Page 132 of Mistletoe All the Way

Maybe I’ve always wanted it back.

But not just for me.

For everyone who comes to visit.

“Thank you,” I say solemnly. “That means a lot to me. I’m going to take good care of Silver Bells.”

“I know you will,” he says. “Want to know how I know?”

“Sure,” I say, curious.

“Because you showed up, Noah. You were there over the last month. Helping with hauling hay, handling the sleigh rides, doing the dirty work of mucking the stalls. Taking care of the horses and the people. I didn’t pick you because of Mr. Holiday. I didn’t pick you because Stephen let me down. I knew late last night after you showed up yet again, just to help. That’s what matters.”

Emotions clog my throat, a tight knot that hurts as I try to swallow. But it hurts so good. “Thanks, Gramps. I’ll do you proud. And I love you,” I add.

I can hear him smile. “Love you too. Merry Christmas, and we can talk about the handover in the New Year.”

We say goodbye, and I continue on the midnight road. Eventually, later that night, I pull onto a winding, curving street in the mountains, and I stop at a cabin at the end of the road. There are no neighbors except Rocky the squirrel, who’s perched on a branch in my front yard. When he sees me, he tosses an acorn my way, almost like he’s trying to pummel me with it.

Fantastic. I’ve alienated the wildlife too.

Rusty and I hop out. He does his business, and I let him inside our home that feels eerily empty. It echoes with loneliness. I even miss the Christmas tree.

Nothing to do about that now. I walk across the property to the stables and say hello to Max and Agatha.

“You look good,” I murmur.

Sailor and Jenica took good care of them.

They whinny, and I take a few minutes petting each of them before I head back to the cabin and park my cowboy hat on a hook by the door.

Inside, I feed my dog. When he’s done hoovering his nuggets, he walks away from the dish, tail tucked between his legs, head hanging low—more forlorn than I’ve ever seen him.

“I hear you, buddy,” I tell him.

I walk to my bedroom, then I stop in my tracks. Against my better judgment, I look up at the mistletoe I never took down.

And I miss her more than I’d ever expected.

45 A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME

Noah

I sleep well enough, all things considered. A solid six and a half hours, which is just what I need for the workload I have today. I’m not due into the clinic until nine. After I feed Rusty, he curls up by the fireplace even though it’s not on. Hope springs eternal, I suppose.

I tug on some running clothes, a fleece, and a beanie. It’s colder here in Colorado than it was in Evergreen Falls, with temperatures dipping into the twenties, but that’s never stopped me from running in the morning. As I reach for the door handle, an image of Eloise at that fireplace, warming up her hands, lodges in my brain. She looked like she belonged here. She looked like she belonged with me. Did I read things wrong?

Rusty gives a harrumph as if he can read my mind, then finally, after hours of the silent treatment, looks me in the eyes. His big browns are rimmed with sadness as he whimpers.

I cross over and give him a pet on the head. “I know, buddy. I miss her too.”

I yank open the door and head outside into the bracing cold. The air bites at my face, nipping at my cheeks.

I texted Jamie that I was back in town and up for an early morning run, so I catch up with him about a mile away from my place. He’s running toward me, and his pale face looks as cold as mine does.

“Let’s see if you can keep up with me in the altitude,” he taunts, sliding right back into trash talk like I never left.

“I will,” I say, but it’s half-hearted. It’s also an artless reply.