Page 68 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Mr. Bailey stood awkwardly near the doormat in dark jeans and a button-up, holding a bottle of wine. My eyes trailed downward to his exposed socks, which sure enough, donned Han Solo’s enormous face.

I bit back a laugh. “I like yours, too, sir. Why don’t you guys come into the kitchen? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Smells amazing.” James hurried in front of me, and shouted, “Hey, everyone!” the moment he stepped into view of my family.

Poor guy.

So adorably naive as he enters the lion’s den.

After quick introductions, Mr. Bailey cleared his throat and crossed the kitchen toward Nona, who was bending over three glass dishes of bubbling manicotti in the open oven. “Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Mancini—”

“Silvia, dear,” she said before wrapping her arms around him. “We’re so glad you could join us.”

Mr. Bailey stood as still as a tree, arms at his side, before he brought one up and patted her back. “Um, Gianna told James you’d be serving a pasta dish, so I brought over a bottle of merlot.” He held it out for Nona, whose nose scrunched up ever so slightly.

“Thank you.” She passed off the bottle to Aunt Helen, who immediately shelved it in the corner cabinet with the other dust-covered bottles of yore. “Alice, why don’t you fill Travis’s glass with some Chianti.”

Mom’s left eye twitched, but she did so. And when she brushed Mr. Bailey’s arm as she walked by, I swore I saw the slightest bit of pink bloom on his cheeks.

Interesting.

Uncle Rick moved all the meatballs to Nona’s big serving bowl and spooned some sauce over them before grating fresh Parmesan on top as Uncle Gabe and my Aunt Sofia took turns handing each other plates from the table for the manicotti. A few minutes later, once every plate was filled and the meatballs and salad were placed on the table, we all moved to our seats, only mine wasn’t next to James anymore.

Marco and Nico’s were.

“Who moved my seat?” I asked.

My cousins shrugged and flicked their napkins out before placing them daintily on their laps.

I glared at both of them. One day, I swear, they will pay.

“You’re here by me,” Bianca said, patting the chair next to her.

Based on her grin, I knew exactly who the empty chair on the other side of me belonged to.

And because the universe just loved comedic timing, the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” I mumbled.

I opened the door to a red-nosed Sam, standing alone on Nona’s stoop under the porch light, holding up a bouquet of flowers.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, stepping aside so his tall frame could fit through the front door.

“Gram’s got a head cold and didn’t want to get anyone sick,” he said as he moved past me.

I held my breath, fighting the urge to smell him.

That pine and soap mixture was a real doozy.

“Dad had some last-minute orders come in for a church a couple towns away, and Mom stayed home to make sure Gram didn’t overdo it.” He took off his coat and hung it on an open hook. “Have you guys started yet?”

I made a face.

He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy hair before picking up his flowers off the small table where he had laid them. “Okay, I know Nico and Marco probably destroyed the antipasti, but am I too late for the main course?”

“You’re right on time, but hold on.” I reached up and folded down part of his flannel collar near his stubbled jawline. “There. Better.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice surprisingly smoky.