Page 82 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

But then—right on cue—Mr. Bailey’s phone rang. He held up his finger and took the call, stepping away before shouting, “What? No, no. Just wait for me. Be right there.” He hung up and quickly walked back to us. “I’m sorry, but I have to cut this short. Bret and Milton need me at the B&B for one of their Zooms.”

“But, Dad. You promised…” James frowned, and I wanted to grab one of those reindeer and use it to knock some sense into his father.

“It’s important, son. They came all this way. I’ll see you later tonight.” He patted James’s shoulder before he smiled rather forcefully at the rest of us. “You all enjoy yourselves.”

Mr. Bailey took off his headband as he walked away, disappearing into a sea of antlers. “Jingle Bell Rock” played over the speakers, and several couples and groups of kids sang along while bustling back and forth to different games and booths.

There was so much more that I could’ve shown him.

Mom and I had to forgo Ringing Rudolph to get to the face-painting booth, and James followed, gently talking to my mom about some of the woodwork and pottery he had seen in the city and how much it sold for. But Mom just smiled and shrugged after letting him speak and again said that she was happy right where she was.

James watched us both paint different holiday-themed pictures, chosen from a laminated card, on people’s cheeks.

“You’re a natural,” he said to me as I gave the finishing touches to a Christmas wreath.

“She is,” Mom said, nudging me as she finished a gingerbread man.

Sam walked up, and the peaceful scent of pine wrapped around me like a warm, comforting blanket.

“How’s your family’s table going?” Mom asked him.

“Great. We sold out of wreaths already, and we have several deliveries scheduled for tomorrow, too.” He beamed proudly.

The little girl whose face I had just painted said thank you as she got up to leave, and then James plopped down in the chair.

“You want your face painted?” I asked him, dipping my brush into the water before rolling it back and forth on the towel under the cup.

“Of course.” He picked up the card of options and tapped his chin for a moment before putting the card down and saying, “Surprise me.”

Although I was tempted to do something semi-embarrassing like the butt of a reindeer, I suddenly had the perfect idea for him. Leaning this close to James while Sam watched nearby was not how I envisioned today going, but I pushed away my jumbled feelings and got to work.

Several minutes later, I had a guitar with a sprig of holly painted on his smooth cheek. “What do you think?” I asked, handing him a mirror.

He held it up and placed his fingers just below the guitar. “I love it.” He lowered the mirror and cocked his head, his nose crinkling. “And you painted mistletoe with it?”

I cleared my throat. “Holly, actually.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Actually, no.” Sam straightened up, and I bit back a smile, knowing full well what he was about to say.

“Holly is a shrub or small tree,” he continued, pulling his shoulders back the way he always did when he proudly talked about plants. “Mistletoe is parasitic, latching itself onto trees to steal their water and nutrients.”

James blinked. “So…definitely not the same.”

“Nope.”

I bit back a smile.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mullings Creek’s resident arborist, Sam Holt.

Chapter Twenty

“Leaning is whole bodies moving in like this. Leaning involves wanting, and accepting…”

—While You Were Sleeping

After the run-in with Bret and Milton, I decided to call an emergency meeting with James, Jo, and Sam. We met in Mom’s studio, since she was outside at the games with most of the other vendors while our local Boy Scout troop set up the tables and chairs for Blitzen Bingo inside The Market.