Page 1 of Tangled in Mistletoe

PROLOGUE

ZEVA

“The Guild Newspaper wrote another doozy of an article, while the only piece we mustered up is about Mr. Renal’s lost chicken!” Our chief editor, Daniel Shortfall, jabs his finger at the dozen people in the room. “The people of Clemson deserve better!”

When Daniel says ‘the people’ with such ferocity, I swear he’s practicing a run for office. The man knows how to command a room with flair. However, he not only likes the sound of his own voice, he listens to the ideas from his journalists, which was why I still work for him. The holiday season doesn’t help his mood either. The closer we get to Christmas, the grumpier he becomes.

There are no decorations in the office. Not a Christmas tree in sight—which only makes me antsy for the smell of fresh pine. The threat of no bonus hangs heavy in the air beginning each November as a memo forbidding ugly Christmas sweaters lands on our desks.

“We need a story that is going to hit the hearts of readers and we are going to tell it first!”

Andy’s hand shoots up in the air before I can stop him. “Ketchuptown is lighting decorations in the Botanical Garden this year.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow, homing in on my friend, and I cringe. When Daniel says he wants to hit the hearts of readers, he doesn’t mean with holiday cheer. He wants their holiday cheer crushed. “I am demoting you to running retail ads.”

“What about Pure Fluff, my animal column?” Andy gapes.

Poor guy. I hear the tears in his voice. Andy writes a great animal column. He isn’t just a great dog dad, but fosters a turkey named Spencer, a bunny called Killer, and everything in between.

“Sara, you’re promoted.” Daniel jabs his finger at the intern with a stack of mail clutched to her chest.

Andy grumbles beside me, while Sara’s wide eyes say she’s just as shocked by the sudden announcement, perhaps even terrified. Considering she is our office clerk and now has to churn out an animal interest story once a week, her loss of color is justified. I nudge Andy, reassuring him that Daniel will forget all about his resignment in two weeks, when the jolly fat man returns to the North Pole or to Daniel’s stony heart.

“Any other brilliant ideas?” Daniel glances around the room for volunteers, but no one is crazy enough to put their columns on the chopping block.

I worked with Daniel long enough to know that the meeting won’t be over until he hears a great idea. The vacant spot on the team that writes hard news isn’t vacant by coincidence. It’s vacant because of the toxic competition the position fuels. As the only journalist in the room to win three baking contests in a row, I have a zero chance of getting reassigned from my baking column to write front page news. I raise my hand.

“What are you doing?” Andy hisses.

I clear my throat, then squirm in my chair as all eyes turn toward me. “We hear lots of stories of good deeds this time of year. Many talk about the nice list, but the real excitement lies in the mysterious naughty list?—”

“It’s entertaining. And readers love drama,” my boss agrees.

“Send Steve or Brad to Magnolia. In a town that size, there’s no way everyone’s jolly.”

“Yes! I love it. But you’re going to Magnolia, Zeva.”

I swallow.

CHAPTER ONE

ZEVA

Magnolia is a Christmas wonderland, I decide, an hour after the taxi drops me off in the center of town. They are decorations and lights on every shop window and when the doors open to let patrons in and out of the shops, the sounds of carols float in the wind. The air smells of apple pie, pine needles, and fresh bread from the mom and pops bakery. All that’s missing in Magnolia are snowflakes.

I take photos of the enormous Christmas tree and can’t wait to see it lit at night. I almost squeal at being given the assignment, then sober, remembering why I’m really in this pretty little town.

Daniel wants a story that will shock and outrage his readers, not a tale of magical trees that give me goosebumps and fills my heart with joy. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my two-week vacation. All I have to do is find the story and submit it to Daniel, then the rest of the holiday is mine.

With an hour left before I check into my bed-and-breakfast, I decide on a late lunch overlooking the water. The Mad Vine is perfect. Online reviews give the restaurant five stars and I’m too hungry to fuss over the ten minutes it will take to walk there.

When I arrive, I’m awestruck. The Mad Vine isn’t just a name. Deep blue velvet chairs, glittering crystal chandeliers, and thick, green vines climbing the pillars make the restaurant feel intimate and luxurious.

“Right this way,” a waitress says. She’s in her early twenties, with blonde hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. “I’m June and I’ll be your server.”

“Nice to meet you, June. Is it possible to get a table outside?” The restaurant is surprisingly busy for early afternoon, but that just means I’ve made the right choice.

“I’m afraid they are all filled, but if one becomes available, I can always move you. How does that sound?” She flashes me a bright smile that falters when she looks over her shoulder.

---