Page 40 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Was it just work that kept Mr. Bailey from giving our town a shot, or was it something else?

We may not have been as fancy as a big city, but we were special in our own way.

Like the almost rhythmic flapping sound the Holly Days banner made when the wind moved it, and how that sound softened when its edges were covered with freshly fallen snow. Or how everyone—except Eve and Phineas, of course—seemed to go out of their way to be a little kinder and gentler in the weeks leading up to and after Christmas.

Grace was not the exception but the expectation in Mullings Creek during the holidays, and as our wonky clock tower chimed the hour, I found myself stopping outside of The Market to make a wish.

Please don’t let any of this change.

The strumming of a guitar sounded up ahead from inside Chordcrafters.

Levi is playing again?

He hadn’t played in ages, so I snuck closer to listen in, only it wasn’t Levi who was playing.

It was James.

He sat facing the front window, eyes closed in concentration as he strummed the opening chords to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” His fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own.

It was wrong to watch him, to listen to something that was so clearly meant to be a private moment, but my feet were rooted to that cold sidewalk.

And then James began to sing.

Goose bumps prickled my arms and neck as every word flowed out of him delicately, his voice honeyed and warm. I wanted to go inside, touch his shoulder, and tell him that whatever sadness he was feeling, it would be okay.

But who was I to do that?

I barely knew him.

He was here for, what, a month?

And yet—

A dog barked in the distance, but I stayed frozen to the spot, my throat growing thick as he began the second chorus. And when his voice broke for the briefest of moments, warm tears trickled down my cheeks.

From somewhere in the store, Levi clapped.

I quickly wiped my eyes.

How long ago did he finish?

The spell now broken, I moved away to the brick wall next to the window and let my head fall back against the cool, rough bricks, moving my hand over my heart. My chest squeezed so tightly, I could barely breathe.

I had heard that song a million times before, but it had never made me feel like this.

James had sung like he ached for something he desperately needed.

While my heart ached for something I desperately didn’t want to lose.

Chapter Eleven

“Christmas is not going to be ‘clothing optional’ this year. We’ve got company.”

—The Family Stone

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of loud voices—some of whom were going in and out of Italian—and forks clanking on plates. After I threw on my favorite pair of flared jeans and a red sweater, I bounded down the stairs, stopping short at the entry to the kitchen where almost my entire family now sat or stood.

Mom scooped ground coffee into the pot, no doubt they had each drunk a cup already, and Nona stood at the stove, where she flipped pancakes.