Page 67 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Whatever brief “moment” Sam and I had at the firepit after the gingerbread contest had melted faster than spring snow.

You’d think after being on this carousel with him for several cycles, I’d have gotten used to the back-and-forth, but nope.

That thread between us held fast, even the parts that were all knotted up.

I knew I should probably just cut it and stop waiting for him, but I couldn’t.

I’d rather endure the knots and unexpected loops than not have him in my life at all.

The enticing smells of manicotti, tomato sauce, and garlic hit me the moment we walked through the door and shrugged off our coats. As we neared the kitchen, the echoes of my cousins arguing intermixed with the sizzling of Nona’s famous meatballs in a cast-iron skillet.

Everyone was gathered around the small island in the center of the kitchen, deep in conversation, hands gesturing wildly. Aunt Helen and Aunt Sofia stood near the meatballs, taking turns stirring and flipping, and Nico fixed Leo a plate of his favorite meats and cheeses. I bypassed the platter and went straight to the fridge for my specially reserved olives.

God bless you, Nona.

“Are we expecting more company?” Mom asked, gesturing to the extra leaf inserted in Nona’s table.

“But of course.” Nona pulled a loaf of Italian bread out of the oven and carefully transferred it to the bread basket on the table. “The Baileys should be here any minute.”

I inhaled a piece of olive and nearly gagged. “Did you say ‘the Baileys’? As in Mr. Bailey and—”

“James, your boyfriend?” Marco added, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yes, yes, she did.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I gulped down some tap water quickly. “We’re just—”

“Hanging out, sure. We got it.” Nico popped a chunk of mozzarella into his mouth. “But since you’re spending time with him, and since his dad has control over The Market, Nona thought it would be good to invite them, right, Nona?”

“Precisamente.” Nona ruffled Nico’s dark hair before kissing his cheek.

Right.

“Mom, what is this?” My mother held up a couple of place cards with names written in Nona’s signature sloping cursive.

“Name cards,” Nona said matter-of-factly.

Name cards? Since when did Nona use name cards?

I hurried over and found mine placed in between James and Marco.

Phew.

I could elbow Marco anytime he crossed a line.

Which meant I’d be sore by the first course, but sacrifices had to be made.

Mom put the two she was holding back on the table. “Care to explain why mine is next to Travis Bailey’s?”

The doorbell rang, right on cue.

“Ah, go get that, will you, cara?” Nona pointed to me. “And make sure they take off their shoes.”

Mom grumbled and grabbed her empty wine glass off the table before heading toward the back door while I walked toward the front.

James smiled as he kicked off his Nikes, his eyes darting around to take in Nona’s cluttered Christmas home.

I snorted and pointed toward his feet. “I like your socks.”

“Aren’t they great?” He lifted one of them, showing off the big face of Chewbacca. “I got Dad a pair, too. Early Christmas gift.”