Page 80 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

What’s this?

“Travis,” my mother replied as she grabbed a ball from the crate next to me.

“So, we’re on a first-name basis?” James whispered next to my ear. The warmth of his breath and the smell of his cologne gave me unexpected shivers.

I made a mental note to ask my mom about this later. “Girls versus boys?” I suggested.

James motioned to our parents with a confused face. “But—”

“Trust me,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Think you can handle that, Travis?” my mom challenged.

“Absolutely.” Mr. Bailey set the ball down and rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, and my mother’s eyes wandered over him before she cleared her throat.

Oh, she has some explaining to do.

“It’s best score out of three turns,” she added.

Mom and I went first. I knocked down seven, and Mom got eight.

Then Mr. Bailey launched the ball down so fast that it looked more like a red blur, getting a strike. After a quick celebration, James went and knocked down nine.

Several minutes, two “team meetings” on the Bailey side, and one creative curse from my mother later, the Baileys whopped us 56–40.

“Beginner’s luck,” my mom said as Mr. Bailey, wearing his medal, brought her a cider and James brought me a hot cocoa.

“He used to be in a bowling league,” James said, quickly dodging a smack to the back of the head from his father.

Mom threw her hand up. “Well, we should’ve had a handicap, then!”

“Would you have really taken it?” Mr. Bailey asked her.

“Probably not,” she admitted.

James wandered over toward me and lowered his voice. “So, how do you think we’re doing?” He propped an elbow over my head against the tree behind me and nodded toward our parents. “I personally think Operation Ho Ho Humbug is a rollicking success so far.”

“A ‘rollicking success’? Really?” I lowered my cocoa. “What about those two businessmen who were with your dad this morning?” The nearness of him made my head a bit fuzzy, but I tried to stay focused. “Who are they? Why are they here?”

“Whoa, Gianna. Calm down.” James lowered his arm and held up a hand innocently. “I’ve never met those two snobs before today, but I think they work for the same firm as my dad. I googled them, and, um, they’re known for…” He paused.

“For what?”

His eyes dropped. “Property development.”

Great.

Just great.

I should’ve been more focused on The Market. On our original plan.

Not asking the guy I was supposed to be fake dating on a real date.

And now it was probably too late. The Market would get turned into some tacky, bougie spot.

Several families would lose their small businesses and probably have to move.

Mom would have to take out a second mortgage to afford a space to rent for her studio.