Page 112 of Mistletoe All the Way

But hopefully, they’ll see me in a new way now—as someone who can help others. In this case, our four-legged friends.

And the pups on-screen are working it in their sweaters. As the crowd coos over the pets, I realize something else—I don’t care if I win this challenge or not. The exposure for the pups is worth it.

A few seconds after I put myself out there, someone calls out, “How do we adopt them?”

Another pipes in with, “Yeah, where are they from?”

One more says, “They’re so cute. I want to help them find a home.”

This time I don’t mind speaking in public as I answer with a hopeful, “The Evergreen Falls shelter has all of them available to adopt. Just go to their website right now.”

“And don’t forget—the final event is in two more days. It starts bright and early on December twenty-third in the town square,” Fable says after announcing the winners. Stephen wins for creativity, but he’s not the only one. Turns out the townspeople liked the simplicity and silliness of Henry’s piggyback picture, so the two of them tied. I landed in second, or second-ish. “For our last challenge, the contestants will need to come prepared for anything. Since the final event—including its actual location—will be a secret till that morning.”

Of course it is.

But that’s a good thing, I decide, since it means I can focus entirely on Eloise tonight and tomorrow.

As Fable thanks the crowd and heads off the dais, I turn to Eloise and give a Win some, lose some shrug.

She smiles softly and reaches for my hand. “Here’s what my murder-board brain put together,” she whispers, nodding to the horse lady. “She stayed for the entire vote, lingering on the edge of the crowd as the in-person votes were counted. She didn’t interact with Stephen, which was odd.”

“But he was socializing the whole time, so maybe that’s why,” I point out.

“Quite possible. Now, at first, I thought maybe she’s in on it. Maybe she’s going to assess the gear from the barn too. She sells used bridles and saddles and stuff.”

“She wouldn’t need to be here for that though.”

“Exactly. So my conclusion is—she’s looking out for the horses.”

Wait. “What? How?”

“She was very suspicious of me when I pretended to be Cassandra. I just wonder if she’s keeping an eye on him too, trying to figure out what he’s up to. Like a guardian angel for horses.”

I blow out a breath, impressed and then some. “Where do you come up with this stuff? Wait don’t tell me. It’s the murder-board brain.”

“It’s the happy-news part of me. I’d like to think she’s keeping an eye on him to protect the horses too.”

As if I have any choice but to fall a little harder for this woman every single day. “Maybe she is,” I say, wishing I shared her optimism, but grateful at least that she shares it with me.

I lean in for a kiss, but she snaps her gaze toward the thinning crowd. Stephen’s heading out, talking to a guy with a mustache and a well-worn ball cap. “Chad,” she hisses. “He’s here now.”

“Let’s go.”

No idea what the plan is. If we’ll follow them through the market, then to wherever they go next, but I’m following Eloise’s lead wherever she goes.

I stick by her side, wandering strategically through the market, pretending we’re checking out Christmas pot holders and fig jam, but we’re really following Stephen, trying to figure out where he and Chad might go next and if it’ll reveal something.

But Chad marches toward the exit. Stephen strolls through the crowds, stopping to chat with the woman running the wreath booth that he worked at earlier in the contest. We duck into a ceramic stall, checking out snowman mugs but keeping our ears trained on Stephen and the wreath maker.

“We’ve just never sold so much. I swear, when you were here, we sold four or five times our regular amount,” says the woman one booth over. “I need you to work for me.”

I snap my gaze to Eloise as I set down a Frosty the Snowman cup, whisper-hissing, “Did he sell them for a dollar or something?”

Eloise looks like she’s about to crush a red-and-white handle in her bare hands. “I bet he did.” Her eyes glint at me approvingly. “And now you have murder-board brain.”

“You’re rubbing off on me.”

She pats me. “Nah. You’ve always had it. You’re just finally accepting your inner spy, thanks to me.”