Page 11 of My XOXO Holidate

I hang up the phone and sink onto the couch.

“Well? What did you find out?” Mia asks as she stands in front of me and pulls her long hair into a ponytail.

“Nothing.” I sigh. “Absolutely nothing.”

“They wouldn’t tell you?”

“This year, one of their older volunteers handled the ball.”

“Who is it? We’ll find her.”

“Apparently, she doesn’t own a computer and did everything on paper.”

Mia plops down in the chair across from me, her eyebrows raised. “And?”

“The papers were on the table in front of her and were ruined.” I take a sip of my hot tea. “Not only that, but she slipped on the wet floor and broke her leg. She’s in the hospital.”

Mia groans. “Oh no.”

“She’s going to be alright, they said. But her family isn’t allowing her to accept any visitors.”

“Well, that stinks.”

“It’s my luck. It wasn’t meant to be.” I fold my legs under me. “This is the first time I’ve felt even remotely human since Collin.”

“I’m so sorry. Maybe somehow, we’ll figure out who your Alexander is.”

“I’m not holding out much hope.”

It’s been almosta month since the masquerade ball and I’m not any closer to solving the mystery of Sir Alexander than I was the night I met him. Everywhere I go in town, my eyes are darting around in hopes I might recognize him— in the grocery store, at the cleaners, on my runs. Nothing. Although I never saw his face —outside of the mask— his hair was thick. It felt good to run my fingers along his nape while we were dancing.

I groan. I’m never going to see this guy again.

5

Sam

I wrap the cord around the vacuum cleaner and push it into the closet. “You think this is good enough?”

My brother scans the living room. “Looks great in here. I’m so glad you were able to come back and help me with all of this.”

“Of course.” I punch him in the bicep. “It’s actually been good being home. Good seeing you.”

The doorbell rings.

“Here she is,” my brother says as he moves to the front door.

I tidy the pillows on the couch and turn to face the front door.

“Welcome. Come on in.”

The realtor steps into the room and my eyes are immediately drawn to her long hair that’s pulled into a ponytail. She’s wearing a crisp navy-blue skirt and blouse.

“You must be Emily Cavet.”

The beauty with the sparkling eyes seems to hold a familiarity to me.

She laughs. “No, I’m Amelia Abbott.”

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