Page 38 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Nothing like the fumes of plant food to really set the mood.

I took off my coat and earmuffs, tossing them to an empty pallet, and pulled a hair tie off my wrist. As I finished weaving my hair into a loose braid and securing the end with the tie, I turned around and caught Sam standing there with some gloves and trowels staring at me.

“You good?” I asked.

He blinked several times and cleared his throat. “Yeah…yep. H-here.” He held out the gloves and a trowel.

“Thanks.” I quickly tucked any loose strands behind my ears as Sam turned around, squatting to lift a large bag of new potting soil. My cheeks warmed at the sight of his tight jeans—

Gah.

Get a grip!

I cleared my throat and met him at a bench where several poinsettias sat next to a set of larger, empty pots.

We worked silently and methodically, scooping new soil into empty pots, before carefully shaking out each poinsettia from its current pot and placing it into its new one. The Christmas music of Leslie Odom Jr., one of my favorite singers, floated around us before Sam finally spoke. “Mom said she left a message at the B&B for the Baileys to come tour our tree farm earlier today, but Mr. Bailey never responded.”

Ugh.

How would he ever see the magic of our town if he never got away from his work?

“I ran into them yesterday afternoon,” I said while gently picking up a poinsettia and placing it into its new home. “Mr. Bailey was on a hunt for good Wi-Fi.”

Sam chuckled. “Good luck finding it here.”

“I know, right?” I smiled. “He did seem intrigued by the Reindeer Games, though. So maybe he’ll come around?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam scooped more dirt out of the bag and dropped it into the new pot around the poinsettia before pressing his gloved fingers around the soil to help anchor the poinsettia into place.

I loved watching him work—his quiet confidence that said “I could do this in my sleep.”

“How do you know they’re ready to be repotted?” I asked him.

“Usually, you can see it with the way the leaves droop, but I go by touch.” He finished up with the one he was working on and then faced me. “Take off your gloves.”

I did so, and he tossed his to the side as well.

“Now carefully run your fingers over the leaves just there.” He pointed to the plant closest to me.

I touched the leaves, running my fingers down toward their tips, and he laughed.

“It’s not a dog, Gianna.” He crossed the space and stood behind me. “Like this.”

His fingers gently wrapped around mine, guiding them forward toward the leaf where he pressed my thumb under it and my pointer and middle finger above it.

The humid greenhouse air suddenly charged with energy, and a delicious shiver zipped through me.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice now husky.

Uh, yeah. I feel it.

“The way the leaves are dry, thin?”

Oh right. Leaves. Plants.

We’re talking about plants.

I nodded.