Page 77 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

I pushed aside the icy feeling of dread in my gut and forced my best and biggest smile. “Welcome to the Reindeer Games!” I said, arms wide open. “Love the headband, James. Where’s yours, Mr. Bailey?”

“He refused to wear it,” James said. “I told him he didn’t know what he was missing.” James smiled and shook his head, making his antlers jingle.

Mr. Bailey made a face at his companions. “Clearly.”

Marley No. 1 looked at the listed ticket prices and scoffed. “Do you actually pull a profit during this?”

“Probably one of those towns that expect donations, too,” Marley No. 2 mumbled loud enough for all of us to hear.

Mr. Eric’s eye twitched ever so slightly. “We find that it’s more about the experience. Raising ticket prices would exclude families that come here to make memories they may not have the means to give their children themselves.”

“But think of what else you could provide at next year’s Reindeer Games in your little town if you did,” Mr. Bailey countered, crossing his arms.

Mr. Eric stood, his palms flat on the table. “Our low prices keep families coming back year after year. Believe it or not, that draws others from outside our little town. Now, how many tickets would you like to purchase today?”

Mr. Bailey looked to the Marleys, who both waved their hands as if saying, “I suppose we can find time in our busy schedules to attend,” before he took out a couple of large bills and said, “No change.”

But Mr. Eric thrust the change back into Mr. Bailey’s hand anyway. “And we don’t need donations, especially from people like—”

“Would you all like your wristbands on your right or left wrist?” Mr. Josh stood up and gently touched his husband’s arm before placing the bands on the Baileys and their guests.

I knew it was a good thing—what Mr. Josh did—and yet, part of me wished Mr. Eric had finished what he was about to say.

I may not have had the same lie detector superpower that my Nona and Bianca did, but I was a Mancini.

We could smell trouble from two towns over when the wind blew the right way.

And right now, that cold December breeze told me these two outsiders were trouble.

“Come on,” I said, taking James’s hand to lead him into the Games. Maybe I can get him to tell me what the heck is going on!

But Mr. Eric spoke up first. “Oh! Gianna, could you be a dear and take Jo her water bottle? She’s horrible about remembering to hydrate.”

“We can take it, right, Dad?” James suggested, a peace offering. “Where is she?”

Mr. Eric handed him the pink stainless steel tumbler. “Inside The Market at the booth for Eve’s Drop.”

“Eve’s place?” Mr. Bailey perked up a bit. “Bret, Milton, you should come with us. Their coffee is some of the best I’ve ever had.”

Bret and Milton—totally could’ve guessed those names—began walking with Mr. Bailey toward The Market, asking him if Eve’s did a “proper” slow drip.

Jo was going to just love those two for sure.

“We’ll meet you at the Games soon,” James said, smiling before he let go of my hand and walked away with his father.

“By the Santa Sack Race!” I called after him. “I promised Leo I’d race him.”

“Ms. Donna mentioned something about two outsiders eating at the diner this morning.” Mr. Josh sat back down. “Said they were drawing up blueprints for some high-end boutiques.”

High-end boutiques?

Here?

Mr. Eric sighed and shut the money box. “How can we expect to win over a man who clearly doesn’t get small towns?”

But that’s just the thing.

Mr. Bailey did grow up in a small town.