Page 33 of Mistletoe Kisses

“That’s the thing. I didn’t have one. I just…went.”

My eyebrows shot up. Arlo didn’t strike me as a particularly spontaneous guy. He gave off careful planning and a backup plan for the backup plan vibes. “I’m impressed. Look at you making the most of your vacation. What did you see?”

Arlo’s pleased little smile burrowed into my heart.

“It was rainy and the windshield wipers on my rental got a workout, but it was stunning. The coastline is more dramatic than I expected.” He told me about his day as we drove. Shame it was such a short drive because I’d have happily listened to him talk the rest of the night. There was something about a chatty Arlo that was really working for me.Face it, every part of Arlo really works for you.

A long line of cars appeared when we were a few blocks from Dahlia Lane.

“Want to drive the route or park and walk it?”

“Whatever you want.” Arlo angled his head to look through the windshield.

I’d noticed that he tended to defer to what other people wanted, and I worried that was to the detriment of what he desired. “I’d like to know what you prefer. I see it every year, but this is your first time.”

Arlo turned to me as a wrinkle formed on his forehead. He looked back at the lights in the distance as a wistful expression took over his face. “Walk, please.”

I squeezed his leg. “Thank you for telling me what you want. I’ll find us a spot to park.”

Each house was decked out with lights and other decorations. Despite the visual busyness, each house worked on its own. The first had inflatable snowpeople and painted cardboard versions ofPeanutscharacters ice skating on white fabric with blue and white lights projected onto it.

Arlo’s eyes were wide with wonder as we approached.

“My parents would bring the whole family here when we were little. They’d pack thermoses with marshmallow-heavy cocoa and us kids would wear elf hats while Mom and Dad wore Santa ones. It was so much fun coming here.”

“What’s your favorite Christmas tradition from your childhood?” Arlo shoved his hands into his pockets.

We stopped in front of a house with perfectly straight lines of white lights on each edge of the house and white reindeer in the yard. Arlo took pictures with his phone.

“That would have to be our decorating night. It’s still going strong. My parents are like a jolly version of Jigsaw from theSawmovies. They create twisted games to force their children into free labor to decorate their house. It’s quite masterful.”

Arlo’s eyes widened. “What kinds of games?”

“There’s a competition between the kids of silly races or speed eating or trivia. Whatever Google produces that year. Whoever wins gets the honor of putting that decrepit angel doll, like the one in the antique store, on the top of the tree. Then, we draw names for who decorates what part of the house’s interior. Yummy food, festive music, lots of fun.”

Last weekend marked the second year in a row Reed had won the game. The twins were already starting to strategize next year’s takedown.

“That sounds like so much fun. Except for the creepy doll.” Arlo shuddered.

We walked in silence and admired a few more houses.

“Can I ask you something?”

I smiled at him. “You can ask me anything.”

“What made you decide to stay in the small town you grew up in?”

“Because most people want to flee their tiny towns as soon as they can?” I made sure my tone was teasing so I didn’t come off as defensive. It was a fair question and one I’d gotten a lot.

“After I left for college in Portland, I stayed there for a few years. It was fun to live in the city, but I missed Dahlia Springs more each year. I found myself crashing with my parents over the weekends more often until they asked if I wanted to move back.”

I usually gave people some fluffy answer about how Dahlia Springs was a great town and who wouldn’t want to live there? But I wanted to go deeper with Arlo. “I feel like myself here. I like knowing people and them knowing me. I’m part of Dahlia Springs, but in Portland, I was just living there. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Arlo looked at me, and I saw a deep understanding in his eyes. “You were a faceless person in the crowd in Portland, but here, you can be who you are and want to be.”

The air whooshed out of my lungs. “Exactly.”

“Are you and your mom close?” I asked.

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