Page 44 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

But Finding Home… Pretty sure he said that. And that’s what we named our little cookie cabin because that’s what it feels like with Curtis. Working with him. Loving him. Something that was always waiting for me to open my eyes and find it.

“We did it, Bea! You did it!”

Wait, why is Curtis dragging me up next to the other winners, then?

Why am I getting a red envelope with a shiny gold sticker on it? And the Clark Kent dude is back—why’s his microphone in my face again?

“We won?” Bea whispered, looking up at Curtis.

“Yes!” He hugged her until her toes lifted off the floor, frantic happy laughter bouncing all around them.

“Argh!” An enraged shout from the center of the gym floor finally burst her hazy bubble of disbelief.

Neal was hurling spare bits of gingerbread on the floor. Jasmine slapped him.

“Someone remove the sore losers, please?” Mr. Minegold said smoothly. “Miss Miller, would you like to say a few words before we get a group photo of the winners?”

What in the world could she say? This event was so much more momentous than just winning a competition. She was sharing it with Curtis. Her person. Her best friend. Her lover.

“Um. Yes! Yes, I have something to say. Gingerbread is the food of love. If it wasn’t for gingerbread, I don’t think I’d have gotten the best Christmas present ever—even better than this big fat check,” Bea chuckled. “I’m talking about Curtis West—the world’s best boyfriend.”

“Ah, holiday love! A kiss for the camera?” Jasper Wainwright asked.

Curtis answered for both of them, seizing her and sweeping her backward into a full dip, the kind she thought only happened in old black-and-white movies.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered as people cheered.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied.

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