Page 34 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

I ripped a final piece of tape for the poster. “You saw him today. Like, it was definitely weird, right?”

“Totally.” She pressed the poster against the wall and stepped back. “The tension between you two was so thick, it would’ve given my Miyabi knife a run for its money.”

“Ugh.” I slumped against the wall. “What should I do?”

“Honestly?” She leaned against the wall next to me. “Just let it play out. See what happens. Just remember that when it does happen, I called it first.”

“When?”

Or if?

Sure, for years, Jo had created all kinds of ridiculous “shipping” name combos like Team SamGi or Team Samanna—my personal favorite—but would Sam ever want to risk our friendship over it?

Would I?

The bell rang for the end of the day, bringing dozens of students into the hallways. We walked back toward the library where we had placed our jackets and book bags.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” Jo said, holding her hand in front of her face like she was taking us through a flashback together.

“Please don’t bring up fourth grade again,” I said as we wove around people going in the opposite direction. I never even wanted to be in that play, but Aunt Helen signed me up before I could back out.

“You were the best Dorothy I had ever seen!”

I laughed. “I could never do her skip down the yellow brick road without tripping.”

“Girl, Sam didn’t care about your skip.” She grinned as she opened the library door for me. “All I know is, I’ve never seen anyone look at you the way he did when you clicked your heels and chanted, ‘There’s no place like home.’ He’s been down bad for you ever since.”

Then why didn’t he kiss me last night?

After school, I hung up a few more posters around Mistletoe Lane before stopping at The Market where Christmas jazz played over the speakers. Scott was busy showing some tourists the newest scents he’d created for his candles, and Mom hurried over to tell me she had sold three pieces today!

Guess all her late nights were finally paying off.

After mingling with everyone for a bit longer and complimenting all their updates and changes, I picked up a loaf of Italian bread from Bake My Day for our pasta tonight and left The Market to head home.

Only to once again run right into James and his father—phone glued to his ear.

“Gianna!” James beamed and took out one of his AirPods. “Running errands?”

“Kinda,” I said, lifting the bread. “I was on my way home but swung by The Market to check in with everyone—”

“So, this really is one of those places where everyone knows everyone, huh?” His head tipped to the side. “Does that get, I dunno, kinda old after a while?”

I frowned.

“Not really.” Sure, I got tired of my family poking their noses in my business, but this guy barely knew them, knew us. “Plus, when you know the right people, they set things aside for you before they sell out.” I held up the paper bag of bread.

“Is it any good?” James asked, stepping closer to peek inside.

I opened the bag and pulled off a small piece of the end, offering it to him. “You tell me.”

James popped the piece into his mouth, and his eyes rolled back. “Oh my God, Dad. You have to try this.” He tapped his dad on the shoulder, but Mr. Bailey held up a finger as he finished whatever he was doing before he turned around. “Sorry, what was that?”

“The bread,” James said, pointing to my bag. “It reminds me of that one place we used to go to in the city. Remember the funny cat that sat in the window?”

“Yes, yes, great window, son.” Mr. Bailey held up his phone and turned different directions. “Where did you say there was good Wi-Fi, Gianna?”

Pretty sure I wrote that down for you already.