Page 128 of Mistletoe All the Way

I don’t take the pointless bait, since there’s no substance to it. “Then what are you doing? This is your chance. Explain yourself.”

Gramps gives a Help a guy out shrug. “I’d like to know too.”

Stephen gulps again. His lips part like a fish out of water. “Look. I didn’t want to make a big thing of this. But I’m just, I’m trying to expand the bar. I just need to make a little more money.”

And we’re getting closer. “Which is why you’re trying to win Mr. Holiday—to get more attention to St. Nick’s Hangout. Which is why you undercut the wreath booth and sold the wreaths for a dollar apiece yourself instead of a fair price so you could win that event,” I say, taking a big swing, but when his eyes flare with Oh shit written in them, I’ve knocked the accusation out of the park. That was a murder-board brain hunch if there ever was one, but I was right.

“So you could prove to our grandfather that you have more holiday spirit than me. Maybe even to your friends Flanagan and Murray,” I say, and he flinches at the names, likely because I nailed that too. “To impress your investors. And look, maybe you do have more Christmas spirit than I do. Maybe you give away more peppermint bark. Maybe you give away more beer, but there’s one thing you’re not going to give away,” I say, stopping to take a steadying breath. “You’re not going to give away that farm.”

“Stephen,” Gramps says, disappointment coloring his tone. “Are you trying to sell it before it’s even yours? Hell, are you planning to sell it after it might be yours?”

“Nooooo.” His denial is long. “Those guys are here because they were just going to help me out a little bit. I ran into some problems with St. Nick’s Hangout and that was all it was.”

“You’re not even running your own bar that well?” Gramps asks, not unkindly. “But we talked about that. We sat down. I gave you advice.”

Stephen turns the color of his convertible. I wish I could say this moment is gratifying. But it’s just sad. It’s also not mine to witness. What Stephen didn’t do with hard work or determination is between the two of them now. I clap Gramps on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

I walk away right as the mayor announces that I’ve won the challenge today, then adds that the final winner of Mr. Holiday won’t be announced till this afternoon, when it’ll be time to deliver the trees. Eloise closes the distance between us and throws her arms around me. We climb into the truck and head out of here, giving Gramps some space to think.

“I’ve rocked his world, I know that,” I say to Eloise as she drives away.

“Yes, but it’s good that he knows.”

“It is,” I say, and getting the facts out there is critical. I should do that with Eloise too. Talk about what the hell we’re doing. What it might look like if we try to make a go of things next year.

But once we curve around a snowy lane, my phone bleats again.

A Colorado number once more. This time I can answer.

“Hey, I hate to do this to you,” Alonzo says in a scratchy voice, sounding stuffy too. I know what’s coming. “I tried to find another replacement, but no go. Our other vets are sick too. Something is going around the office. But we’ve got a couple post-op patients. A dog who had a liver lobectomy is spending the night. Along with a cat who just had surgery to remove some tinsel in her stomach. Is there any chance you can come back and—”

It’s rote. It’s muscle memory. It’s my nature.

I say yes before it even hits me that tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.

42 ONLY EVER

Noah

Rusty’s custom car seat will be his home away from home for the next ten to twelve hours. “I’m sorry,” I say again to Eloise as I give my best friend a lift into the seat, making sure his booties are on the car floor.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says, bright and upbeat, like she was the day I met her.

A jolly through and through. Even though something is off slightly.

Probably me, the asshole, since I’m letting her down. I shut the truck door. “I know, but I am sorry. I promised I’d be here for Christmas, and I’m letting you down. I won’t be at dinner with your parents either. I really wanted to be, Eloise. I swear.”

She smiles, but it definitely doesn’t reach her eyes. “The animals need you.”

“It’s just—I can’t fly since Rusty can’t fly. It takes me longer to get there since I have to drive. And I need to get back tonight so I can get some sleep since I’ve got to be at work midmorning,” I say, giving Rusty a scratch behind the ear. “Our clinic has always prided itself on being open on Christmas Eve. Lots of people only have off a few days a year, so we try to help on the days when they need it,” I say, and I’m overexplaining.

“I get it,” she says.

“And I know I’m going to miss the announcement of the winner,” I say, my shoulders sagging, but then I try to make the best of it. “But look at the turnout this morning. It was packed, and that’s great for you. And you got the tree farm client, and I know the mayor is going to hire you,” I say, then curl my hands around her waist. I have to touch her even as I disappoint her, just like others have done. Her ex. Her parents. That stupid firm in San Francisco the day I met her. “You were amazing. You definitely showed her that big-city firms aren’t always better. That sometimes the hometown girl is the one for the job.”

I quote her words back to her, but her face is pale, her smile forced.

Fuuuuck. I’m hurting her, and she’s trying to hide it. My heart twists, like someone’s jammed a fist into my chest and is squeezing it hard.