Page 1 of The Mistletoe Bluff
Maya
One Year Ago
Inever thought I’d be here—my entire future hinging on a silly little competition—yet here I was.
Well,entirefuture might have been a slight exaggeration, but I was going with it.
The professor stood at the front of the room behind a wooden podium holding a tiny little trophy that looked like it had been picked up at a dollar store. The classroom reminded me of a science lab. There were several long rectangular tables, each one covered in various cameras, tripods, lenses, lighting kits, and other related doohickeys.
The overhead fluorescent lighting pounded into my skull, and my hands were slick with sweat as I clasped them together, praying and wishing with all my might that my name would be called.
This was huge. This was my chance. It might have been a small, local college competition, but it came with big strings attached.
“The two finalists in the Meridel Community College photography competition and a chance at a two-page spread in theIowa Artist Gazetteare…” Professor Wellotto paused and glanced around the classroom.
A breath shuddered out of me. TheIowa Artist Gazettewas a huge magazine that was sent statewide to thousands of consumers, with pages upon pages of up-and-coming artists and photographers. It had the power to rocket my business, Sunflower Fields Photography, from nothing tosomething.
The giant clock ticking away over the door lit a fuse on my nerves. A headache formed at my temples, and my eye twitched from the stress.
“Oliver Lewis!” The professor declared. My heartbeat stuttered in my chest before resuming its pounding.
I glared over my shoulder at my archnemesis—the British guy who had upended every chance at winning I ever had. He threw a smug smile over his shoulder as he passed me, his blue eyes flashing behind thick-framed Clark Kent glasses, and my blood burned beneath my skin at his smugness.
Unlike Clark Kent, Oliver Lewis was no superhero in disguise. He was the evil villain, hands down. He was the Lex Luthor to my Superman—err, Supergirl? Whatever, my point remained.
Each project we were assigned in class was a mini competition. Whoever won each assignment amassed points toward the final prize at the end of the year—the spread in the magazine.
But that blasted Brit had outranked me in far too many assignments—and always by a few measly points. Last I checked, we were neck and neck. Though Professor Wellotto hadn’t posted points in a couple weeks, so I had no idea where we stood now.
The one thing all semester that I had won by a landslide was my photoshoot with my best friend, Elsie, and my cousin, Jameson. Nothing topped a couple’s photoshoot between two strangers—especially when their chemistry had been so far off the charts, they made their own chart. Those photos were some of my best works, and for once they had outshined Oliver and his weird photoshoot of a couple in corn costumes. Yep, that’s right. The professor had given us an assignment to do auniquephotoshoot, and his grand idea was for them to dress up as corn.
I fought the urge to groan as he walked to the front of the room, his gait lazy and slow, hands shoved in his pockets, and head held high like he owned the world. I wanted to slap that irritating smirk right off his face.
Why was Oliver even here in Meridel, Iowa of all places? Didn’t he have bigger and better things happening over in England? Wasn’t there anyone else’s life he could go ruin? My spiraling, blood-boiling thoughts over my classmate careened to a halt as Professor Wellotto’s voice cut through the silence.
“And Maya Beck!”
I blinked at the professor. It took a second too long for her words to register.
Her long silver hair shifted over her shoulder as she cocked her head at me. She waved her hand for me to come forward. “That’s you, Maya. You’re the second finalist. Please come join Mr. Lewis at the front.”
Even though I had hoped to be named a finalist, it still caught me off guard, especially when luck seemed to fall on everyone but me.
On shaking legs, I pushed to my feet, trying to infuse confidence into each movement, wishing this competition didn’t mean so much to me. While my photos fromThe Heart Shotphotoshoot had gained some traction in the local community, bringing me a small influx of inquiries, it hadn’t lasted long enough. Within a few months, I was back to broke Maya, in debt Maya, who desperately needed a lucky break.
This spread in theIowa Artist Gazettewas my ticket to finally pay off some of my debt, to finally have some stability for the first time in my life, and, not to mention making a name for myself in the photography community.
I lifted my chin higher as I walked up to join Oliver.
As I passed him, avoiding eye contact at all costs, the slimy booger of a man slid his boot out just enough so that my foot caught, and I stumbled forward with a small yelp. My ankle twisted, which landed me right in Oliver’s arms. His warm hands went around my waist, and my own slammed into his chest. Of course, the muscle there was rock hard, and I shoved down the urge to punch it just to see if it hurt him.
A whiff of his sweet but smoky scent—like vanilla mixed with pipe tobacco—smothered my senses. I clenched my jaw. My skin burned beneath my clothes where his hands held me tight, his touch blazing through my layers. Our faces were inches apart. His blue eyes flickered with some emotion I couldn’t place as he held me captive with his gaze. There was a faint ring of gold around each iris that I had never cared to notice before.
Oliver’s breath tickled my neck, and his short beard scratched my ear as he crooned, “Should we addclumsyto your list of class achievements, Maya? Or were you just dying to be in my arms?” His low voice combined with his accent had my insides twisting.
“I never wanted to be inyourarms,” I spat, ripping myself out of his hold, and taking a giant step to the side. Some of the class stared at us, most of them with drooping eyelids, while others ignored us and scrolled on their phones instead. I found myself thankful that none of them seemed to notice, or care about our interaction—or how red my face probably was now.
Oliver smirked as I smoothed down my hair and put as many inches between us as possible. And, of course, the moment I dared to look at him he had the audacity to wink at me. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides.
