Page 5 of The Mistletoe Makeover

“I don’t care. You’re what Maplewood needs.”

My stomach churns. I wonder if I’ve just made the worst mistake of my life.

“This is going to be the biggest thing our town has ever seen.” I hear her relief—and feel the pressure—in that one sentence.

I bite my lip. “I can’t do miracles.” Even though that’s what it’s going to take.

“We don’t expect miracles, honey. But can you get here by Tuesday?”

“Why Tuesday?” I ask, feeling a slow spike of adrenaline.

Mom pauses, then finally drops the bomb. “Because that’s when I told Jace Knight you’d meet with him.”

TWO

Mia

This is not happening.I stare at the flight attendant with what I hope looks like desperation.

She gazes at me without feeling. “The flight is overbooked. There’s nothing we can do,” she says with zero pity.

“But I have a meeting to make. It’stoday.” Even in the middle of the Charlotte airport, I’m not too proud to get down on my knees and beg.

The flight attendant shrugs. “All we can offer is a flight tomorrow. Sorry.”

“Seriously, that’s it?” I mutter under my breath, even though I know others in line are in the same situation—waiting in the purgatory of endless airport delays.

A man behind me, wearing a backwards ball cap and dark sunglasses, pushes up to the counter before I’ve even moved aside my carry-on. His sharp cheekbones and tousled hair curling out from his hat tip me off that he’s stunning under his glasses, while the tight line of his lips gives the impression he’s either smoldering or a total grump. And that’s the problem with men like him—you can’t tell the difference between smolder or grump.

“Oh, hello, sir,” the flight attendant says in a cheerful voice. “Can I help you?” For obvious reasons, she’s suddenly way more friendly with him.

He glances over at a middle-aged man next to him with thinning hair and a navy suit. “I know the flight is overbooked. But my traveling companion can forfeit his flight, if needed.” He turns to the man. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Mind what?” the other man says, suddenly aware that he wasn’t paying attention.

Mr. Smolder keeps talking to his coworker. “I can handle the meeting. Take tonight off. Enjoy a mini-vacation.” He smacks his buddy on the shoulder.

“Wait,” I say, stepping next to Mr. Smolder, ready to pounce on the one available seat. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but is there a seat open now?”

I point at the guy in the suit, who still looks confused.

“I haven’t forfeited my seat,” he argues.

“Yes, you have,” Mr. Smolder says. “I’m flying back alone.”

The traveling companion frowns. “But what if”—his eyes flick to me for a second—“people bother you.”

Wow. Mr. Smolder must be a full-on diva if he’s that worried about people bothering him.

“We weren’t sitting together, anyway.” Mr. Smolder shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

Why does he need special treatment? And why does the other guy treat him like royalty? It’s getting on my nerves.

“Okay, so I’ll cancel one seat,” the flight attendant says as she changes the reservation. The man in the suit looks distressed. “Can I have your ID?” she asks both of them.

As they fish through their carry-on bags, I belly up to the counter again, determined to snag that extra seat.

“Sorry to interrupt...” I say, even though I’m not sorry at all. I’m not usually this pushy, but the whole town of Maplewood is counting on me arriving today. “I’ll take the available seat.”

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