Page 68 of The Mistletoe Makeover

Mia lugs a laundry basket of clothes from her trunk as the cats skitter around her feet.

“Let me take that for you,” I say, taking the load from her.

“You don’t have to,” she stammers. “You already sent one of your crew over to help.”

I ignore her protest, then realize why she was so reluctant to hand it off. Silky pajama sets line the top, with something lacy peeking out from underneath. I pretend not to notice, but from the way her face is flaming, it’s obvious she’s as uncomfortable as when she walked into my dressing room.

“I’ll show you to your room,” I say, as we head inside to the biggest guest room on the second floor. “The room Allan normally stays in is at the opposite end, so you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

I put her laundry basket on the king-sized bed with the silk duvet I picked up in India. “The view in here is stunning. My band members always fight over it when they stay here.”

I walk over to the blinds and hit the button for them to open automatically. As they disappear, the valley opens up outside the window, and her mouth drops open.

“This is gorgeous.” She swings around and drags her fingers across a large desk facing the windows so she can look outside as she works. “I’m not really used to all this space. This is too much.”

“You deserve something better than a couch, Mia.”

“Shouldn’t you save this room for someone in your band?”

“I have another room available. If you don’t take this one, you’ll get one equally as nice.”

I lead her to an enormous bathroom with a whirlpool tub, a walk-in marble shower with two showerheads, and a double vanity that could accommodate a large family. “You have your own bathroom, so you don’t have to worry about what happened earlier today. Why don’t you unpack while I finish dinner? Feel free to put your clothes in the closet over there.” I nod toward a gigantic closet.

Her eyes widen. “This is as big as my bedroom.” She spins around, like she’s a lost child in a department store. “I don’t even have a single nice dress to hang in this closet,” she says, fingering a wooden hanger. “I’ve spent the last year mostly wearing jeans and T-shirts, like a broke college student.”

“How was the spa?” I didn’t run into her the rest of the time I was there, which is probably for the best.

“Fabulous,” she gushes, falling on the bed. “My neck feels so much better. The massage therapist said my back was like a brick wall, probably from the couch.”

“This mattress will be perfect for your back. You can adjust the firmness by hitting a button,” I explain, pointing out the remote control. “And there’s a hidden fridge in the end table, too.”

“I have a remote-controlled bedanda drink fridge?” She shakes her head in wonder. “What else is hiding here? Are there any trapdoors or secret passages I should know about?”

I laugh. “No, but that’s a great idea.”

“Jace?” she asks, and I stop in the door. “Thanks for this. Having a decent bed and some quiet means more than you know. This is the first time I can check off something that makes me truly happy.”

“I hope it’s not the last either,” I say, feeling a swell inside my chest. “I have a feeling this is just the start.”

I leave her to unpack while I finish dinner. As I skim over the notes the chef left for me, she sneaks onto a barstool at the island. “Are we eating in front of the TV?”

I spin toward her. “No, we’re sitting at the dining room table.” I nod toward an immaculate table that’s gleaming from the lights of the chandelier overhead.

She holds up the paper plates I left on the island. “It seems a shame to use paper plates on that table. Do you own any actual plates?”

I nod toward a row of cupboards behind me. “I think they’re in there.”

“You think?” she asks.

“I never use them except for parties. And only because my chef pulls them out.”

She opens the first cupboard and gasps. “What is this?” She pulls out a sparkling goblet with gold trim that catches the light.

I glance over my shoulder as I check the pasta in the oven. “A glass.”

“Do you ever use these?” She turns the goblet around in her hands.

“Not really. I usually drink from a can.”

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