Page 40 of A Christmas Changes Everything

But during the thirty-minute train ride around the farm’s perimeter, where the girls eagle-eyed more available activities aside from those they’d already scoped out, Chace observed a young man pointing to a sprig of mistletoe above his companion’s head. Grinning like a fool, the dude had swooped in and kissed the daylights out of the petite brunette.

The same way Chace wanted to do with Holly every damned chance he got.

Like, from now on, whenever mistletoe was in sight. And if he had to be the one to ensure the little white sprigs appeared in some rather unlikely places, well, a man had to do what a man had to do. It was a mission he was beyond ready to accept.

Fortunately, after disembarking from the Winter Wonderland Express, their first stop was visiting Santa’s reindeer, where a clump of mistletoe was tacked above each stall. So, while Emme and Wren were engrossed with petting and feeding each of Santa’s eight reindeer, Chace officially put Operation Mistletoe into effect by leaning down and dropping a kiss on Holly’s extremely surprised lips.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, the little wrinkle appearing between her brows.

Chace pointed above them to the eight sprigs of berries and greenery. “One down, seven to go.” And that was just in the reindeer barn.

“One’s plenty,” Holly insisted, but Chace didn’t miss how her tongue snuck out between her lips as if seeking a taste.

“How come there are only eight reindeer?” Emme broke into the moment, which was probably for the best. “Where’s Rudolph?”

Good question. Gratefully, Holly was one step ahead of him in producing an answer. “It says right here,” she held out the pamphlet Cindy Lou Who had given them upon arrival, “that along with Rudolph, the actual eight reindeer remain at the North Pole with Santa, and that he sends some of his extras to places like this for everyone to see. Since Rudolph is one of a kind with his red nose, there aren’t any extras of him to send.”

Both girls pondered Holly’s explanation for a few seconds before nodding. “Makes sense,” Wren confirmed.

And it did.

But as they made their way to decorate milk-carton gingerbread houses, Chace asked, “Did the brochure really say that?” If it didn’t, and Holly had made up the story on the fly, he might have to kiss her for that alone, with or without mistletoe.

“Sure did,” Holly replied, showing him what she’d read. “I’m sure Wren isn’t the first to question Rudolph’s absence.”

No, Chace doubted she was. Too bad for him, though, considering how much he longed for another reason to kiss his niece’s godmother. Guess that only meant one thing—he needed to locate some more mistletoe.

Maybe even find a sprig to carry around in his pocket for moments like these.

“Let’s go over there!”

Tiny gingerbread houses in hand, Emme and Wren dashed toward the oversized candy cane and lollipop-lined path leading toward a refurbished bank barn that housed everything Santa, including the jolly old elf himselfandanother live piece of mistletoe over the door.

Without making a production out of his discovery, Chace pressed his lips to Holly’s cheek.

“Would you stop?” Holly hissed out of the side of her mouth.

“And completely disregard tradition?” He shook his head. “I think not.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She ducked from beneath his arm and took a step away from him.

“That’s only gonna make kissing you more noticeable if we happen upon any more mistletoe,” he forewarned with what he knew very well was a shit-eating grin.

“Let’s go find our names in Santa’s book.” Wren grabbed her sister’s hand and darted toward what appeared to be Santa’s office, where an antique oak roll-top desk sat on one side of a flickering electric fireplace with a wingback chair on the other. A pedestal with a huge leather-bound book was placed just inside the door.

“Me first since E comes before W.” Emme carefully turned the thick brown pages, her finger and eyes scanning each entry until she came to hers. “Look. I’m on the nice list!” she exclaimed, her entire face alight with joy.

“My turn.” Wren edged Emme to the side and paged through to almost the end of the book until she found her name. “Me too.” She jumped up and down. “I’m on the nice list too.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Holly asked.

Wren scrunched up her cute little face. “Well, sometimes I don’t share with Emme. And there’s this one girl at school that I don’t like to play with because she can be mean.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Emme agreed.

“Sounds to me like something Santa probably expects from every seven-year-old over the course of the year. So I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

In awe, Chace watched and listened as Holly removed the twins’ concern they may suddenly be demoted to the naughty list for behavior associated with most children their age. How did she always know just what to say? Or where to look for the answers? Was it inherent? A woman’s maternal instinct? Or did it come from educating today’s youth?

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