Page 19 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Together?

But he shrugged and looked away.

“This is my chance. My chance to finally figure out who I can be without my family breathing down my neck. To finally find something worth writing about.”

“Change can be a good thing, Sam,” Jo chimed in.

“It’s so easy for you two to speak about change…” Sam stood and flicked chip crumbs off his jeans before tucking his book back into his pocket. “When neither of you will be around to see its aftermath.”

And without another word, he crossed the balcony and disappeared through the old door, his boots echoing down the spiral staircase.

Chapter Six

“You surprised?”

—National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

Saturday morning blew in faster than the winter storm in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and everyone in Mullings Creek was acting like the elves when they believed Christmas was canceled.

Full-blown Christmas-panic mode.

And I was being pulled in about eighty different directions because of it. My checklist for today had already doubled since last night, and it was barely eight a.m.

So much for writing that article on the disappearance of snow days thanks to virtual learning.

Maybe Mr. Clark would give me an extension?

Aunt Sofia panic-texted while Leo and I shared a sudoku puzzle over our cereal and cinnamon toast.

Auntie Sof: I CAN’T FIND THE FABRIC SOFTENER!!!

Auntie Sof: DO YOU REMEMBER IF IT WAS INCLUDED IN MY INSTACART?!

I sighed and showed the text to Leo, who laughed and went back to penciling in another number. “Does she ever not use all caps when she texts?” he asked.

“Not really.” I typed a quick response.

Me: It was. I think I saw it under the sink the last time I was there.

A moment later, she replied with a “thank you” GIF and asked if I could pick up her order of pastries and bagels from Eve on my way into town.

Ugh. Going back to my aunt’s B&B after heading into town was completely out of the way, but family was family.

Me: Sure.

Before I grabbed the order for Aunt Sofia, I had to swing by the Wanderin’ Eats Diner. No sooner had I turned off Cherry Street than Phineas ran out the front entrance, hat askew and apron untied. “Gianna! Thanks for fitting me in.” He stopped next to my bike and braced himself on the handles while he took several gulps of the cold morning air. “I need your opinion on my new menus.”

Oh! “Trying out some new recipes?” I couldn’t remember the last time Phineas had changed his menu. Something like that could definitely bring in more customers and stronger reviews. And both of those things would show that big-city lawyer that maybe a small town like ours didn’t need something fancy and new in place of The Market, right?

But Phineas frowned, and said, “No. Of course not. Food’s great. Why change it?” He held up his phone and zoomed in on the top of the menu. “I changed the border and even added one of those nifty QR codes so customers can go right to my blog about all the travelin’ I did.”

Hmm.

Not as exciting as a new menu, but at least he’s trying?

I tested the QR code and handed Phineas’s phone back to him. “The link works, but maybe you should think about syncing it to the menu instead. That way, when you do update your menu someday—soon, I hope—you won’t have to worry about reprinting it with each new change.”

He adjusted his hat. “So, hold off on the adventures bit?”