Page 83 of The Mistletoe Kisser

“Yeah. Down on the Farm will be a no-kill sanctuary for homeless farm animals. Think of it as a retirement community for livestock. I’ve got ten acres here. But I need the funds to fix up the barn and the fields. Then there’s the food and medical care.”

“Sounds expensive,” he said, flipping through the applications.

“Expensive, but worthwhile. Right now, I do what I can by providing free vet care for the rescued animals. I also pay for feed and supplies out of my own pocket. But it’s not enough.”

“That’s a shitty, irresponsible business model.”

“Well, don’t pull any punches or anything,” Sammy complained.

“Explain to me why the hell these papers are sitting here blank while we waste time tying stupid bows.”

“Because I committed to selling wreaths. Okay?” she said in exasperation. “We always have a wreath stand at the Solstice, and last year’s wreath maker is on a barefoot tai chi sojourn across Canada. Do you want Blue Moon to go without treesandwreaths this year?”

“Blue Moon isn’t my concern. You are,” he said, frowning over the applications. “Sam, these grants would put a hell of a lot of money into your coffers. You’re wasting time and energy on a useless fundraiser that won’t net you any real capital.”

“Look. I paid for the booth. I promised people wreaths. I’m going to deliver.”

He opened his arms to encompass the table. “Then why am I the only one here?”

“I didn’t ask for your help or your food delivery,” she said stubbornly.Booty call off.She didn’t need some armchair quarterback coming in here and critiquing her priorities.

“Did you ask for anyone else’s?”

She gave up on the bow and crossed her arms. “No.”

“So in Sparkle’s Perfect World, you were going to work full-time—without your vet tech—make fifty fucking wreaths, set up and man a booth,andfinish your grant applications by…” He glanced down at the paperwork. “Tomorrow at midnight.”

Sammy pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and slouched in her chair. She was probably grinding glitter into her corneas. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid. And impossible.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

She picked up the bow, determined not to be defeated again and mashed it into a knot. “I didn’t think I needed it.” Giving up on any semblance of perfection—or aptitude above kindergarten-level bow tying—she knotted the wire with pliers.There. Done.She propped it against the wall with the other finished wreaths and tried to ignore just how droopy and crooked they all looked.

“Do you want to know what your problem is?” he asked.

“No.”

“Your problem is you want to fix everyone else’s problems,” he said, ignoring her.

“How isthata bad thing?” she scoffed.

“Can you ask that when you have an Oy to the World ribbon glued to your sweatshirt?”

She glanced down and ripped the length of ribbon off her chest.

“You are prioritizing other people’s problems over your own. Other people’s needs over your own,” he pressed on, warming to the topic.

“I don’t have problems,” she insisted.

He gestured at the table, the spools of ribbon, the reels of wire, one glittery cat tail, and dozens of unfinished wreaths. “How is this disaster going to turn into startup capital? By committing to the wrong priorities, you’re missing the big picture and endangering your future.”

“I appreciate your criticism,” she said dryly. “However, it’s not helping me finish these wreaths.”

“Cancel the booth, the fundraiser, and fill out the damn paperwork, Sam.”

If her spine got any more rigid, she worried it might snap like a dry twig. “I made a commitment,” she said defensively. “Maybeyougo back on your word, but I don’t.”

“No need to get snippy.”