Page 4 of The Mistletoe Makeover

“Who?” I ask, grabbing a banana and peeling it.

“I need an event planner,” Mom says, then pauses.

I cough, nearly choking on my banana. “No, Mom. Absolutely not.” I shake my head, even though Mom can’t see it. No way am I coming home forthat.

“At least consider it. The town is willing to pay you well.”

“I don’t understand. The festival is in dire shape, but you can hire an event planner?” This makes no practical sense.

“A wealthy man from Maplewood died and left money in his will to the festival. The committee agreed that hiring a legit event planner to save the festival would be worth it. As long as we make money this year, we can roll the money over to fund next year’s festival.”

“Mom, I can’t.”

After years of planning events—from beach festivals to huge concerts to the state fair—I burned out in the end. The events were both massively successful and incredibly stressful. It was hard to find reliable contractors to pull off everything, leaving me working crazy hours at the last minute. It’s why I stepped away from event planning last year to recover. In the meantime, I’m temporarily working as a barista at the local coffee shop. After a year of trying to figure out what to do next, my bank account is nearly drained. I can barely pay my bills, much less Mom’s. Renting a room in Jaz’s home has been a lifesaver.

“I can’t, Mom. I promised myself no more big events. And it’s so late in the season.”

“The committee will assist you...”

“My answer stands,” I say firmly. “I doubt Jace will even consider it this late.”

“His manager said we could talk about it. So what does the committee have to pay you to get you to say yes?”

“Why don’t they hire you?” I say, not understanding why they’d overlook Mom’s experience.

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I can’t leave my job at the store. And you’ve run events all over the South. You’ve pulled in big acts and negotiated with teams and know how to manage all the details I can’t even anticipate. I can hang lights and mistletoe. I just don’t know how to take it to the next level.”

I sigh and rub my forehead. It would be nice to get an influx of money before Christmas, especially since my bank account looks abysmal.

“Mia, they’re willing to give you what you ask,” Mom says. “All you’re doing is the planning and getting Jace on board. The committee will pull in volunteers to do the rest for you.”

It sounds like a dream. Even so, I’ve opposed the festival for so long, I can’t believe I’m even considering it.

Given that I can barely keep up with my bills, and I have zero money saved for Mom’s next mortgage payment, this is tempting. If I say yes, I could secretly use the funds to help Mom out. It’s either this job or working absurdly long hours at the coffee shop, which will leave me just as drained. I might not love the Mistletoe Festival. But do plumbers love unclogging toilets? Probably not.

Mom goes on, “I have money budgeted for new decorations, and I’ll only need you there for a little over a month.”

In the scheme of things, it’s a good deal.But can I pull it off?Doubt spirals inside me like bathwater down the drain.

“Please, Mia, at least consider it,” Mom says. “We’d make a good team.”

Despite us being vastly different in our feelings about the festival, the last thing I want is for my mom to lose her house. What’s one small-town Christmas festival?

I kick a fallen sprig of evergreen out of the way. Maybe if I agree, this will change things for our family. I’m not expecting a miracle, but it would help to finally put the past behind us.

“If you agree to my price, I’ll do it ononecondition: that I can make over the festival. No more Ugly Santa or obnoxious decorations. We turn it into a quaint Christmas town, or else I’m not doing it.”

Mom clears her throat. She knows the committee will go down to their graves hanging on to their traditions with white knuckles.

“And you’ll get Jace to agree?”

I hesitate. No one can promise that. “I’ll try. But that’s why I need to change things, to show him what this festival could be.”

I’m not even sure I can pull it off, but I can’t let on that I’m shaking in my boots.

“Then it’s a deal,” she says with hope in her voice.

“But I haven’t even sent you my price,” I say.

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