Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
My photographer friend adjusts the garland and flashes Birdie a playful look. “You would know, since I think you’re the president of that now, aren’t you?”
Birdie presses a finger to her plum-lipsticked mouth, then flicks her red-and-silver feather boa jauntily around her neck. “Don’t tell a soul—I was promoted.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Leighton says, then meets my gaze. “You know Birdie was instrumental with all of her underground machinations for Miles and me.”
Birdie’s jaw drops in mock horror. “Me? Machinations? Never.” Then she nods, mouthing “yes, yes, yes.”
Leighton rolls her eyes, but there’s obvious affection between them—soon-to-be granddaughter-in-law and grandmother—that tugs at something deep in my chest.
Rowan’s close with his mom, isn’t he? At least, it sounds like he is. And that thought warms me more than it should.
I shake it off and slide the mistletoe onto a hook just as boots click across the floor, growing louder by the second. Sabrina emerges from the back room with a box, declaring, “More decorations!”
“It’s hard to believe we could need more,” Leighton says, surveying the shop. It’s already decked out for the holidays. Ornaments and pine cones are everywhere. Even Dolly, the mannequin showgirl who greets customers at the door, is in the holiday spirit, sporting a cute little elf costume.
“Hush, darling. There’s no such thing as too many Christmas decorations,” Birdie says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say as Sabrina sorts silver baubles from the box, adding them to the garlands on the counter.
I arrange another sprig, then climb down the step ladder to check out my handiwork. Looks like we have about six sprigs, total.
Sabrina hums, considering the placement. “What exactly are the rules of mistletoe? Like, do people have to kiss if they’re under it? What if they don’t want to?”
“Yes, there is a law of mistletoe,” I say solemnly. “You must kiss. But it’s not actually enforceable. Because consent and all.”
“We like consent,” Sabrina says, and everyone nods.
My mind wanders briefly to kissing, but I shove the thoughts aside before they take root. I need to focus on hanging mistletoe, not imagining kissing under it. Or who I might kiss. The holiday season isn’t a time for me to pursue romance. It’s time to find love for others, and that’s that.
Besides, there will be time later for me to think about kisses with a certain—
Wait. That thought was no better.
Moving on, I smooth a hand down my dress then add, “The mistletoe’s just for ambiance and fun, unless someone wants to kiss, of course.”
The doorbell chimes, and in rushes Mabel, hauling a big white bakery box from her pop-up bakery, her thick hair cascading in waves over her shoulders.
“I am here, and I come bearing cookies,” she sings, a torrent of energy.
“Thank god,” I say, because while guests are bringing cookies, I’m also providing some—thanks to my friend. You can never have too many cookies. Also, sometimes guests have…baking incidents, so I like to have backups.
The second the door clinks closed behind her, the scent of her chocolate chip cookies hits me, turning me into Pavlov’s dog.
“This is embarrassing,” I groan. “My mouth is literally watering.”
Mabel bobs a shoulder. “That’s the goal. Mouthwatering cookies.”
Sabrina smirks as she grabs an Elf on the Shelf from the box. “What if the guests actually like the cookies better than the people they’re matched with?”
Birdie chuckles, shaking her head. “Studies show that an orgasmic experience with food or drinks can make the person you’re with seem even more attractive.”
Leighton shoots her a side-eye. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Birdie pats Leighton on the shoulder. “Darling, you’re engaged to my grandson. You met him at my shop. My coffee drinks are orgasmic. I don’t know what further proof you need.”
Leighton blushes while Sabrina points to the Elf on the Shelf figurine she’s adjusted on the counter. His hand is between his thighs. “He likes your theory.”
“Elves are so naughty,” Birdie declares.
I shoot Sabrina a look. “While I appreciate your dirty mind, can you please make sure he’s not whacking off at the event?”
Sabrina sighs but relents. “Fine.”
“But he can play with himself later, right, Isla?” Mabel chimes in as she arranges cookies.
“Mabel,” I chide, with a playful grin.
We work for a few more minutes, then I peer around, loving the extra sprinkles of Christmas cheer as well as the demure cross-legged pose Sabrina eventually selected for the elf.
“Well, then this is the perfect spot for a matchmaking event,” I say, smoothing down a garland. “It’s going to be so conducive to love and romance.”
That’s what I say out loud. What I don’t say? That I need a little fake-it-till-you-make-it hope.
Because Rowan isn’t an easy case.
He’s resistant every step of the way. He’s been testing me. Challenging me.
Leighton gives me a skeptical look. “Are we really sure though? I mean, I just get the impression that Rowan is…I don’t know. A tough nut to crack.”