Page 6 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“Gianna!” Nico called for me again.

Sam and I jumped apart, severing whatever strange new energy had just settled between us.

Strange…but interesting.

By the time I reached the microphone, Mr. and Mrs. Holt had stepped off the stage and were chasing the escaped ornaments around the floor. Aunt Helen was sitting on the bottom rung of the ladder, sipping a cup of water as Marco berated her about being reckless, and Nico had all but unburied Bianca from the pile of books.

The rest of the room was still shouting and throwing their hands up the way my family did when they spoke. Nona liked to tease that we Mancinis helped everyone in Mullings Creek find their inner Italian.

I tapped the mic, but it didn’t work, so I tried clapping my hands a few times the way my dad used to in his classroom.

Still chaos.

I cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted, “Hey!”

No change.

Well, at least Leo won’t be bothered by this. I put my two pointer fingers in my mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The room froze and turned to stare at me again.

Oh, shoot.

Now what?

Giving a pep talk to the town after finding out one of its oldest members was run down by a piano was not on my to-do list today.

“Hey, everyone.” I cleared my throat. “I…um, well, I know we’re all a bit upset right now about the timing of this—”

“Upset?” Phineas shouted from the doorway. “Upset? Holly Days starts next week.”

“She knows that.” Eve pushed by him, entering The Market. “Everyone knows that, Phineas. Christmas is always our busiest time of year.”

“But we’ve already bought the prizes for the games and booked a band for the Mistletoe Masquerade!” Dana added from her booth near the Holts’. “We can’t get that money back.”

“Why would we need to get that money back?” I asked, putting my hand above my eyes so I could see everyone better under the lights.

“This place literally hosts most of the events in town. We can’t have Holly Days if we don’t have The Market, G,” Marco said. “And we don’t have a Market without Mr. Paxton.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” I replied, but the room had already started buzzing with noise again. Within seconds, the volume rose with “what-ifs” from every corner of the place.

“What about the Reindeer Games—”

“Movie Night in The Market—”

“I can’t open my own store to sell this stuff—”

The door to Mom’s studio on the second floor opened and a bunch of people filed out, hurrying down the stairs with my mom, who had more paint on her hands than on her apron. Nona, Mom, and Sam’s Gram joined me on the stage.

Mom hugged me from behind. “Hey, sweetie. Sorry I didn’t see you this morning before coming here. Any word yet on Italy?”

Ha.

I would receive word about something I had been obsessing over for months on the same day the literal floor of our town was being ripped out from under us.

“No,” I lied to her. “Nothing yet.”

Now was definitely not the time.

Nona’s whistle pierced the air, making everyone stop the way mine had.