Page 64 of The Christmas Arrangement
“The inn?”
“The town.”
He snorts and strokes his trim beard. “Nope. I grew up in New Jersey. Mistletoe Mountain wasn’t on my radar, let alone in my long-term plans. I got a degree in hospitality management. My plan was to work for several hotel chains, all over the world, get some experience, and then go run my sister’s resort on the Jersey seashore.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
“The usual way. I met a girl.”
“Ivy’s mom?”
“Yep. Carol grew up here and never wanted to leave. Ivy’s like her that way. And once I met Carol, I never wanted to leave either.” He grins into his coffee mug.
I give him a moment to have his memory. Then I clear my throat. “And now?”
He looks up. “Now?”
“Well, you and Noelle don’t have to stay here, right? There are libraries and inns all over the place.”
“That’s true enough. But no place else is Mistletoe Mountain. Noelle moved away for a while—lived in Europe. But once she came back, she came back to stay. This place doesn’t get into everybody’s blood. Plenty of people leave. But if it does get into your blood, you’re done for. Look at Jack. He could be on beach in Florida right now instead of freezing his Christmas bulbs off in Vermont. But he’s here.”
“Because he met a girl,” I muse.
Nick lifts his mug in salute. “Exactly.”
Chapter 25
Sugar and Spice and Sacrifice
Ivy
* * *
Properly caffeinated and powered by sugar, I take a quick shower and help myself to a thick fisherman sweater from Holly’s perfectly organized closet. Since I’m about half a foot shorter than her, I style it as a dress. Then I jam my feet back into the torture boots, throw on my coat, and run out the door.
It’s a short walk to the flower shop, but my bare legs are numb and frozen by the time I get there. I strike gold when I’m rummaging in a drawer for a skein of twine. I’d tossed a pair of black leggings in there forever ago so that I could catch a class at Maple Twist if an unexpected pocket of time ever opened up. That never happened, but I’m thrilled with the find and wriggle out of the boots to put on the leggings under the sweater dress.
I congratulate myself on my fashion resourcefulness while I pack up the day’s deliveries. Farah’s offered to handle them for me, so I leave the box on the counter along with a note and a generous tip. My customers will tip her, too, but I know how expensive her textbooks are.
I whip through the rest of my work in record time, eager to get to the cottage early enough to have a heart-to-heart with Dash before we have to leave for the MacIntosh Farm. With any luck, Noelle and Dad can show Rachel around the inn while we talk.
While I’m locking the door, I spot a handful of photographers on the corner. So I turn and give them a wave and a friendly smile. In just a few short days, I’ve become accustomed to their near-omnipresence.
“Ivy, things must be getting serious between you and Dash if his mom’s here,” Shane calls. “Any comment?”
I widen my grin but say nothing. Dash told me to never say no comment, but to let them speculate. Speculation drives page views, apparently.
With my entourage of cameramen in tow, I hurry down High Street and turn the corner to head to the cottage. I’m actually looking forward to laying everything out with Dash. My sisters are right. I’ve come this far, I can’t shrink back into my shell now.
At the cottage, when I start to tap in the code on the keyless lock, the door swings open.
“Dash?” I call as I step inside.
No answer.
“Dash?”
The bedroom door opens. Rachel walks out, her expression expectant. When she sees me, it falls. “Oh, hi, Ivy. I heard the door. I thought you were Dasher.”