Page 56 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“No.” I looked away.

Okay, maybe.

He laughed and nodded toward Leo, who was still on the stage with his classmates. “She’s a year older than Leo, I think.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s great. Super smart and funny, too.” He grinned. “The only redeeming quality about my stepfather.”

“James, I need to head back to grab some files so I can finish this call,” Mr. Bailey said, his hand covering the bottom of his phone to mute his voice. His eyes darted down to James’s fingers, still laced with mine. “You should get going, too, so you don’t miss Jen.” He turned and started weaving his way through the crowd.

“Sorry we can’t hang out some more,” James said, facing me as the clock tower chimed.

Same. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the Gingerbread House Contest, though.”

“It’s a non-date date.” He leaned in, his lips a breath away from my cheek before he stopped and stood up straight. “Sorry. I was on autopilot.”

“It’s okay.”

Was I on that too, since I didn’t pull away?

The fluttering inside my belly thumped a bit harder. “I mean, everyone is here, so it didn’t hurt the act, right?”

I regretted it the moment I said it.

The moment his sweet smile vanished off his face.

“Right, of course,” he said, his voice clipped. “All part of the act.” And without another word, he turned around and hurried away to catch up with his dad.

Ugh.

Way to go, Gianna.

“Leo killed it!” Jo said as she and Sam joined me. “And that might’ve been the first time the town didn’t sound horribly off-key, too.”

“Did Mr. Humbug stay off his phone long enough to hear it?” Sam asked.

“He did.” Sort of. I rubbed my hands together. “And he loved it.”

I think.

It was hard to get a read on him when his face was always in his phone or perpetually scowling.

Jo gave me a quick hug before saying, “I gotta go help Eve finish closing up, since we left early to come here. But I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Sam flicked one of the candy canes framing the big tree and blew out a long breath, making steam puff up in front of his face. “You hungry?”

I smiled. “Does La Befana deliver gifts to children?”

A few minutes later, we found two open seats at the bar of Phineas’s diner and took off our coats, draping them over the backs of the chairs. I reached across the counter and spun the dial on the radio till it reached our local station. WQRB played twenty-four-seven Christmas music, and it earned us some cheers from Hal and his son, who sat a couple chairs over. Sam grabbed Scrabble from the game shelf as I ordered our usual late-night meal of bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes—mint chocolate chip for me, because of course.

After our meals slid across the counter, we exchanged my lettuce for his tomato, since Phineas—bless his heart—always forgot to do it, and then we started playing the game quietly while we ate. Sam used his current read, 1984, as inspiration for words. I fell back in my chair and spun it back and forth while figuring out which letters to put together next, and took a minute to look around the garland-draped room.

Every person in here had known me my whole life. They could probably fill a book with their stories and anecdotes about my family—multiple chapters on Marco and Nico alone. I loved how safe I felt here. How predictable things were, down to the wonky sounds of our clock tower to the mishaps with my burger. And yet part of me did think that maybe I really was ready for a change. Maybe it was time to see new people and make new stories.

“You must have crappy tiles,” Sam said, bringing me out of my head.

“Oh, sorry.” I picked up my tiles and spelled J-I-N-G-L-E.