Tree Lot to say hello to my oldest friend, her brother.

  The scent of evergreens hits hard as I get out of my truck, and I can’t help but smile at the bright red sign with block lettering. Nick and I used to run this place together year after year. Of course, Missy and Holly would swing by and help when they could. Missy used to help me collect all the scrap boughs off the ground and weave them into a wreath. My stomach cinches at the memory as if I were grieving it. I’ll admit that I’ve been missing home. The first few years in New York were exactly as exciting as I had hoped they’d be—they were better than I expected them to be. It was wine, women, and wild nights. I lit up the real estate scene as if I were born to run Manhattan. I couldn’t have asked for a better reception, but as the years went by, and my visits to Gingerbread dissipated in number, a nagging feeling deep inside of me felt as if something wasn’t quite right—as if some vital part of me was missing.

  The tree lot is bustling with bodies, families with small children all gravitate to the reindeers corralled in the back, and couples with the looks of sheer enthusiasm cluster around the nobles and firs. I spot a familiar dark-haired dude near the front, closing out a transaction, and I head on over.

  “You got any fifty footers? I’m looking to have a bonfire later tonight,” I tease, and at least three different people gasp as if I’ve just threatened to burn down the entire town. Torching a Christmas tree would be tantamount to doing exactly that. “Kidding.” I hold up my hands in surrender as Nick belts out a laugh.

  “Ignore this clown.” He bids his customers a merry Christmas before heading my way and slapping me over the back. “Look what the New York alley cat dragged into town. You swinging by on your way to warmer climates, I hope.”

  “Nope.” I pull him in and pat him on the arm. Any time I’m hanging out with Nick, no matter how much time has elapsed, we pick up right where we left off. “I’m here to stay. One solid month. Tanner called a family meeting, and I’m game to see what it’s all about. I’ll be at my parents’ for dinner. Maybe they’ll spill the beans.”

  “I’ll spill them,” a familiar husky voice calls from behind, and I startle for a moment as I find my brother staring back at me. Tanner has always been a slightly younger version of myself—by two years to be exact—same strong jaw, dark hair. His eyes don’t know the trick to smiling on their own, though. In fact, over the years, Tanner has perfected a scowl that he wears around the clock. It’s not a good look if you ask me. “So you’re here, huh?” He treks on over, no handshake, no hug, no surprise. “Mom and Dad went to Colorado Springs. They’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Ah.” I nod as I give a quick glance to Nick. He’s well aware of the strangled tension between Tanner and me. Heck, he’s witnessed it firsthand for years. “So the suspense lives on.”

  “Nope.” Tanner takes a breath that expands his chest twice its size, and a part of me wonders if he’s trying to intimidate me. “I’m not the type to keep someone hanging.” He narrows his eyes my way as if I should know what he’s harping about. “I’ve got the orchard on life support. But soon enough, Holiday Pies will be DOA. As soon as Mom and Dad get back, I’m going to break the news to them, and we’re going to close it out with our accountant.”

  My stomach drops at the thought of losing something that’s been in our family for years. “There’s no way we’re doing that. Let me see the numbers. I’ll get a marketing team together, and we’ll try to breathe new life into it.”

  Tanner shakes his head, a dull laugh dying in his chest. “You think you can just ride into town on your white horse, throw a marketing team at the business, and it’ll perk right back up? And what happens when you do your yearlong disappearing act once again? Look, Holiday Pies is over. It’s dead, and I’m out.” He pulls a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and hands it over to Nick. “That should cover the tree.” He takes off for his beat-up old Chevy with the original cherry red paint job faded along with days gone by. It was my grandfather’s truck, and Tanner has babied that thing since he was a kid himself.

  “You forgot your tree!” I shout over at him, and he turns around. I’m half-expecting him to flip me the bird, but instead, he glowers at me and I can’t figure out which is worse.

  “Wasn’t for me.” He hops into his truck and speeds right out of the dirt lot.

  Nick stuffs the bill into his front pocket. “It’s for the community center. Tanner—Holiday Orchards—donates the tree every year.”

  I can’t help but frown in the direction of my brother’s dust. “He might just have a heart yet.”

  No sooner does any remnant of my brother dissipate than a van with a giant cookie slapped on the side pulls in. The sign reads Gingerbread Bakery and Café and, sure enough, a bubbly blonde bounces out, along with an equally perky puppy.

  “There’s my girl.” I head over and scoop Noel up into my arms.

  “Geez.” Nick comes over and mock socks my arm. “For a second I thought you were talking about my sister. That would have been a friendship killer right there.” He gives Noel a quick scratch. “Of course, I’d have to kill you if you were.” He flashes a smile at his sister who looks as if she’s moved to kill us both.

  “Neither of you is funny,” she quips before looking to her brother. “But I like your line of thinking.”

  A bright red Mercedes careens into the lot, and the three of us jump to safety behind a Douglas fir tall enough to fill a two-story building.

  A redhead gets out, wrapped in a crimson wool coat and long black boots that hug her legs all the way up to her thighs. Her lips are doused in the same bright color she’s sporting, and her eyes widen twice their size once she gets a look at me.

  “Well, I’ll be—” She waves my way with her creamy white scarf. “Is that you, Graham Holiday?” She does her best to tiptoe over, and her boots have her slipping and sliding all the way here.

  Nick catches her by the elbow, and she’s quick to bat him away.

  “It’s been years since my eyes have had a carnal feast with you!” She lunges at me with open arms, and Noel growls and nips at her wrist. “Oh my God!” she howls so loud you’d think she lost an arm in the effort. “Put that beast down!” she cries and backs away as if noticing Noel for the first time. “Like, really, put it down, as in goodnight, sayonara, it’s time to take a dirt nap.”

  “Sabrina Jarrett!” Missy is quick to cover Noel’s floppy ears with her hands. Then just as quickly as her temper flared, she takes Noel from me and forces a smile. “Now, maybe you don’t care for dogs of the canine kind, but I’m betting you have more than a hankering for the human variety and, believe you me, there is no dirtier dog than Graham Holiday.” She takes a moment to sneer my way. “Nick?” She does her best to blink innocently at her brother, but I know Missy far too well to realize there isn’t one innocent thing about her intentions. “You mind helping me see how Noel does with the reindeer?”

  “You bet.”

  Missy puts Noel down and holds onto the leash for the ride as Sabrina and I watch them speed toward the fun zone.

  “No use in watching from afar.” I tick my head toward the corral filled with Santa’s motorcade. “I’m betting Noel steals the show from every creature Nick has tucked in this place. Can’t wait to see the smile on those kids’ faces.”

  A wretched groan comes from her as she hooks her arm through mine. “Dogs and kids are right up there with insects and vermin. Why don’t you help me pick out a tree for my living
room? I’m thinking a noble about twelve to fifteen feet.” She leans in close, her long lashes doing their best to bat their way into my good graces. “Like I say, go big”—she runs her hand up over my biceps—“and you are big—and then take them home.” She licks her lips with a promise, and it hits me. It was no coincidence that Missy showed up a second before Sabrina here ambled out of her fancy ride. I glance back to the corral and, sure enough, Missy’s eyes are feasted on the two of us. Nick is in the pen with Noel, and Missy couldn’t care less. She’s here for a show, and something tells me it’s this one. If Missy wants a show, I’ll make sure she gets one.

  I wrap an arm around Sabrina and give Missy a little wave, and her mouth falls open. She gives an awkward flick of the fingers my way, and I can’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction. Something isn’t right, and I’m about to get to the bottom of it.

  One thing is for sure.

  Mistletoe Winters is most definitely up to no good.

  Naughty is the New Nice

  Missy

  A light sprinkling of snow dusted the ground this morning, just enough to refresh that shaken snow globe appeal Gingerbread holds so strong to. Mother Nature would hate to displease the tourists with a town filled with slush and a muddy river running down Main Street. I’d have to agree with her there.

  It’s day three of sharing Noel with Graham—my official new neighbor. I’ve been taking the brunt of the sleepless nights, and he has the carefree mornings and afternoons when she’s reduced to a playful, cuddly pile of fluff.

  I frown over at my sister, Holly, without meaning to. We’ve just wrapped up a two-hour session of working on those gingerbread monstrosities, and right about now, we’re both seeing gingerbread stars. The bakery is bustling, the ovens are on nonstop, and it’s a hot house in here.

  Holly wrinkles her nose at the dueling dollhouses. “Whose idea was it to build a Barbie mansion out of flour and molasses?”

  “Yours,” I flatline. It’s true. Holly came up with the idea after her daughter, Savanah, said she’d love to climb inside one of our standard gingerbread houses—the ones that you could no more stick your foot in let alone a body. “But you were right. It’s going to be a big hit, and I know Mayor Todd’s twins are going to love, love, love it.” I try to muster up the enthusiasm she exuded when she spoke those exact words to me a month ago.

  “Are you kidding?” She leans into the chrome alongside the freezer and does a quick check of her mulberry stained lips. “Savanah is trying to convince Todd to purchase the one up for auction. And if the price on that thing skyrockets the way I’m thinking it will, we’ll be homeless if we win it.”

  “You tell Savy to put it on her Christmas list. I bet she’s got a crazy aunt who would pull a few late nights to make sure all of her gingerbread dream house wishes come true.”

  “What about Noel?” Her brows arch into her forehead as her concern for my sweet pooch rises. Holly is just as in love with Noel as I am.

  “She has a daddy. And, believe me, it wouldn’t hurt said daddy to experience the pain of a few sleepless puppy nights once in a while. That alone will abolish all thoughts of stealing Noel away to Manhattan once he’s through with Colorado. Besides, Noel would hate living in a penthouse—what with all the dog walkers, being forced to jog through Central Park rain or shine? I bet they don’t even give their dogs water out there. They go straight for the caffeinated stuff. Starbucks on tap.”

  Holly sighs with a dreamy look on her face. “Do you think I can get Graham to take me back to New York with him? I bet I can convince that dog walker to make a left on Fifth Avenue. And, if I asked real nicely, I bet Graham would give me all access to his American Express Black Card.”

  A breath gets caught in my throat at the thought of Graham having something so exclusive, so breathtakingly dangerous as a credit card with no legal limit. “Wow”—I marvel with a dark laugh—“did I ever set Sabrina Jarrett up with just the right guy.”

  “What!” Holly squawks so loud half the customers crane their necks this way. Jenna gives a subtle wave for us to keep it down. Thank heavens for Jenna and the extra hands on deck. Holly and I would never be able to manage this place on our own. But more helping hands means more paychecks to write, and with frenemies like Sabrina eating away all our profits, who needs to stay open?

  “Don’t what me.” I glance out toward the indoor patio where Sabrina is hosting yet another book club meeting, the one in which they discuss their next juicy romp through literature. I know more about the workings of Sabrina’s social clubs than I do the workings of the lumberyard—and the lumberyard has been in my family for years. “Look at her.” I nudge my sister in the shoulder as we stare over at the redheaded hellion laughing it up while stuffing her face with a handful of hazelnut crinkle cookies that I just pulled out of the oven this morning. As soon as she saw me loading those delectable delights onto the tray, she demanded three batches—my entire inventory. “Do you think she cares about the price of hazelnuts this time of year? No. Sabrina is a drain on our budget, and the sooner we find someone to take her off our hands the better off we’ll be financially. You might even be able to buy a real dollhouse for Savanah. Who knows? She and Graham might even fall in love. If he happens to whisk her off to New York for good, you won’t find me shedding a tear.”

  “Ditto to that.” Holly digs her fists into her hips as she tilts her head toward Sabrina and the book tour she’s sponsoring. “I don’t know. I guess I always thought you and Graham might end up together one day.”

  “What?” My entire body bucks in protest. “And live a life full of torment and misery while you grow happily old with Todd? I’d pull my hair out before I was thirty. And I’d lose my sanity long before that. Nope. Graham Holiday and I are not destined to be together. Trust me, I know these things. I have a gift, remember? You’d think I’d be the first to realize it if he were the one for me.” My stomach clenches as if I just spewed a bucket full of lies, and I can’t help but glare at it a moment. My phone goes off, and it’s a text from Graham himself.

  Headed to Angelino’s for a quick bite. Want to join me? Nick’s babysitting Noel. Is that okay with you, Mom?

  “Ha!” I balk at his text as I share it with Holly. “He’s already clocking out on the job. Clearly, he’s not cut out to be a father. And lucky for him, Sabrina wants nothing to do with anything in its infantile stages—puppy or human.”

  I start to text back, then stop cold. “Wait a minute. I shouldn’t be the one meeting up with him at Angelino’s. I think there’s a certain redheaded super-charged diva who is more than willing to fill my stilettos while scarfing down pizza with Graham.”

  “You don’t wear stilettos,” Holly is quick to point out, and I scoff at her as I type up a reply.

  “Head on over. I’ll try my best to make it!” I read my response out loud as I hit Send, and he replies in less than a second.

  Already here.

  “Well then.” I look to my sister. “Let the fun begin!”

  “Oh, what are you up to?” A string of worry lines appears on her forehead, and I flick them with my finger as I stride on past her. “Ow! I hate it when you do that.”

  “You’ll thank me when you’re line-free at sixty.” I head to the counter and wave Sabrina over from her cackling session. I spot the treats piled high on their table and note the hazelnut crinkle cookies have already been devoured. In their place sits a small mountain of snowcapped brownies. It takes everything in me not to overturn the tray of sugar cookies in front of me. The snowcapped brownies are made with only the best ingredients, one of them being chocolate chips imported from Belgium.

  Sabrina huffs and puffs her way over, her discontent with me only growing in exaggeration with every stomping step. Sabrina is the epitome of a three-year-old in a grown woman’s body. I honestly can’t see the appeal she holds to that motley crew of hers.

  “What is it?” she snips. “Do you have a book recommendation? Because if you don’t
have a book rec, I don’t see the point of this little tête-à-tête. There are book boyfriends to be had, and we’re in the process of hunting them down.”

  “I don’t have a book rec or a book boyfriend—but I have something far better. A real boyfriend waiting for you at Angelino’s across the street. He’s only the world’s handsomest, wealthiest, biggest success story that Gingerbread has ever seen.”

  She sucks all of the oxygen out of the room with one enormous breath. “You mean Graham Holiday is waiting for me?”

  I give an eager nod. “And as the official and most proficient matchmaker just this side of the Rockies, let me tell you that he is undoubtedly the one for you.” I may not be all that proficient, but Sabrina doesn’t need to know that. All she needs to know is that Graham Holiday officially has a target on his back, and I’ve just turned her into a torpedo. “I promise that you and Graham will be the premier super couple in all of Gingerbread. Once I gift you Graham Holiday’s head on a platter, there will be no refuting it.”

  Her mouth falls open as she looks to herself in the mirror to our left. “This is really happening.” She primps her hair with her fingers. “I can’t believe this, Missy. I have wanted Graham Holiday for myself for as long as I can remember.”

  “Well, here’s your chance. Would you like a few insider tips on how to land your man?”

  She inches back. The look on her face lets me know that projectile vomiting half the bakery she just inhaled is a real possibility. “From you?” She breaks out into a pitiful laugh. “Oh, honey. I’m thankful you pointed my feet in the right direction, but let’s face it—I can take it from here. No offense, but taking advice from you would be like the choir instructor asking the church mouse for a few instructions. Back up and watch a seasoned pro. I’ll have a rock on this finger by New Year’s.” She wiggles her left hand my way as she heads back to her page turning posse.