Page 15 of The Christmas Arrangement

“You’re the proud owner of one thousand one hundred and twenty-four fresh flowers, Dash. What do you plan to do with them?”

Leave them in the barn until they die seems like the wrong answer. Underneath my sweater, my shirt collar seems to shrink, cutting off my air supply while my mind races. What am I going to do with over a thousand flowers?

I’m about to curse Brody, when Ivy smiles like she’s wise to my internal freakout.

“You could donate them to the Mistletoe Mountain Merriment Managers. It’s our version of a chamber of commerce. They can dole them out to the various businesses and events to add to their decorations.”

“Great idea.” I agree to the suggestion instantly, thrilled to have the responsibility for a literal truckload of flowers taken off my hands by a council of elves or whatever they are.

She eases the truck forward and turns into an alley. “We’ll park behind the cottage and walk around to the main entrance like regular guests so the press can get some pictures. I’m guessing they’re around here somewhere?”

“Probably hiding in the bushes.”

She giggles, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not joking.

I offer her a hand when she steps out of the pickup truck, then keep her hand in mine as we follow the cobblestone path past the cottage to the walkway around the house to the front. I hear the first shutter click when we draw even with the stand of spruce trees that line the path.

Trees, bushes. I was close enough.

“Is that what I think it is?” she whispers.

I nod, and she nestles closer, her coat sleeve brushing against mine.

Several more photographers, the ones who were smart enough to get out of the cold, scrabble out of two cars parked in front of the inn when they spot us mounting the steps to the porch. At the wide double doors, I turn us around to pose for a clear shot, making sure to position her that so one of her enormous wreaths is visible behind us. Might as well get her some product placement. I flash a smile and give a friendly wave before I push open the doors, setting off a jangle of jingle bells.

I stop just inside the door to stare. The lobby makes the inn’s exterior look sedate and sparsely decorated. Everywhere I look I see twinkling lights, fresh garlands and an inordinate number of nutcrackers. The air, warmed by the fire crackling in the fireplace, smells of evergreens, oranges, and cinnamon. Soft music is playing from hidden speakers. It’s a cozy, welcoming, scene. I relax my shoulders and loosen my jaw.

My moment of quiet bliss is cut short by a swarm of squealing women. Based on the volume and intensity of the noise, I’d guess there are a dozen of them. But once the swirling bodies settle, there are only three: a blonde and a brunette, both in their twenties, and a woman in her forties. This must be the sisters and their dad’s fiancee. The women pepper Ivy with questions, their voices overlapping. I can’t make out any of it. Ivy shrinks, rounding her shoulders and ducking her head under the sustained assault of noise.

I wrap my arm around her and snug her into my side. She gives me a sideways glance, probably thinking there’s no need to pretend we’re dating with them. But that’s not why I pulled her close. Instinctively, I want to protect her.

Protect her from her family? Hardly necessary. They’re loud—really loud—and excited, but they’re not aggressive or overbearing. Still, I felt her discomfort and reacted without thinking. And she nestled into my side like she belongs there.

Before I can continue with my self-analysis, a man strolls out from behind the registration desk to clap my back and shake my hand. His grip is firmly but not bone crushing. He smiles, entirely at ease with himself and apparently unfazed by meeting a major movie star.

“Welcome to the Inn at Mistletoe Mountain, Dash.”

“Thank you. This place is amazing, Mr. Jolly.”

“Wait until you see the cottage. And call me Nick.”

He holds out his arms, and Ivy wriggles free of me to hug her father hello.

I turn to find Noelle at my elbow. “Hi. I bet you’re Noelle.”

“I sure am,” she chirps. “Your manager arranged for your bags to be sent over, and someone named Luna dropped off a ‘wardrobe’ for Ivy.” She draws air quotes as she says wardrobe and waits a beat before continuing. “Obviously, Ivy knows all the ins and outs around here. But if you need anything, promise you won’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks. And I promise.”

I study her for a moment. I know she and Ivy aren’t related, but with their red hair, green eyes, and freckles they could be mother and daughter. Ivy’s sisters, in contrast, look nothing like her—or each other. One is taller than Ivy and has blonde hair and blue eyes. The other is much shorter with dark curly hair. I’m guessing she’s Merry because her jeans are dusted with flour and she’s sporting a blue bandage like chefs use around her right ring finger.

I catch Nick’s eye. “Can we talk?”

He holds my gaze for an uncomfortably long moment before gesturing toward a door. I feel the women watching us.

“We’ll take Ivy to get settled in at the cottage,” Holly declares. “Come over when you’re done. And bring Jack. He’s floating around here somewhere.”

As I follow the patriarch through a set of pocket doors, the rest of the Jollys usher Ivy down a long hallway in a cloud of laughter.