Page 77 of Mistletoe All the Way

I square my shoulders. I know it won’t be me. But I’m not going to be a sore loser.

Eloise is next to me, in front of the fruitcake stall. She gives me a look that says it’s all okay.

“Coming in second is Henry, who promised he’d sell a lot of nuts—and who delivered.”

No surprise there. It’s easy to sell a tasty snack. Henry lifts an arm like he’s waving to his adoring fans. And he has many, if the cheers that rumble through the crowd are anything to go by.

“And in first place, selling out not only all his stock but also the extras our town’s fantastic wreath artists brought in at the last minute to meet the sheer demand, it’s none other than Stephen Lennox!”

The crowd goes wild. A stocky guy who I think works at the hardware store—judging from the jacket that says Handy Hardware on it—calls out, “Give it up for Santa Claus Stephen.”

Another guy pumps a fist. “Santa Stephen.”

More people get in on it, chanting “Santa Stephen” over and over.

Rudy from the coffee shop hoots and hollers, “It’s Stephen Claus.”

My cousin’s eyes sparkle. “Love that, Rudy! I’ll take it.”

And the chant shifts to Stephen Claus as my smug cousin strides through the crowd with an almost humble smile. He walks right to the mayor and takes the offered megaphone.

He looks downright touched. “All I have to say is: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good holiday season.”

Stephen waves, then accepts Gramps’s congratulatory hug. I hate that Stephen deserves it.

Eloise is probably going to spin this into something positive, to say You’ll get them on the next one, but she’s studying her phone screen with avid interest.

Huh. That’s unlike her.

I turn back to the mayor, trying not to think about who Eloise is texting with. When she announces the next competition is Christmas song spoofs, I’m positive I’m not winning Mr. Holiday.

And when I turn to look for Eloise, she’s gone. Just gone. Disappointment floods me. I was having such a good time with her tonight. I palm my phone in my back pocket, ready to text her to see where she went. But maybe she’s in the restroom. I’ll give her some space. She probably needs it. Best not to look eager.

Eager for what? I ask myself.

Don’t act like you have no clue, you nitwit. You’re eager to spend as much time with her as you possibly can.

Great. Now my brain is arguing with itself over the woman I can’t stop thinking of. I need to get my act together. Focus on the here and now. I say hi to Gramps and Grams.

“Next time, we’ll have to spike them with some special apricot brandy,” Grams says.

“Is that what’s in your punch, sweetie pie?” Gramps asks, clearly intrigued.

She pats his arm. “As if I’d ever reveal that.”

Gramps turns back to me. “Being a salesman is no easy task,” he says, and shit, fuck, hell. Does that mean he thinks I can’t handle the farm, since of course there’s selling involved? Wait, no. You can hire people for that. But Stephen wouldn’t have to.

And this round of doubt is brought to you by fruitcake that should have been spiked.

“Anyway, better luck next time,” Gramps says.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, since I’ll help out with some sleigh rides again. Least I can do.

Gramps gives a small smile. “Good. It’s nice seeing you as much as we can.”

“It always is,” Grams adds.

That makes me feel a little better, but not entirely since I’m keenly aware I’m not here often. As they leave, I head to the booth, scanning for Eloise once more.