Page 51 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“Photography? Really?” I tried picturing Mr. Bailey behind a long lens instead of his phone but couldn’t manage.

“I know, right?” James pushed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. “But his dad convinced him to switch to law. Said photography wasn’t solid enough to rely on.”

Aha.

Realization settled over my shoulders.

I bet Mr. Bailey tells James the same thing about music.

James stopped pushing the swing. “Anyway, I don’t think he likes being in the city anymore.”

I angled my body to face him. “How can you tell?”

“He’s just more short-tempered now. Rubs his face a lot like he’s frustrated. The stuff he used to find exciting he now finds annoying. Like taxis—”

“And noise?” I guessed.

James nodded. “He told me once that he hears sirens in his sleep and can’t tell if he’s awake or dreaming.”

Oh. Would that happen to me and Jo if we stayed in the city for too long in college?

I scooted further back in the swing and brought up my legs toward my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees. “But there are good things about living in a city, right?”

“Of course.” He stretched and leaned back. “It’s the best place to people-watch and make up stories about who they are or where they’re going. You have infinite options for food and entertainment. I’ve even seen entire streets blocked off for movies and television filming.”

“Sounds awesome.” I sighed.

“I bet you’ll love it so much, you’ll never want to come back home.” He nudged my shoulder.

Never come back home?

True, Jo and I were both super excited to start school in New York City next fall, but was I the kind of person to live there full-time?

Clearly, I was ready to leave Mullings Creek. I mean, I was skipping the second half of senior year to be an ocean away.

Once I signed the commitment form, of course.

If I signed it.

The clock tower chimed just as my phone buzzed. I groaned at the dozen or so missed messages from different people in my family and held up my phone. “Told you it wouldn’t take long before my family started grilling me for info.”

“Impressive.” James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Would it help if I was there to answer the questions with you?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” I stood and adjusted my hoodie and flannel. “If we want Operation Ho Ho Humbug to work, it’ll need to last longer than a day.”

James cocked his head. “I don’t scare that easy.”

“Noted, but I’ll spare you this time.” I pulled out a Gingerbread House Contest flier from the diner and handed it to him. “Don’t forget to leave this lying around where you dad can see it, and really push the whole competitiveness of it, since you said he’s big on that.”

James gave me a mock salute as he read over the flier again.

I started down the garland-wrapped steps and opened the text chains from my family when James called my name.

“Whatever happened to your dad?” he asked. “I’m assuming they didn’t divorce, like mine did. You made it sound like they were super close—”

“They were.” My limbs turned cold and heavy, and my chest tightened. Telling people about it had never gotten easier. “He was killed by a drunk driver when I was eight. Leo was barely walking.”

James took in a sharp breath and hurried down a couple of steps before stopping. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”