Page 65 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“Congratulations!” I said. “That’s a tough category to win.”

“We wouldn’t have won without your help.” Mr. Bailey stuck out his hand, but I made a last-second decision and went in for a hug.

“We’re all family here,” I said against his shirt.

He patted my back a few times, awkwardly, before chuckling. “I’m starting to see that.”

Mayor Moore took the mic one final time as I let go and caught eyes with James, who looked at me with an expression I hadn’t yet seen.

Wonder?

Mayor Moore took out his last envelope and opened it. “And now, for our final winner. This year’s Most Festive Gingerbread House goes to…Gianna, Leo, and Silvia Mancini!”

The Market erupted in cheers as James now pushed me toward the stage where Leo waited with the most precious excited face I had seen on him in weeks. The two of us linked pinkies and waited for Nona, who was escorted up by her bestie, Gram, the two of them beaming.

After we received our medals, Leo and I started back down the stairs, but Nona lingered behind and moved toward the mic. The sharp screech of feedback sounded, and she stepped back quickly.

“Oh, good grief, who thought to give her the mic again?” I asked to no one as I stood frozen in front of the stage.

Please don’t say anything embarrassing.

“I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who participated this year.” Nona looked around the room before her gaze stopped several feet behind me where James and his father still stood. “Christmas is a time for family,” she said, and then she turned and looked at me. “We are a town that thrives because of tradition. And I know we may be seeing some changes sooner than we expected, but remember: Just because something is new doesn’t mean it can’t also be wonderful. Thank you.”

The crowd clapped once more as Nona stepped down from the stage. She squeezed my arm and kissed my forehead before saying, “Briallare mentre cresciamo,” one of her favorite phrases.

Glow as we grow.

As the crowd dwindled down, Leo snuck away with some of the leftover candy from the contest entries, and I snuck away for a quiet moment near the firepit out back. The air was crisp, and not a cloud moved across the late-afternoon sky.

“Almost smells like snow,” Sam said as he sat down next to me, holding his bare hands near the fire to warm them.

“We haven’t had a December snow in so long,” I said, holding my hands closer to the flames, too.

“I feel like it was, what, five years ago, Mouse?”

“Six,” I replied, bringing my hands back and pushing them into the fleece lining of my jacket pockets.

“That’s right.” He settled back in his chair. “You and I snuck out to make snow angels while Nona fussed that we’d catch pneumonia. Your hair was covered.” He chuckled.

I smacked his arm. “Only because you dumped a metric ton of snow over my head.”

“It was a watering-canful, don’t get dramatic.” He smiled at the flames.

The band announced their final song for the day, “Last Christmas,” and the others gathered around the fire hurried inside to listen, leaving Sam and me alone with the crackle and spit of the flames.

I picked up a stick and poked at the logs. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

I took a breath and held it for a moment before releasing it. “When we played Scrabble the other night—”

“You mean when I won?” He winked.

“Yeah, yeah.” I took another deep breath and then swallowed over a lump in my throat. “Um, that last word, though.”

“What about it?” He faced the flames again, picking up his own stick and poking the logs.

“You played that word to…” I paused, giving him an in.