Page 31 of Mistletoe All the Way

He draws a deep breath, as if he’s assessing me. Weighing my comment. “Thanks. I think,” he says, then pauses once more. “Most of the time I’d rather just focus on the animals, know what I mean?” It’s said with a rare vulnerability, like that cost him something.

“I do know. Truly.”

“I understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. I just wish it weren’t always necessary.”

That I completely get too. We all want to return to an easier way of life. “I hear you,” I say softly. “Sometimes I wish for that as well, and it’s my job.”

His mouth softens, almost, almost into the hint of a smile. But it disappears quickly. Still, I saw it. And I felt a little of its warmth. “See? It wasn’t so bad having me show up, was it?”

“The jury’s still out,” he grumbles.

“Well, trust me—the pics will help. We’re building your brand.”

He cringes, like that’s the worst thing I could have said. “I don’t want to have a brand.”

“But you also don’t want your cousin to have that farm,” I say, then flash back to the other night when I popped into St. Nick’s Hangout, following the guys in suits. Do I have any conclusive evidence that Stephen’s up to something? No. Do I have theories? You bet I do. “I can only imagine what he’s up to. It seemed like he was taking a meeting in the bar the other night.”

Noah lifts an eyebrow. It practically reaches the white faux fur of the Santa hat. “What sort of meeting?”

“Two guys in suits were talking to him. And I don’t think they were just customers. But we can chat tonight when you’re done here. Because I was thinking, since I’m in town and I need more content for socials to build you up before the contest, I can take shots of you decorating your tree.”

He pulls a face. “I’m not decorating a tree.”

I smirk, partly because he doesn’t look as grinchy as he thinks with the little pom-pom bobbling at the top of the hat. “Yes, you are, cowboy. I’ll be at your place at five. With a tree. Just give me the address.”

“A tree? You’re getting me a tree?”

“Unless you already chopped one down and were just waiting for me to decorate it?” I bat my lashes.

“I did not.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “No big deal. I’m excellent at picking out trees.”

“I don’t have ornaments.”

“Not a problem.”

“I don’t have a tree stand.”

“Covered.”

“I don’t—”

“Noah, I’ll handle it all. Address?”

He groans, then he gazes ceilingward. “How is this even my life? Content. Content?”

“You say that like I asked you to donate a kidney or run a marathon. This is easy.”

“No. Running a marathon is easy.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve run three. This is hard.”

“Ooh, three marathons is impressive. We’ll have to use that too. I wish there were a running competition component to the Mr. Holiday pageant. Did you raise money for charity with them?”

“Of course.”