Page 22 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

“Mistletoe,” I clarified quietly. “I…it’s weird being back.”

“We’re happy to have you,” Bria comforted me, but it only made a pang of guilt shoot through me. She watched me as we strolled past a house where a new family with a baby had recently moved in—when I was a kid, an old man lived there named Mr. Gorman, and Michael and Wes had always joked that he was a secret killer even though he was actually a sweet guy. All these surroundings were familiar, which meant thatIwas the one who had changed, the reason Mistletoe no longer felt like it fit. Bria seemed to come to this conclusion at the same time that I did, letting out a soft, knowing, “Oh.You…you’re not happy to be here.”

“I’m happy to be with all the people I love,” I reassured her. “I just…Mistletoe isn’t where I want to end up long term. I don’t think it’s where I belong.”

Bria nodded carefully and threw an arm around me, squeezing me against her side. “That’s fair enough, hon. You always had those fantastical big-city dreams—or, well, at least fantastical compared to the rest of us small-town folk.” She and I exchanged a short laugh, lightening the overall mood. But Bria had more to say, and she stopped us on the sidewalk, turning to face me. Her hands held my arms with a gentle, comforting pressure. “There’s nothing wrong with going after what you want in life, Rachel, and all of us want you to have whatever that ends up being. But I hope that while you’re dreaming, you can sit in the moment long enough to notice any little flickers of goodness there might be right here under your nose. Mistletoe has its charms, you know. After all, it raisedyou,didn’t it?”

I smiled, giving Bria a nod I didn’t fully mean, even as my brain instantly found some good things to notice about Mistletoe. Namely, the gorgeous physiques of three of its hockey players.

Somehow, our little walk down toward Blitzen Boulevard and Donner Drive had brought us back to our familiar side of Comet Court, just a few yards away from my family home. Mom had left the porch light on for us, glowing gold in the dusky blue evening. We were stopped in front of the Robbins house, and as if I’d manifested it somehow, the front door opened then, drawing Bria’s eyes as well as mine. And there was Wes Robbins himself, the quintessential boy next door in all his tall, slim glory silhouetted in the light from his mom’s entryway. He was carrying a box brimming with dark green wires—a tangle of outdoor Christmas lights, of course.

“I’ve got it, Ma,” he was saying over his shoulder. “You go sit down, and I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to come critique my work.”

Damn it, hewouldbe helping his mother with the arduous outdoor decorating, only further banishing all attempts at hating him from my mind. He was determined to be endearing at every turn since that one bad night at Candy Cane Jane’s. And there was no way he could be faking this helpful son act for my benefit, since he didn’t even turn and notice us watching him until Bria let out a suspiciously fake cough. I wanted to throttle her.

“Rachel?” Wes called from his porch, his tone surprised but not annoyed to see me. “And hey, Bria.”

“Hiya, Wes,” Bria said, but then immediately followed it up with a huge yawn. “Oh, my—I’m not as young as I once was, so if you all don’t mind, I’m going to excuse myself. Leave the night to those of you who still have the energy to experience it, huh?”

I could practically smell the bullshit. Bria traveled like crazy, finding new exciting lovers in foreign countries and regaling us all with her adventures far more than I could ever see myself doing despite the few decades she had on me. No, this was just her attempt at meddling, and before I could protest, she wasscurrying away, shooting me a wink and a little wave as she left me with no choice but to interact with Wes.

Well, no choice but to interact with him or come off as the rudest bitch on earth. And if I didn’t unfortunately have to work with him—even in personal capacities, since he was also supposedly helping Michael with his proposal—I would have taken that second option in a heartbeat.

But instead, I was forced to play nice. Wes, unable to leave well enough alone, put down the box of lights and bounded off the porch, coming down to meet me by the sidewalk.

I hated forced small talk at the best of times. But knowing I had to struggle through a friendly interaction with a man I’d just been lusting over at family dinner…yeah, this was going to be painful. A new frontier of awkwardness to be explored and endured.

As Wes smiled at me, his eyes like deep sapphires in the dim streetlights, I wanted to sob at how beautiful he was. Like my memories in the few days it’d been since we’d last seen each other were sorely lacking compared to the real sight of him in front of me. I could write internal sonnets about this man’s strong, elegant features. Instead, I appeased my brain with a safer thought:Bria is a dead woman.

13

WES

Rachel stared up at me, blinking those gorgeous, stormy eyes with near deliberate awkwardness and refusing to break the silence that stretched between us. Well, the quiet at least—the night around us carried with it the usual soft sounds I shouldn’t have been able to notice, but Rachel’s refusal to speak was so loud. I could hear the rustle of leaves through the oak trees in my front yard, the quiet electrical buzz of the powerlines, even the far-off sound of cars from the highway.

Or at least that was how it felt. Maybe it was just my piss-poor attempt at focusing on anything but Rachel Henning. As if that was really an option when we were stuck here, expected to interact by the long-standing rules of social conduct and politeness Ma had made sure to teach me, just like she taught me everything else.

I knew Rachel’s parents taught her that too. But she’d always cared less about following the rules than I had, so I knew if anyone was going to break, start the friendly small talk ball rolling, it would have to be me.

“Nice night, huh?” I started lamely, but it was true. Chilly enough that I had on the flannel jacket Ma had gotten mefor Christmas the year before, but not so chilly because there wasn’t much of a breeze. Even though Mistletoe really shined at Christmas time, this was my favorite time of year.

“Yeah,” Rachel said with as little enthusiasm as possible. But breaking the seal of speaking seemed to help, because she cleared her throat and tried again. “Um, how’s your mom?”

“She’s great,” I answered, smiling a little. “Glad to have me over for the evening, since she clearly misses me since I moved out.”

“Where’d you move to?” Rachel asked, a genuine spark of surprise in her inflection. That wasn’t entirely unfair, I guess, since I was always such a mama’s boy, but it almost bothered me to think she didn’t see me as independent enough to live on my own. Maybe that was why I explained myself too much.

“Oh, just a little rental near the rink. Convenient for work. But Ma was having trouble letting go. Her only son and all. It’s only right that I come see her every weekend for dinner and to help her with stuff around the house.”

“The Christmas lights,” Rachel said, nodding toward the box I’d abandoned. I nodded. She met my eyes. “That’s…really nice of you. To help her with that. Even though it might be better—safer, at least—to wait until it’s fully light out.”

“That’s what Ma said,” I half laughed. “But I’m usually busy during the day, and besides, it’s way more satisfying to see the lights for the first time when it’s dark out. During the day, they just look like…”

“Ice,” Rachel finished, surprising me by filling in the blank with my own thoughts. “And, like…well, wires. Not very…magical.”

“Yeah,” I laughed again, stronger this time. Magical was exactly the word I’d use to describe the sight of those little twinkling lights in the nighttime—it was what I’d said to my mom when she first took me on a late drive through town to seeall of them when I was small, right after I first got my glasses. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, again, that’s…nice. Helping out your mom. I’m sure she appreciates it.”

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