Page 73 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

But…what did that mean?

Were we officially moving past the fake dating to, like, actual real dating?

Is that what I wanted?

I turned to Bianca, who beamed and gave me a quick nod of approval, before I let my eyes meet James’s once more. He always looked at me with such sweet kindness and curiosity and respect. This city boy not only agreed to a plan to help save a stranger’s town but also trusted that same stranger to help him bring back his father’s Christmas spirit.

Who does that?

Maybe James had seen the same thing in me that I saw in him, even more so now.

Hope.

I broke eye contact as my cheeks began to warm, sneaking a quick glance around the table and immediately regretting it.

Sam sat with his shoulders slumped and a defeated expression that filled me with a hollow, empty feeling, but honestly, it kinda pissed me off. A lot.

What the heck, Sam?

I gave you a chance. Multiple ones, in fact.

And you said nothing. Did nothing.

“Hands off the nuts, though. For real,” Nico said, bumping James’s arm.

“Ricotta really is the most underrated cheese.” Aunt Sofia took a sip of her coffee as the entire table stared at her.

The Mancinis, everyone.

Chapter Eighteen

“Oh, you know how the elves exaggerate. They get excited at the drop of a hat.”

—The Christmas Chronicles

On the following Wednesday, schools were closed for Mullings Creek’s Reindeer Games, as was tradition. I pulled on my favorite pair of leggings and warm socks followed by a red flannel and grabbed my white puffy vest before looking in the mirror.

I didn’t look any different. Same blue eyes. Same dark, unruly hair. Same olive complexion and dark under-eyes—shoutout to Nona and Dad—and yet, I felt…different.

Maybe it was the fact that I had asked out the guy I was fake dating in front of my entire family and Sam.

Or maybe it had happened slowly over time, after my one hundredth rewatch of The Holiday and seeing Kate Winslet finally taking charge like a leading lady.

All I did know was that I liked this new Gianna, radiating with confidence.

For the first time ever, I didn’t dread walking into my kitchen that I knew was already filled with most of my family—noise always gave us Mancinis away.

I said a singsongy “Good morning” as I joined my Aunt Helen by the coffeepot and reached for one of my favorite holiday mugs from the cabinet.

“So, when were you going to tell us?” Marco asked, propping his arm on the back of his chair. Everyone else followed suit, stopping their conversations to stare at me.

Oooo-kay, so maybe I could’ve been a little less chipper.

“You have to go, G,” Nico added before taking a drink of his coffee.

Go? “Go where? On the date?” I asked.

“No, cara.” Nona took the skillet filled with eggs and bacon off the burner. “Italy.”