Page 97 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Maybe it is,” Grandma says, sashaying into the living room in her slinky faux-leather pants and cherry-red sweater. She drops onto the matching couch across from us.

“All the best things in life are,” Henry chimes in, kissing her cheek on the way through the room. He carries a silver tray with several low cocktail glasses on it, filled with bright red liquid and a white foamy top.

“It’s a gin fizz with sugared cranberries,” Grandma says as he sets the tray down.

“Looks terrific,” Noah says.

“Goes to the head,” Henry adds with a sly smile as he hands them out. He lifts his glass in a toast. “To Mr. Holiday,” he declares, then turns to Noah. “Sorry, kid, but I’ve got this one in the bag.” He winks.

“We’ll see about that,” Noah counters.

“A fighter. I like it,” Henry says as my grandmother settles closer beside him on the couch.

“Why did you enter the contest?” I ask Henry.

He wiggles his brows, then looks to his leading lady. “Why does any man do anything? To impress a woman.”

“I’m irresistible,” Grandma says, swinging a high-heeled foot as she sips.

“You sure are,” I say, taking a drink of my own cocktail.

When Henry sets his glass down, he’s all business. “Now listen—I invited you here because I’ve got a problem.”

Noah sits up straighter, listening—ready to help, of course. The fact that I knew he’d do that before he even moved makes me feel like I know him. And I like knowing him.

“What’s the issue?” I ask.

“Tomorrow is the song spoof, and I’ve got a bunch of ideas,” Henry says, scratching his jaw. “But I need some feedback.”

“Is that fair though? All of us consulting?” I ask. I’m cool with sharing—just want to make sure everyone else is.

“Please,” Henry scoffs. “A rising tide lifts all boats.”

“Agree,” Noah says.

My heart warms. I love that he’s generous, not competitive. “We were going to work on ideas tonight anyway,” I explain.

Henry rubs his palms together. “Let me tell you mine. All right—we’ve got ‘Jingle Balls.’ Too crass. We’re considering ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Nookie.’ ”

I laugh. “Not bad.” Thank god this event is eighteen-plus at the Candy Cane Diner.

“There’s also ‘Dick the Halls,’ ” he adds.

Noah snorts. “At that point, why not go with ‘O Come, All Ye Horndogs’?”

Grandma arches a perfectly groomed brow. “Not bad.”

“Or how about ‘Santa Bang Me’?” Noah offers, and holy hell—this man is nailing the Christmas puns.

“What about ‘Fucking in a Winter Wonderland’?” Henry asks.

Noah pauses, as if he’s considering. “Better as ‘Banging in a Winter Wonderland.’ ” Then, mere seconds later, he rattles off a few new verses.

My eyes widen. My smile deepens. “Hello, hidden talent.”

Henry sets down his glass with a decisive clink. “Yep, you’re doing that.”

Grandma stares at Noah, slack-jawed. “Who knew you were a song king?”