Page 23 of Dancing in Lake Mistletoe

That figures.

“I’m Dutch’s mother, Lydia, and that handsome old geezer over there is my husband, Gene. Dutch gets his good looks and work ethic from him, but his sense of humor and glowing personality from me,” she tells Mindi.

Josie joins Mom, Mindi, and Sela to show her proud Nana her red ribbon, and the four chat as Dad and I make plans to meet Keller and Bob at town hall in the morning. My eyes keep flitting to Mindi, who seems to be effortlessly handling getting caught up in all of this. It’s like she’s a part of us. Which is weird, as she’s practically a stranger.

Once plans are in place, Dad reaches out to help Mom up. “Come along, sweetheart. Let’s get these little ones home,” he says.

Josie is staying the night with them, so I can get up bright and early to meet the fellas for a long day’s work. Earlier in the day, they talked Mom into letting Cobie stay as well, and Isaac, Sela, and I planned to grab food and drinks at the Irish pub downtown. The owner and his wife lived in Hailey, but had a vacation rental here in Lake Mistletoe for years. When she retired from her teaching position, they sold their home in Hailey and moved to town permanently and opened the pub last year, which has been a hit with the locals.

Josie runs over and gives me her prize to take home.

“You be good for Nana, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I love you to Venus,” I tell her as I kiss her cheek.

“I love you to Mars,” she says before taking my dad’s hand.

Mom takes ahold of Cobie, and I watch as they weave their way through the crowd toward my parents’ lakeside house.

“We’re heading to The Thistle & Shamrock for dinner. You should join us,” I overhear Sela say to Mindi, inviting her out.

She looks up at me in question.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“I could eat,” she replies.

The pub is warm and buzzing with life. A welcoming place, filled with the scent of wood, leather, and something sizzling in the kitchen. It’s dimly lit with candles casting a glow on the rustic tables and chairs, and the walls are covered with vintage Irishsigns and clover-green paint. Isaac and I like to meet here to unwind when Sela is occupied with town business.

The hostess seats us at a large booth tucked into a corner. Mindi and Sela slide in close to the window that looks out on Main Street.

“This is cozy,” Sela says with a grin, eyes darting between me and Mindi with a not-so-subtle, expectant smile.

Mindi agrees, and I can feel the tension slip from my shoulders as I slide into the booth beside her. Isaac scoots over, flashing a smirk as he shakes his head. His eyes flicker over to Sela, and I know he’s onto her scheming as well.

The waiter swings by to take our drink orders, and both Isaac and I order a stout.

She looks over the menu, and both she and Sela settle on a cider.

Sela clears her throat. “So, Mindi, you know Dutch is basically the resident troublemaker in Lake Mistletoe, right?” She shoots me a smirk, and I’m already bracing myself. “He might seem all calm and put together, but there was a time—”

“Oh, no,” I cut in, holding up a hand. “Let’s not drag her into the sordid details.”

But Sela, being Sela, is relentless. She launches into stories about how she had a major crush on me when we were kids, but how I ignored her puppy love. Then moves on to tales of when Bran and I were wild boys, making it sound like I was nothing but a rebel. I sneak a glance at Mindi, and she’s laughing, eyes bright.

“Who knew you had a dark side?” Mindi teases, nudging me with her shoulder.

“Oh, there’s a lot to know about Dutch,” Sela chimes in, casting me a look that borders on smug. She’s clearly enjoying herself tonight. “He’s all quiet and brooding, but once you get him talking, he’s practically an open book.”

I catch Mindi’s eye again and shrug.

“Depends on the person,” I say, looking right at her. Her expression softens, and I don’t miss the flicker of something—interest, curiosity?—in her eyes.

The drinks arrive, and I’m grateful for the distraction as we order food.

“This is yummy,” Mindi says as she sips her cider. “How’s yours?”

I slide the mug over to her. “Try it.”

She wraps her hand around the handle of the frosty mug and brings it to her lips. She takes a long pull and then sets it back on the table. The head of the beer circles her mouth.

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