Page 37 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

She had a point.

Mom growled and kicked off her shoes before stomping toward the den, where Jo and I quickly jumped back into our spots as if we had been there the entire time.

“Are those Befanini?” she asked, out of breath, pointing to the plate of cookies on the table.

I held up the plate. “Nona put a bit of orange in them this time.”

Mom grabbed a couple and then plopped onto the couch next to me. “She bakes so we forget her meddling, but it never works.” She sighed as she took her first bite. “Damn, these are good.”

I bit back a smile.

Point Nona.

Mom gestured to Jo’s computer. “So can this trip to Italy come with a plus-one?”

Chapter Ten

“I find most people, they don’t know what’s in their own hearts, let alone anyone else’s.”

—Noelle

After another school day filled with adorable but slightly annoying Santagrams, and Jo trying—and miserably failing—not to be obvious with her delight about Sam and me, Nona asked me to walk her to one of the Holt greenhouses, where she was supposed to meet up with Gram and help her repot some poinsettias.

Because, sure, why not?

Being around Nona and Gram after wanting to kiss Sam wouldn’t be awkward at all.

I’d just psych myself up once we got there. Maybe rehearse a couple casual conversation starters in my head so they wouldn’t get suspicious if Sam showed up?

But no sooner had we entered Greenhouse Number Two than Gram did as well, on the other end. With Sam in tow.

“Silvia!” Gram waved. “You’re early!”

Nona waved back and then motioned to me. “I was just telling Gianna how I missed you, Suzie.”

You literally saw her this morning for coffee.

We all stopped in the center of the greenhouse, surrounded by rows upon rows of beautiful red and white poinsettias.

“Well then, why don’t we let these youngsters get to work while we go catch up at the house with a cup of tea?” Gram wove her arm through Nona’s, and without another word, the two of them disappeared back through the door we’d come in, the plastic tarp flapping shut behind them.

My God.

Those women really can’t help themselves, can they?

Sam cleared his throat. “You’d think by now they’d come up with other ideas instead of just putting us in the same place at the same time.”

“I know, right?” I took off my gloves and shoved them into my coat pockets. “Two smart women like that could definitely come up with something better, like signing us up to donate blood, knowing we’re both squeamish around it and would need extra time next to each other in the recovery room with our juice boxes.”

“That is…oddly specific, G.” He fought a smile.

I shifted awkwardly in my red booties and shrugged. “I’m a writer.” Who may have had that thought once or twice when the Red Cross came to town.

Sam chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. His jawline had the slightest shadow of stubble, something new he had started this fall.

I tried to ignore how much I liked it. “So, let’s just get to work then,” I said before turning on the Bluetooth speaker in the greenhouse and hitting play on one of my many Christmas playlists.

“I’ll grab what we need.” Sam began rolling up his flannel sleeves—because apparently, the universe loved to torture me—and walked away toward an empty potting bench where the family kept an assortment of trowels, gloves, and containers of liquid fertilizer.