Page 30 of Mr. Mistletoe
I blow out a breath, square my shoulders, and walk back into the inn like I’m not already picturing our life together. Golden Retriever or Labrador? I could see Clark with either. Or maybe even a Calico cat.
Back inside, cheeks pink from the cold—and, fine, maybe from the making-out-under-the-mistletoe thing—the inn lobby smells of cinnamon and pine. Cozy enough to make anyone feel warm. Except it only reminds me that Clark isn’t here.
I climb the stairs to my room, slip into my candy-cane-striped pajamas, and crawl into bed, bracing for a cold night alone with only the memory of Clark’s lips for company. The sheets are soft and luxurious, the pillows softer than clouds. I sink into them, visions of bearded Christmas tree farmers dancing in my head.
Then my phone dings. My entire body goes on alert. First thought: Clark. Then I remember—he doesn’t have my number.
The screen lights up with notifications: three missed calls and a flurry of texts from an unknown number.
I swipe to voicemail.
“Jess?” a breathless voice says. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but this is Tabitha fromThe Chinoiserie Squirrel. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I really need your help. Please. My job depends on it.”
The texts all say the same thing:
Please call me.
I need your help.
Call me ASAP.
I sit up, clutching the phone. I have no idea how I could possibly save Tabitha’s job—but curiosity is already winning.
“Jess,” Tabitha gushes when I call back. “OMG! Thank you for returning my call. Please say you’ll do it.”
My pulse skips. I’d do almost anything to get my designs in the Squirrel. “What do you need?”
“We’re sponsoring a runway show,” she says, voice high and nervous. “Unfortunately, the designer pulled out at the last minute. I need you to dress ten models. All over five-foot-ten.”
I throw off the covers and swing my legs to the floor, excitement bubbling. “Perfect.”
“The show is Saturday.”
I pull up my calendar, out of habit. Not really necessary. “I’m in.”
“Saturday as in tomorrow,” she clarifies.
My knees wobble. “Tomorrow?”
“I know it’s short notice, but we’ll make it worth your while. Of course, your designs will be featured in the store.” A nervous laugh. “And I’ll throw in a whole case of your favorite wine for saving my butt.”
Reality hits like a gust of cold wind. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” she says. “But don’t take too long. I have other names I can call.”
I scroll to Gran’s name and press call, heart hammering double time.
Gran picks up on the second ring. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s it going up there?”
“Gran,” I gasp. “You won’t believe this. I have a chance for an event tomorrow night. This could be huge for me.”
“Oh, Jess.” I can hear her smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
“But I can’t just leave. Who will run your candle booth?”
A pause. Then she sighs. “I have a confession.”
I narrow my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Gran. What did you do?”
