Page 63 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“Gianna!” James hurried over and casually placed his hand on my shoulder. “Love the festive cat, but I think Sam has you beat.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Sam held his hands out and spun around to show off Mrs. McCallister’s panicked face and Kevin! embroidered underneath.

James sighed and pointed to his plain sweatshirt. “I don’t have an ugly Christmas sweater, and Amazon wouldn’t have gotten it here fast enough. I’m surprised you guys don’t have next-day delivery.”

Sam rubbed the stubble on his chin. “We don’t really need it. Most everyone here gets by fine with what they have.”

“Well, you don’t know what you’re missing,” James said before pointing to Sam’s sweater. “All yours needs is a—”

Sam pressed a button and the classic KEVIN! screech cut through the air.

“Nice!” James laughed and clapped.

“It’s one of my and Gianna’s favorite movies,” Sam said, the freckles on his face turning the slightest shade of pink.

Well, it used to be.

But now I don’t know what to think about it.

Or how our socked feet touched under the fleece blanket.

Or how our faces were just inches from each other.

Or the way his eyes sparkled from the Christmas tree lights…

James nudged me, bringing me out of the memory that I was almost convinced had been a dream. “Wanna dance?”

I gulped. “Now? Here?”

James looked around the room. “Is there somewhere else where dancing is happening I don’t know about?”

“Gianna doesn’t dance,” Sam said.

I made a face. “You’re one to talk.”

“Doesn’t like the attention—”

“Doesn’t like her family having more ammo to throw at her is more like it,” I said, hitting his arm.

“Ah, that makes sense.” James’s smile vanished faster than fresh snow on warm pavement.

Oh, what the heck.

“You know what? Yes, I will dance with you,” I said. “But first, you need a wardrobe update.” I turned around to the contest table and grabbed a strand of garland that lined the front of one table, draping it over James like a scarf. “Perfetto.”

He beamed and took my hand, leading me to the floor where Jo waved wildly at us before pressing her button again, activating that all-familiar shriek.

“How exactly do we dance to ‘Run Run Rudolph’?” I asked him as a dozen or so people from town bumped and shuffled around us.

James pursed his lips and studied them for a moment before grabbing my hand and twirling me quickly. “You just make it up as you go!”

So I did, letting myself be twirled back and forth with James till I was dizzy. He started moving like one of the characters from A Charlie Brown Christmas and I followed, flipping my head from side to side while hopping like a bunny. The next thing I knew, Nico and Marco had joined in, and by the time Jo circled us, pressing her shrieking goat like a freakin’ drumbeat, we were all laughing so hard I could barely breathe. The song ended, and after a loud applause, the band slowed it down with “White Christmas.”

James, panting, held out his hand and I took it as he put his other hand on my back near the bottom of my sweater. We swayed quietly to the music for a few moments before I spoke, remembering our “mission.”

“Where’s your dad?” I asked.