Mistletoe Baby (Crescent Cove 9.50)

“Okay, let’s do this.” Dare smiled. “You’ll be on your way sooner than you think.”

Ninety minutes later, I finally walked out of the auto shop. The snow was still thick and steady, but the townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. The shop was just a bit down the street from what seemed to be a town square of sorts near the lake. The wide snow-covered lawn was covered with different food and game booths as well as the holiday floats I’d seen, plus a few others. People roamed around with their mittened hands clutching cups of cocoa, talking and laughing, accompanied by excited kids and scampering dogs.

Somehow I’d driven right into a Hallmark Christmas movie.

There was even the gazebo that had clearly served as the inspiration for the float that had glided past my damaged car. The real thing was even more grand as it gleamed in the darkness, strung with miles of lights and with a tree sparkling inside. Families clustered into the space to surround the tree, their laughter carrying on the crisp breeze. Someone pitched a snowball at a woman in the crowd, and she shrieked and rushed down the steps to build a snow arsenal of her own.

I smiled despite my general irritation. I’d been told I’d be able to pick my car up probably tomorrow, thanks to the hefty rush fee I’d paid. We’d scheduled the custom work for the new year.

At least I’d already secured lodging. After a recommendation from the shop, I’d called to reserve a room at The Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast down the block. The sprawling inn overlooked the frosty gleam of the lake and the Christmas hijinks going on nearby.

There was certainly plenty to inspire me here—even if cozy holiday scenes and frigid winter landscapes weren’t my typical subject matter—but I didn’t have any of my supplies. I definitely didn’t have my laptop. Handily, I could take photos and sketch in my on-the-go app if I wanted to capture anything until I got back to my studio at home.

In the meantime, I’d just grab a slice of pizza from Dare’s and Gage’s dad’s booth, Robbie’s Pizza, at the winter festival. I’d heard it was the best in town. Of course Dare was entirely biased, but my growling stomach was willing to take his word for it.

Gage had neither confirmed or denied. He’d just written up my work order silently while giving me a healthy dose of side-eye worthy of my students.

Further cementing my daredevil status in town, I crossed the street outside the crosswalk and headed into the middle of carnival madness.

I bought two slices of cheese pizza and a bag of fried dough that steamed my glasses. Then I looked around the crowded square for a place to sit—or lean, since there was a half wall just beyond the gazebo attached to the pier. I found a spot and ate while I stared at the sprawling homes that lined the lake, their lit windows so homey and comforting in the snowy dark.

Something twisted in my chest that felt suspiciously like yearning. I didn’t mind spending time alone. In fact, due to my large family, I’d grown to appreciate solitude. But being in the center of a happy crowd at Christmas reminded me that hey, there was more to life than teaching and grading and sketching and painting. More than Sunday dinners at my parents’ house filled with friendly or not so friendly squabbling, depending on who was in a mood that week.

The holidays were coming up, and since I’d turned down my best friend Bryce’s pathetic attempts to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends, I’d likely be alone.

Again.

“Hey, mister, you dropped your fried dough.” A young girl with a dark ponytail and braces held out the bag of warm fried dough I hadn’t realized I’d dropped.

I took it from her and smiled. “Thanks. Hey, do you want a piece? I can’t eat it all.”

But she was already walking away, back to her family.

Swallowing a sigh, I turned toward the gazebo and stared at the gigantic tree, its boughs weighed down with tinsel and ornaments. On the other side of the gazebo someone had hung a large sprig of mistletoe, and a woman stood beneath it, gazing up at the thing as if she couldn’t understand what it was.

Or as if she was waiting for someone to kiss her.

Tufts of her light-colored hair—maybe pink?—stuck out in every direction from beneath her knit hat, as if her long braids had started unraveling in the wind. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold and her unbuttoned coat flapped in the breeze, revealing a long, soft-looking dress. I couldn’t decipher many other details about her, other than the lipstick-red scarf tossed jauntily over her shoulder.

She was cute. Maybe even beautiful if I could’ve made out more of her features in the darkness.

I threw out my empty plate and strode toward the gazebo steps, clutching my bag of fried dough as if it was a bouquet of roses.

I stopped on the top step. This was stupid. What was I even doing in this town? As soon as my car was ready, I’d drive away and never look back—except for coming back for my custom car work appointment. When I was in the mood for company, I was all about enjoying Syracuse’s city scene, visiting nightclubs and trendy eateries downtown. Most of the time, I simply didn’t bother.

I definitely didn’t approach random women in gazebos on a snowy night too close to Christmas, when my loneliness tasted like chalk in my throat.

Then she looked over at me and smiled, and I couldn’t have stopped the forward motion of my feet if I’d tried.

I forgot the fried dough. Forgot the moms and dads and eager kids swarming about, pushing and nudging to get where they were going. That nameless woman drew me like the North star, a jewel glimmering in the darkness.

Words stuck in my head. I was usually so glib, so prepared with a ready remark. Not here. The dough slipped out of my hand as I reached her and simply lifted my hands to her icy-cold cheeks.

She was already rising on her tiptoes to meet me, her glossy pink lips parted and waiting.

We collided on a rush of breath, her mouth molding to mine as I gripped her jaw. I tilted her upward, taking her unspoken invitation and slipping my tongue inside. She sucked on the tip lightly, igniting a fire in under my skin as she rubbed against me. She fisted a handful of my coat, tugging at the material, bringing me down to her level so she could kiss me back with the same intensity.

She tasted like vanilla ice cream. Pure, sweet. Innocent somehow, as if she was daring me to break my control.