Page 6 of The Christmas Arrangement

I squint at her, skeptical. “There’s no way. Jodi and Mark Bryant reserve it every year.”

“They didn’t last year,” she reminds me.

“That was a one-time thing,” I protest weakly.

She shrugs. “Guess it’s a two-time thing now. You can ask your dad when you return his truck. Just sign the thing already, please.”

The pleading tone in her voice melts my resistance and I scribble my name on the signature line. She plucks the document out of my hand and spins around like she’s going to leave in a hurry.

“Wait. You have to tell me who the client is. You said you couldn’t tell me until I signed. I signed, so spill it.”

She stops and turns around to face me. “Dash Pine.”

My jaw drops. “Dash Pine as in Dash Pine?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question. Dash Pine as in the guy who played Vlad Graves on The Vampire Quarterback for the entirety of our teenage .”

I stammer out some sounds that mean nothing. My ability to form words appears to be broken.

But Quinn correctly guesses I’m trying to ask what Dash Pine is doing in Mistletoe Mountain, and why it requires a metric buttload of fresh flowers.

“He’s dating Lia Campbell. It must be getting serious. They’ve decided to go public with their relationship right here in our holiday hamlet.” She flashes a wide grin.

“Dash Pine and Lia Campbell?” I manage to ask.

“Yep, Hollywood’s bad boy and America’s sweetheart are in love. They want to take advantage of the golden hour for the photo shoot. Please work your winter wonderland magic as fast as you can. Trust me, you do not want to get on their bad side. I gotta go. Sorry I can’t help you unload.”

I barely hear her over the teenage version of me freaking out inside my brain. Dash Pine. The Dash Pine. The broody vampire quarterback who stared down at me from the poster above my bed from 2012 through 2017, inclusive.

I hush my inner sixteen-year-old. Meeting Dash Pine may be teenaged Ivy’s wildest dream come true, but I’m an adult. A business owner. A woman who would like to eventually be able to buy groceries without counting her quarters first.

I can't afford to act like a starstruck fangirl. This contract’s too important. If the photos of Dash and Lia go viral, every bride between Maine and Rhode Island will be at my door.

Holy sugarplums.

Chapter 4

Plan B

Dash

Two hours and forty minutes earlier

* * *

I can’t believe Lia is screwing me over like this. She’ll get hers, though. I’ve been in the business long enough to know that, at some point, her sweet facade will slip, and she’ll need an image makeover of her own. When karma catches up to her, I’ll take plenty of satisfaction in it. But at the moment, Brody’s right. I’m screwed.

And whose fault is that? Lia didn’t moon the press. Lia didn’t get hammered on a morning show.

I should be pissed off at myself, not her. I’m the jackhole here.

The cold wind swirling down the collar of my leather coat does nothing to cool off my rising temper. I pull my beanie down over my brow and storm away from the house toward the event barn, walking fast in an effort to burn off some of my anger. I’m maybe forty yards from the barn when I hear the grunting. Like a gym bro lifting four hundred pounds grunting. A vet carrying a cow grunting. Big, manly, grunting.

Curious, I round the corner in search of the source. Based on the sound effects, the smart money is on a farmer facing down a black bear. So imagine my surprise when I spot a woman wrestling a flower pot out of the bed of a pickup truck.

To be fair, it’s an enormous planter. She can barely wrap her arms around it. But again, flowers. Not an apex predator or a pregnant cow. A gigantic riot of creamy white and deep red blooms.

“Son of a reindeer,” she mutters fiercely.