Page 16 of Mistletoe All the Way

It’ll be hard to do that though if I’m prancing around on a stage.

“That seems unnecessarily long,” I point out. Maybe common sense will prevail and she can convince the contest organizers to shorten the competition. “Could you maybe tell them a few days is better?”

She laughs at me, not with me. “Unlike you, Evergreen Falls likes Christmas. The town loves its Christmas competitions. It mixes them up every season. And every season thousands of tourists flock to this place, and every year the contest organizers donate a lot of money to charity.” She swallows nervously—that seems rare for her. Then she says, “And hopefully more people will come this year.”

I blow out a long breath. A week and a half of putting on an act. Of being upbeat, and joyful, and charming. Can I stomach that? Especially since crowds and me don’t get along. Public events aren’t my friends. Plus, I’d need to hire a horse sitter to take care of the two rescued horses who live on my land.

But I picture Gramps’s farm, my goals, and, also, my mother’s joy at helping manage the place when she was around many years ago. My chest aches.

“So if it’s a week and a half, I need to be back here by mid-December?”

She hesitates. “Not exactly. There’s a kickoff event before the competition even begins.”

“Because a week and a half isn’t long enough?”

“Again, some people like Christmas,” she says.

“And some people like solitude.”

Her expression is kind, sympathetic even, as she says, “That’s coming through loud and clear.” She gives me the dates, then adds, “The winner is announced right before Christmas Eve, so people can be with their families on the Christmas holiday.” She tilts her head. Lifts a hand. “Wait. You said be back here. You won’t be here at all for Christmas?”

“Just for one or two days,” I say, then shift quickly, adding, “I guess I can return for the contest. But I’ll be in Colorado for the next several days volunteering.”

“We’ll brainstorm from afar, then.”

She’s always a few steps ahead of me. Pretty sure I’ll never escape her. “No doubt,” I say, but something nags at me. I meet Eloise’s pretty eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Eloise squares her shoulders and blows out a hopeful breath. “If I can make a star out of you and get tons of attention for the contest, I should be able to impress the mayor. I have the chance to pitch her on doing PR for the town’s tourism bureau in the New Year, and she said if I can bring more people to the contest, that could give me a better shot against the competition. And it won’t be easy, since I’ll be up against some big-city firms.” She hesitates, nerves flickering briefly in her eyes once more. “I want to show her that big-city firms aren’t always better. That sometimes the hometown girl is the one for the job.”

My heart lurches. I think about what she said the other day about losing out to a San Francisco firm. That can’t have felt good.

“You deserve it,” I say, and I feel that deeply even though I hardly know her. But then again, I’ve already learned she has a hell of a lot of gumption and sunshine, and that has to count for something.

“Thanks. I’m very good at showcasing the positive—it’s literally what I do for the hockey team. I find all the lovely, quirky, fun ways the team contributes to the community. And I also know how to toss a thirst trap out to fans too—shots of the guys in suits heading to games and so on. I can do the same for the competition.”

Photos. Endless photos. My skin crawls. I don’t love having my photo taken. I don’t love any of the things I’ll have to do for the competition.

I’m quiet for a long beat, mulling over her wild scheme. She drives me up the wall with her cheer, but I also don’t want to deny her the chance to win this gig she’s chasing.

Still, a week and a half of Christmas events sounds like my idea of jolly hell.

Wait, what was it my brother said about his wealth advisor? Right. He needs to fire him. Which means he needs me to fire him.

Which means he’ll owe me a favor.

Yes.

Oh, hell yes.

What better way to show my town spirit than by getting the likable one to play me in the contest?

I am a genius. But I can’t let on to Eloise about my plans. I take a bite of a fry, acting as if I’m chewing on the contest as I chew on the spud.

When I finish it, I tap the edge of her tablet. “Fine. You convinced me. You can put one Dr. Noah Lennox down for the competition.”

She squeals. She actually squeals. It’s weird and adorable all at once. She pops up, rushes to join me on the bench, and throws her arms around me. “Thank you. This is going to work so well.”

Her scent—her sultry, citrusy scent—must be playing tricks on me, since I say, like I mean it, “Yes, it is.”