Page 32 of Mistletoe & Mischief

“It’s very nice to meet you, Brad,” Phoebe said earnestly.

“Brad helped me with the Christmas Festival,” Maya explained, pouring Phoebe a glass of red. “I would have been lost without him.”

“I just can’t believe my mother celebrated Christmas in the first place,” Phoebe said, taking the seat beside Maya. “I’ve never seen that before.”

Felicity, Conor, Winnie, and Tom exchanged worried glances.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Felicity asked in a small voice.

Maya didn’t want to get into it. As she stuttered with potential explanations that had nothing to do with her dark past, Brad came to her rescue. “Maya usually likes to keep things small and uncomplicated. The festival was certainly not that.”

Felicity smiled with relief. “It wasn’t! But Phoebe, your mother pulled it off without a hitch. The entire town fell in love with her immediately. Well, especially one of us.” She winked at Brad across the table, and he turned a bright shade of crimson.

As they dined deep into the night, sharing stories, passing around second helpings, and pouring wine, Maya couldn’t help but notice that Winnie and Tom held one another’s gaze longer than they once had. Tom’s fingers swept past Winnie’s wrist, and Winnie blushed. What was going on?

In the kitchen, Maya tried to press Felicity for information, whispering to ensure the others couldn’t hear. But Felicity just looked Maya in the eye, unwilling to gossip, and said: “Tom came here looking for love. And it looks like he found it.”

* * *

The following morning, Maya brewed coffee in the kitchen and surprised Phoebe with a platter of croissants filled with pistachio cream. Phoebe was dressed in an enormous college sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, and her dark hair was a tumbleweed behind her. They sat in the back sunroom, where Maya had already built a fire when she’d woken up. Out the window, snow fluttered. Her heart felt full.

“It was wonderful to meet your friends last night,” Phoebe said softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look at you the way Brad does.” She sipped her coffee. “I hope it isn’t too soon. After everything with Nick, I mean.”

Maya had expected Phoebe’s worries to rise up like this. “The thing about Brad is, I’ve been open about Nick from the start. I couldn’t help but tell him everything about myself almost immediately. I felt like I was constantly word-vomiting, but Brad didn’t seem to mind.”

Phoebe laughed.

“It was so different than with other men,” Maya went on. “Ordinarily, I tried to be whatever version of me I thought they’d like the most. But with Brad, I was just myself. And he seems okay with that. So far, at least.” She shook her head. “When we had our first kiss, I thought to myself: wow. I’m in trouble.”

“You sound so happy.” Phoebe squeezed Maya’s hand.

That afternoon, Maya drove Phoebe downtown to explore Hollygrove, eat at the diner, roam in and out of little shops, and seep up Hollygrove Christmas magic. A few of the Christmas festival stalls remained open along the sidewalk near the courthouse, selling arts and crafts, mulled wine, coffee, and sweets. Each vendor greeted Maya excitedly and shook Phoebe’s hand. “Your mother saved the day when she took over the festival,” they told her.

At the diner, Phoebe and Maya removed their thick winter coats and ordered soup and grilled sandwiches.

“Hollygrove is even smaller than Peckham,” Phoebe said conspiratorially, speaking of the small Pennsylvania town where Maya and Steve had originally settled to raise Phoebe. “I thought for sure you’d never return somewhere like that.”

“There’s something cozy about being known everywhere,” Maya said.

“Everyone knew you in Peckham,” Phoebe reminded her, “and you hated that.”

Maya’s heart darkened at her long-ago memories. “I can’t explain why I felt that way,” she said softly. “Maybe it had something to do with the divorce.”

Phoebe nodded, furrowing her brow. “I didn’t mean to bring that up. I’m sorry.”

“No, honey. It’s okay.” Maya rummaged through her purse to find a large notebook, in which she now kept the photograph of her mother holding the mysterious infant. “I’m working on staring truths in the face. I don’t want to hide from my past or my feelings anymore.”

Maya removed the photo and passed it to Phoebe, whose eyes darkened with curiosity. “This is Grandma Bethany?”

“Yes. But I have no idea who that baby is.”

“Maybe a cousin?” Phoebe suggested. “Did Veronica have any children?”

“Maybe Veronica had a baby who died,” Maya said very quietly.

Phoebe glanced around the diner, which was packed to the gills on a Saturday afternoon. “This town is so small,” she said. “Why don’t you ask someone who’s been around a while?”

This was a good idea. “We should drop by the bed and breakfast on our way back to the house,” Maya said. “Felicity will know.”

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