Page 134 of Mistletoe All the Way

Right as I lift my hand to rap on their stately door, it swings open a couple inches and I freeze.

“Yeah, I apologize it didn’t work out with the farm, but maybe I can still run the bar at the country club?”

Stephen is here? Apologizing… to my parents?

“It was part of the deal, regardless. So we’ll do it,” my father says from inside the house. “But I’m very disappointed.”

“Same here,” he says, and I burn. I fry. I boil.

I push the door all the way open. “You were working with my parents?”

Stephen snaps his gaze to me, his eyes flickering with guilt, but it vanishes quickly into annoyance. “Are you everywhere? You’re either the best spy or the worst.”

“I’m the best,” I say, like a superhero, staring him down. I swear I could throw fire from my palms right now.

But not at him.

I can’t believe I once thought he was a good actor. Or maybe he’s just falling apart in the second act of the play of his life. “You were helping my parents to… what? Expand the country club?”

Looking like a Cavalier King relaxing on his stately sofa, holding a glass of scotch, the tree’s white lights flashing behind him, my father says, “Yes. We could have made a mint from handling the acquisition of Silver Bells and expanding the club there with a hotel too.” He sighs. “Guess that won’t be my Christmas present after all.”

Wow.

Just wow.

But, of course, it makes sense in its own way that Stephen, the man who gives away beer and peppermint bark, would need backing from someone colder, more ruthless, more committed to the cause of lining corporate pockets and his own.

“What a shame,” I bite out.

Stephen frowns. “You’re telling me.”

My mother strides over to the door, her chin raised. “At least he accepted our generosity even if it didn’t amount to anything.” Her eyes lock with mine. “But we’re getting used to that.”

I wish I could say I was surprised. I hand her the gift box. “Merry Christmas. I’m going to go spend it with people who care about me.”

I walk away from my parents, down the steps and across their huge, manicured lawn.

I don’t think I need to go to Christmas Eve dinner with them again. I’m not sure I really need to keep trying. But the good thing is I’m not sad. I’m certain. I know where I want to be. And it’s in the house across the property where my grandma lives. A cottage with warm lights flickering in the windows, and a silly reindeer statue in the front yard.

I knock on that door, and Grandma opens it with open arms and a twinkle in her eyes. “Well, it must be Christmas Eve, since you’re early.”

I walk inside where I belong.

A couple of hours later I’m taking another bite of Aurora’s famed seven-layer bars while Henry switches to a new playlist, this one with more upbeat Christmas tunes. He’s proudly wearing his Mr. Holiday medal as he asks if anyone wants a refill. We’ve just gone through the stockings. Phillipa’s here, too, lounging on the comfy living room couch, playing a trivia card game with my grandmother as they keep each other on their toes, vying for first place.

I say no to a refill and then I stare at the fading flames in the fireplace as the conversation drifts by around me. Aurora mentions heading to her boyfriend’s parents’ place soon. Phillipa is going to visit her family in a little bit. My grandmother demands they both return here for a rousing New Year’s Eve party with sexy dancers for entertainment, and they say yes.

Then Grandma stares at me for a long beat till I fully realize she’s staring.

“Are you okay, darling? You’re not quite here, and that’s not like you. Are sugarplum fairies dancing in your head?”

Phillipa gives me a sad, knowing look. Aurora’s next to me on the couch, and she squeezes my shoulder.

“Or is it that you’re just missing your very own Mr. Holiday?” Phillipa asks.

There’s no point pretending. “I am.”

“Well, why don’t you tell him you’re missing him?” Aurora suggests.