Page 24 of Mr. Mistletoe
“For now,” she whispers.
“Santa?” the kids call again.
I step back with a sigh. “That’s me.”
Jess bites her lip on a laugh, gives me one last look, then turns and walks away. I watch her go, every curve burned into my brain—until a kid grabs my arm and drags me toward the rink.
Chapter Eleven
Jess
The Sugar PlumInn glows like something out of a Christmas card—Victorian charm wrapped in thousands of tiny lights. A candle flickers in every window, and garland drapes the wide porch railings. Through the front window, I catch a glimpse of a towering Christmas tree, glittering like it’s been sprinkled with fairy dust.
Inside, it’s even better. A fire crackles in the hearth, the air smells like cinnamon and spice, and laughter hums through the sitting room.
The owner greets me with a smile and a steaming cup of cocoa. “The guests are gathering at the fire pit for happy hour,” he says. “And I hope you’re hungry. My wife made White Christmas chili—enough to feed everyone in Santa’s workshop.”
Iamhungry, but not for chili. What I’m craving is a tall hunk in a Santa suit.
Still, the next move is on him.
Up in my room, I text Gran to let her know I made it.
Jess: I made it to the inn!
Gran: Isn’t it lovely?
Jess: It’s amazing.
Gran: Did you stop at the Christmas Cabin?
Jess: Yes.
Gran: Did you drink the cider?
I roll my eyes. Of course she’s asking about the cider again.
Jess: yeah
Gran: Did it work yet?
Jess: Did what work?
Gran: The cider
I frown at the screen. Is she texting with her hurt hand again?
Jess: What?
Gran: The cider has a love potion. You’ll meet your soulmate soon—if you haven’t already.
A spark races down my spine. I drank the cider. Then I sat on Clark’s lap.
No way.
It’s not magic. It’shim.
His hands. His mouth. His eyes. The way he smells like pine and sin.
