Page 45 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

James shook it with a smile. “And my dad’s Christmas spirit.”

Chapter Twelve

“I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.”

—The Holiday

The only students who had to go into school today were those with state testing for science or language arts, so Sam, Jo, and I got to sleep in before meeting up for breakfast at Eve’s. Frost in the shape of prickly, skinny Christmas trees stretched toward the center of each window from the pane, and dozens of new paper snowflakes dangled from the ceiling.

Within minutes, Eve brought out a tray of savory scones and three mugs of hot chocolate. “Here ya go, guys.” She tucked the tray under her arm and motioned to our notebooks and Chromebooks sprawled on the two small tables we had pushed together. “Government final?”

“In two weeks,” Jo said, sipping her cocoa. “There’s so much to memorize.”

“Be sure to know your amendments and focus on the judicial branch. Mr. Bennington has been giving the same final for years.” Eve waved her hand in the air and turned to me. “Your dad would’ve given a much more inventive final, I’m sure.”

I chuckled. “Something theatrical like dressing up as a historical figure and answering questions in character.”

“Exactly!” she said, laughing. As the bell at the door chimed, Eve added, “Holler if you need anything else while you’re here,” before she hurried back behind the counter.

“Is Nona holding up okay?” Jo asked, her eyes gentle.

I sifted through my flash cards, pulling out the ones I’d made on each amendment. “The chest freezer is already three-quarters full of meatballs, biscotti, and cannoli shells.”

Christmas had been hard in my family since Dad died, but we pushed through and had learned to lean on each other. Nona, though, preferred to pour her grief into cooking and baking. She claimed that if her hands were busy, that it distracted her heart long enough to not miss her Enzo and my dad, Tony.

“Gram keeps finding ways to get her out of the house,” Sam said as he pulled out his flash cards. “But she says Nona’s hand keeps going back to her locket. Like if she doesn’t touch it, they’ll disappear.”

“It’s a lot to deal with,” I said before taking a sip of my cocoa. “And with The Market’s future up in the air, there’s even more on her plate.”

Sam nodded grimly and broke off a piece of his scone. “I overheard Mom fussing at Gram about how she needed to slow down. That her blood pressure was too high—”

“Ha. The day your Gram slows down is the day my dads forget to balance their checkbook.” Jo stole a piece of Sam’s scone and popped it into her mouth before grabbing her own from the plate beside the tiny snowmen in the middle of our table.

Jo’s dads both worked at the local bank in town, and while they were notorious for their meticulous bookkeeping, they also were known for their “forgiveness” when it came to being behind on payments.

“Have they heard anything else regarding Mr. Paxton and The Market?” I asked her.

“Not really, other than the back taxes being really bad.” She grabbed her cocoa and reclined in her chair. “They did say that Mr. Bailey came in a couple days ago while on a phone call, and that he was talking about an ‘outdated gem of a property’ in a town that held ‘potential.’ ”

“Potential,” Sam grumbled while flipping through his flash cards.

“Well then, I guess it’s good that I’ve agreed to this whole fake-dating thing with James,” I said while logging into my school account.

Another customer entered, bringing in a chilly breeze with her, as Eve switched her music over to an acoustic Christmas station. An older couple I didn’t recognize settled in at a table on the opposite side of the café, pointing to the black-and-white framed pictures from our town’s history decorating the walls.

Sam’s eyes searched my face. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

I avoided his stare and opened our Government Google Classroom instead. “I said I’d come up with something, and I did. Or he did.”

“Yeah, but why you?” Sam gripped his mug and kept eye contact before glancing at Jo for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I literally called Mr. Bailey a Krampus to his face. Besides, James didn’t ask me, did he?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sam added. “We’re just supposed to buy this whole ‘Oh, let’s fake date so you can save The Market’ act? I mean, come on, it’s obvious what he’s doing.”

I finally looked over my Chromebook. “And what is he doing, Sam?”

Sam flushed pink. “He’s not interested in saving The Market, G. He just wants to…He’s using you.” He looked down and away before eating another piece of his scone.