Page 31 of Mr. Mistletoe
“I might’ve… exaggerated the wrist thing,” she admits. “I just thought if you spent time in Starlight Bay, you might bump into that kiss guy.”
My jaw drops. “You lied about an injury to play matchmaker?”
“Well, technically, I didn’t lie,” she says, all innocence. “I just didn’t correct you when you assumed. Besides, it worked, didn’t it? You drank the magic cider.”
“Gran!” I groan, pacing to the window. “That’s not the point.”
“Oh, honey, itisthe point. Fate needed a little nudge. I guess it didn’t work, though.”
“Well… actually, Ididmeet Clark.”
“That’s wonderful!” Gran shouts, almost as excited as I am. “My job is done.”
I push aside the curtain, looking out at the snow-covered streets. My heart is light… and heavy.
“But what about the market?” I whisper.
“I’m leaving,” she says, like it’s effortless. “I’ll be there within the hour. You get your ass home.”
I grip the phone tighter, my heart tugging in two directions. “Gran, I can’t just—Clark doesn’t even know yet. I can’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Then don’t,” she says gently. “But don’t staybecauseof him, either. If it’s meant to be, sweetheart, it’ll be.”
I press my forehead against the cool glass. Excitement. Guilt. Hope. Longing. My dream is dangling right in front of me, so close I can almost touch it.
But so is Clark. I don’t have his number. No way to say goodbye.
I end the call, pulse hammering. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. So why does it feel like choosing one dream means leaving another behind?
Chapter Fourteen
Clark
When I sawthe text from Ingrid with the wordEMERGENCY, I panicked.
I screeched out of the inn parking lot, already imagining myself delivering her baby in the front seat of my truck. I’ve seen the movies. How hard could it be? Towels, breathing, and—okay, I’m going to throw up.
But then her next text arrived:
Ingrid: We’re out of rocky road. I need rocky road. Like, now.
I blink. Read it again. Seriously?
“That’s the emergency?” I growl at the glowing screen. I’ve officially reached the point of arguing with electronics.
When I get to Ingrid’s, she’s going to sit through a dramatic reading of what counts as a crisis. Spoiler alert: ice cream does not make the cut.
I grip the wheel tighter. She has no idea what she just ruined. Jess and I were… God, we were good. Pressed against each other like teenagers, lips locked, hands everywhere—the kind of kiss that makes your brain forget your own name.
And then my phone buzzed. Poof. Mood murdered by rocky road.
Maybe it’s for the best. What if Mike had seen us? Or one of the hockey kids? Hard to lecture about discipline when Coach Clark is steaming up the Sugar Plum Inn parking lot with a stranger.
Still, I can’t shake the hollow pit in my chest. Jess’s body felt perfect pressed against mine. It was more than heat on a cold night—it was the possibility of something real.
I thumb a reply to Ingrid.
Clark: Fine. I’ll get your rocky road.
