Page 6 of Mistletoe & Magic
This family’s been through something. I can feel it in the walls, even from inside the truck.
And I don’t know how long I’m staying here. I don’t know if Remy Bennett evenwantsme here.
But I know one thing for certain. I’m going to make this place feel like it has Christmas magic again. It will befilled with the smell of fresh cookies, warmth, and glittery chaos. I’ll string lights and hang mistletoe in inconvenient places. I’m going to make that little girl feel like she’s the star of her own holiday movie. And maybe I’m going to make the grump in the flannel shirt remember what joy feels like. Even if he fights it every step of the way.
Because I have a feeling he will.
Chapter 3
Ivy
Music croons softly from the speaker in the corner, one of my favorite Christmas playlists of classic Bing Crosby melting into Mariah Carey like peppermint cocoa swirling in whipped cream. It’s impossible not to get into the holiday mood with this playlist on. The washing machine hums from the mudroom, and I’m folding the last of Junie’s socks into a little rainbow-stacked pile on the now-cleared-off dining room table. The same table that a few hours ago was buried in unopened mail, a half-empty toolbox with tools scattered, empty boxes, and a pinecone wreath craft still in a stage of assembly.
But not anymore. Now, this place smells like vanilla, orange peel, and clean linen. The fireplace crackles. I’ve got cookie ingredients laid out in neat little bowls like a Food Network witch who moonlights as a domestic goddess. The recipe’s sitting in its little cookbook stand.
The second I hear the school bus brakes screech out front, my heart flutters. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but this little girl has already carved herself a place in my heart that Ididn’t even know was empty. I want to be the best nanny that I can be to her.
The door bursts open. “Ivy!” Junie squeals when she sees me waiting as her backpack hits the floor with a thud, followed by the pitter-patter of snow-booted feet slamming into the hardwood. She launches herself across the room like a joyful human cannonball, flying straight into my arms.
“Oof!” I laugh, catching her with a spin. “There’s my mermaid pirate!”
She buries her face in my shoulder, sinking into me with relief. “What are you doing here?”
I pull back just enough to smile at her. “Well, turns out I might be your new nanny. According to your Nana and your Dad.” I add that last part, hoping it’s actually true.
Junie gasps, eyes going wide with excitement. “Yes!”
Then she looks around the kitchen and takes in the ingredients and recipe laid out. “Wait. Are we makingrealcookies?”
Her voice squeaks up two octaves, and her whole body wiggles with joy. She grabs my hands and jumps up and down, her puffy coat bouncing like she’s a tiny Christmas marshmallow.
I nod, laughing. “That’s the plan. But only if you go hang up your backpack and wash your hands first, you tiny tornado.”
She’s already halfway to the mudroom. “I’ll do it! I’ll be so fast! Don’t start without me!”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” I call after her. “I’ve been excited for this all day.” I’ve spent time with Junie at the bookstore, and at family dinners because Donna and my mother are best friends. But I’ve never been inside Remy’s house.
While she’s hanging up her coat and putting away her stuff, I pull out the last surprise: two matching Christmas aprons with dancing gingerbread pirates with candy cane swords.
When she returns, I hold one up with a grin. “Look what I got us!”
Her jaw drops. “We match?! That’s the coolest thing ever.”
She spins as if she’s on the runway at a Paris bakery fashion show, then throws her arms around me again.
“You’re the best witch-nanny EVER.”
I press a kiss to her hair and whisper, “And you’re the best cookie co-captain I’ve ever had.”
She giggles, eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy from the cold and excitement.
We turn to the counter together, sleeves rolled up, Christmas music humming behind us like a scene straight out of a holiday movie.
And in that moment with flour in the air, joy buzzing between us, I swear the house alreadyfeelsdifferent. Lighter and warmer as if someone just opened a window and let Christmas back in.
I have a chicken casserole bubbling in the oven, golden cheese crisping on the edges just the way I like it. I’ve already folded the last load of laundry and sorted out all the bathroom linens that I’m currently washing. We made it into a game. Junie called it “Potion Ingredient Sorting,” and I awarded her wizard points every time she folded a pile.
After dinner, we dance around the kitchen with the broom, cleaning up while Junie sings along to the “Jingle Bell Rock” remix like it’s her Grammy debut.
