Page 53 of Mistletoe All the Way

He pats her hand. “Maybe you can campaign for Noah, then.”

“Count me in too,” Chris puts in. “I’ll have signs made up.”

I stare him down. “No signs.”

“What? I was thinking Dr. Noah Lennox—officially endorsed by reindeers.”

“Or maybe… ready to sleigh all day?” Grams offers innocently.

“I have a fancy printer. They’ll be ready tonight,” Eloise says.

“We’re not making signs,” I whisper to her in warning.

“Maybe we should,” she says.

The thought of campaign posters makes my chest tighten. Or maybe it’s the ticking of the clock toward the moment I go onstage. As the mayor heads up the steps of the gazebo, I grip Rusty’s leash tighter. I pinch the bridge of my nose, like that’ll release some of this tension in my body, my shoulders, my back.

It doesn’t.

The mayor lifts a big red-and-white striped megaphone—seriously? A candy cane megaphone?—and booms a warm and welcoming “It’s so good to see all of you here today, Evergreen Falls, ready to embrace the holidays and all the festivities. Ready to cheer on our contestants for Mr. Holiday.”

I bristle at that word. Contestant.

What the hell am I even doing?

Scrubbing a hand across my beard, I weigh backing out. I flash back on the text from Jamie, my vet friend in Colorado, when he learned about the competition. Hoping this is on TV so I can watch it and get a good laugh. Typical Jamie, but still. What if this contest is a total flop?

I look around, devising a new plan. I can show my gramps in other ways that I’m the man to inherit the farm. I’ll just help him out for the next several days while I’m in town. Spend time there at Silver Bells and let him know about my dream for it to become an animal sanctuary too, just like my mother always imagined when she used to manage the place with him.

Surely, that’d be enough for him. He’d understand.

But Stephen’s face from moments ago flashes before me, along with the suspicious glint in his eyes when he heard how many likes a photo had. Something was running through his head. Probably that he thinks he has the farm in the bag. And for better or worse, he has our gramps’s ear more than I do.

He stayed. I left.

That’ll always be apparent to everyone. I’m no one in this town. He’s everyman.

I grit my teeth, then focus once again on the mayor, as she says, “And without further ado, allow me to introduce the four fantastic contestants for our Mr. Holiday competition.”

More than a few hundred townspeople stuffed into the square hoot and holler. Kill me now.

“Hailing from the North Pole Nook and Tavern himself… J. J. Washington,” she warbles, like the announcer at a big college football game.

He bounds up the steps with a warm grin. “I see a lot of familiar faces out there—and a few new ones. If you’re new in town, come by the tavern and introduce yourself. We’re all family here, especially at Christmas.”

How the hell do I compete with that? A guy who would give you the shirt off his back.

I dart my gaze away, looking to the packed sidewalks as locals and visitors slow down to check out the action in the town square.

I could make a clean getaway right now. Slip into the crowd on the pretense I’m taking Rusty for a quick walk. Yeah, that’d work. But as I’m planning my escape route, a soft hand curls around my shoulder. Warmth spreads through me. A quiet voice whispers the words, “Fake-chicken sandwich for dinner?”

I bark out a small laugh.

I was expecting a cheesy You can do this from Eloise. But instead, she’s offering a reward.

“Am I a dog and you’re promising me a treat for doing a good job?”

“I sure am,” she says.