Page 58 of Mistletoe All the Way

The bag’s next to me so I grab a shimmery one and pass it to him. “Here you go.”

The barn is quiet except for the soft sounds of Honey shifting her weight. A couple of the horses are out for a longer sleigh ride, with the stable manager, Priya, handling the morning rides. Pepper must be resting.

My plan for the first challenge is simple: decorate a horse for the “float” in the parade. Something Noah would be comfortable with but that would also make him stand out.

“See? I told you the competition wouldn’t be so bad.”

“It’s not… awful,” he concedes as he weaves another strand of ribbon through Honey’s mane.

She turns her muzzle toward him, like she’s inviting more touch. Their connection is so easy, and it makes me wonder something, not for the first time. “You’re so good with horses. Why didn’t you become a large-animal vet? Especially since you grew up around them too.”

His brow furrows. “I thought about it for a long time when I was younger. And I was torn for a while between being a small or a large animal vet. Especially since one of the big benefits of horses is less interaction with people.” His eyes glint with satisfaction.

“My point exactly!”

“But even though I love these beauties, I was always around dogs and cats more. Spending time with them in the house, going for walks and runs, teaching them tricks. Mom was the manager here, and she trained her rescue dogs in agility after work and on weekends. Chris and I helped her with that any chance we could get.”

“Was one of them Latte? Your grandpa mentioned a Latte yesterday.”

Noah pauses, stroking Honey’s mane, a fond look in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah. Mom’s heart dog. A border collie mix. Fierce competitor. So focused. Man, she loved that dog. Me too. So as much as this gal has my heart, she can’t ride shotgun with me in the car.”

He likes the companionship of small animals. That’s his personality in a nutshell. “A dog really is your best friend,” I say.

“Rusty has me wrapped around his little paw. But Honey knows I love all seventeen hands and 1,485 pounds of her,” he adds, dropping a kiss to the horse’s muzzle. She leans closer, rubbing against his face, and my chest flips from the sweetness.

“Seems mutual,” I say as he motions for me to hand him another ribbon. I reach for a sparkly green one and give it to him.

“She’s irresistible and basically the smartest and nicest Belgian draft horse you’ll ever meet. She responds perfectly to voice commands. Right, girl?” Noah asks the horse. “Can’t wait for our sleigh ride later today. Least I can do since I’m hardly ever around.” There’s some guilt in his tone. Maybe regret too, for the times he’s not here.

My heart squeezes, and I want to reassure him more, but he moves to Honey’s tail, green ribbon in his hand, then nods toward me. “What about you? Did you always want to be a social media strategist or a publicist?”

And here we go into the tale of Twenty Ways I Disappoint My Parents. “For a long time, I wanted to be a lawyer,” I admit, even though I still feel the sting of shame for letting them down.

He stares wide-eyed at me. “You? A lawyer?”

“Hard to imagine, right?”

His brow furrows. “Actually, no. You’re tough and convincing, and you ask a lot of questions. What happened?”

“I dropped out of law school after one year. Became the bad egg of the family. The dilettante,” I reply, making air quotes.

His brow furrows. His tone grows protective. “Why do you say that?”

“My parents had wanted me to be a lawyer just like them. I studied prelaw, as well as English in college, even though every year in college, I felt this mounting sense of dread about being a lawyer. But I figured that was normal. It’s a lot of work. A lot to study. I thought that was just how it went—these heavy, intense feelings about the career.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” he says sympathetically.

I shake my head, still a little disappointed with myself that I let it go as far as it did. “I honestly probably realized it wasn’t for me the first week into law school. But it took me until the end of that year to do anything about it.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It can be hard to make a change like that.”

“You’re telling me. Telling my parents was another story.”

“I take it they weren’t happy?”

“Nope,” I say, and that’s putting it mildly. “And they still want me to change my mind. They’ve even dangled the possibility of paying off my student loans if I go back.”

“Ouch,” he says. “That’s kind of—”