Page 20 of The Mistletoe Makeover

“Okay, so what do you find fun, Mr. Humbug?”

“Nothing commercial. No Santa Claus or Mrs. Claus,” I say. “Or anything involving balloon animals.”

She chugs down the last of her coffee like it’s taking some restraint not to react. “If you don’t like Christmas, then tell me what you do like.”

“I never said I disliked Christmas.”

“You implied it,” she says.

“So did you.” I glance at her.

“Maybe it’s not my favorite,” she begins, “but I still enjoy thingsaboutChristmas. Like cheesy Christmas movies, the smell of gingerbread cookies, walking through the snow.” She pauses, looking out the window.

“For me, it’s driving.” The snow is falling harder, covering the road like a clean white sheet. At least it’s a pretty day for a drive, even if the roads aren’t great. “When I’m on tour, I don’t drive much, so this is fun.”

“Is that why you’re taking the long way to Evergreen?” she says, glancing at the map on my phone.

“You ever heard of the road less traveled? Some people find that fun.”

“Yeah, but Robert Frost wasn’t saying to try it during a snowstorm. Evergreen received six inches last night. And that doesn’t count what’s coming today.”

I shrug, unimpressed. “The news always makes it sound worse than it actually is. Trust me on this, okay?”

She gives me a doubtful look before pulling out her phone and scrolling as the silence grows between us. If we’re going to Evergreen, I might as well attempt to find some common ground with her; otherwise, this day is going to feel like forever.

“What other Christmas plans do you have?” I ask.

She looks up at me, eyes wide. “Other than pulling off the two biggest events for this season? Absolutely nothing.”

“You should really get a hobby.”

“You are my hobby,” she says. “Which means I’m yourride or die.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t say we’rethatclose.”

She smiles. “By the end of this year, you’re going to wonder how you survived without me.”

When she grins like that, her whole face lights up.

“I meant, what are your plans after the concert?” I ask.

“My mom always hosts dinner at her house on Christmas Eve, but most years, I stay in Sully’s Beach, South Carolina, and celebrate with friends. It’s easier than being home, honestly.” She pauses, then glances out the window. “Do you see family for Christmas? I bet it’s hard for you to get time off.”

“My parents decided to book a Mediterranean cruise this year, which means I’ll be alone, watching football.”

She stares at me for a long second. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Not getting together with my parents is actually preferable than dealing with them.” I grip the steering wheel, feeling the roads grow more slippery as the snow intensifies. “My family isn’t close. My parents only want to talk about money. It’s not really relaxing.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be. I prefer to be home alone for Christmas.”

“Even though I’m just your assistant—a term I’m not fond of, by the way—being alone for Christmas seems kind of sad. You should plan something fun.”

“Thanks for your honest opinion of my nonexistent social life,” I say dryly. “But lying on the couch and watching footballisfun. And since you hate the term assistant, what would you prefer to be called?”

“How about your minion of happiness?”

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