Page 55 of The Christmas Arrangement

Caitlyn picks up the baton. “Are you his girlfriend? Does that make you a vampire, too?”

I give Dash a panicked look. What should I say?

He extricates his arm from his mother’s and comes over to me, wrapping me in a hug from behind. “She is my girlfriend, but she’s not a vampire.”

Sunny Min, yet another precocious miniature citizen of Mistletoe Mountain, studies me, tiny hands fists on her hips. “That’s because she’s vampire food.”

“Excuse me? Do I look like vampire food, Sunny?”

She nods seriously. “You’re very pale.”

Everyone laughs, and I lean back against Dash. For a moment, it’s just us, sharing this ridiculous, perfect moment.

Then I remember it’s not just us. I look over at Rachel. She’s watching us intently.

Dash releases me from his arms and addresses the kids. “Well, that was exciting. But who wants me to finish the story?"

Enthusiastic shouts of "Me!" ring out.

He glances at Rachel, then me. "Give me a few minutes?"

“Of course,” his mom says.

We rejoin Noelle near the doorway, and the three of us watch Dash engage the kids, several of whom are doubled over with laughter. I glance up to the catwalk outside the makerspace and see the Williams twins, listening from afar while also climbing a bookshelf. I elbow Noelle and point, and she rushes off to rescue them—or her books, more likely.

Rachel's expression is unreadable as she watches her son surrounded by giggling, rapt children.

"He's different here," she says quietly, more to herself than me.

“I think he can relax here,” I tell her.

She looks at me with something—worry, or maybe fear—shadowing her expression. Whatever she might have said next is lost when the kids erupt in applause. Story hour is over.

The kids swarm Dash as he makes his way toward us. He’s patient, asking their names, making jokes. He even does his Vlad voice for them.

Finally, he extracts himself and comes over to us.

"Sorry about that.” He’s smiling, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes when he glances at his mother.

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Dash is looking at me like he wants to say something. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with Rachel. And Rachel is studying both of us like we’re a puzzle she can’t solve.

"Ivy," Rachel says suddenly, "would you mind if I borrow Dasher for a bit? I’d love to see more of the town. Just the two of us. We haven’t had much time alone since he started splitting his time between Los Angeles and New York.”

She says it sweetly. So sweetly that saying no would seem cruel.

Dash glances at me. I see the apology in his eyes, but also the ask. She’s his mother. She came all this way.

"Of course," I hear myself say. "I should check on the flower shop anyway. Dash can get you settled in at the loft. I’ll see you both later?"

"Tonight at Christmas karaoke," Dash promises. "The Tipsy Turnip. Seven o’clock."

"I’ll be there." I stretch up onto my toes to give him a quick kiss and press my key chain into his hand so he can take my car and get his mom settled in at Holly’s.

Then I turn to Rachel. "I’m so glad you’re here.”

"Thank you for inviting me, Ivy." Her voice is genuine and her face is open, kind.

As I leave, I glance back. Rachel’s already steering Dash toward the exit, her hand on his arm, talking rapidly. He’s listening, nodding.