Her body type—slender. Eye color—green. Hair color—
Paisley frowned.
She thumbed back through the options.
Black, brunette, blonde, red.
No strawberry. She began to pull her legal pad up to make a note about that, but then something stopped her in her tracks.
Was this it?
Was this what mattered?
Both on her app and in her life? A particular shade of hair?
Was it a big deal? Was it the difference between attracting Mister Right and turning off any number of browsers who saw that she picked red, but her hair wasn’t red? Or they saw that she picked blonde, but her hair wasn’t blonde. That sort of cognitive dissonance could bring down a marriage. What might it do to the first glimpse of an online browsing session?
Nothing, to be sure.
It didn’t matter, to be sure.
But still, something nagged at the back of her brain.
Paisley sank back into the cushions of her sofa and held her phone against her chest.
Maybe this was what Mr. Cook was talking about.
Maybe the problem with the app wasn’t the tech or the bells and whistles or the ability to fine-tune your profile to such a fine degree, there was no way on earth you might miss out on your soulmate.
Maybe the problem was that Paisley had lost her instinct.
Or maybe… she never had it to begin with.
But even if she’d been off base for some time, it was no reason to quit now. Instead of fretting over the color, Paisley drew the phone back to her lap and clicked Other for every single physical attribute question.
In the app, clients had the option to add their real name or default to a user handle. No way could Paisley use her own name. Not on her own app.
So, she picked her handle. One she didn’t think would be available but was surprised to find it was.
CarolinaGirl.
With CarolinaGirl’s basic details complete, she moved on to the hardest section of the dating app.
In your own words…
This was the part Paisley thought would set Mistletoe apart. Quirky questions the like of which a sweet old grandmother would dig up. Intrusive and to the point, and they helped her gain early traction. These were the questions that proved to clients that Mistletoe was for people looking for the real deal. Not one night of fun but forever together.
It’s where her matchmaking chops shone through. The only place since their brick-and-mortar clients were growing fewer and farther between. So few that once they wanted to renovate the office and create a client lounge, they found there were no in-person clients to be had. It’s why Paisley had diverted to a more cybercentric approach, hiring social media people and going all in. It’s also where they began to lose traction.
She studied the first prompt.
Forty-five minutes later, Paisley had discovered the other issue with the app.
It was too much. Too soon.
The questions were exactly what a grandmother might ask her granddaughter’s date. Intimate and uncomfortable, and the problem was: if you gave it all away in a silly questionnaire, what else was there?
She added her thoughts to her notepad with plans to ship them off to the tech team for consideration.
As for her own profile? She decided to keep her responses simple.
She liked dogs and cats equally—didn’t have either one.
She was a business owner.
A homebody.
Organized.
Clean.
Driven.
With little else to say, she hit Submit, burrowed herself into a heavy cable-knit blanket, and waited to see what would happen next.
Chapter 6—Knox
Knox had one week to prepare for the Calhoun Family Christmas and exactly twelve days until the New Year.
The latter countdown was less important to him. After all, a teacher’s calendar year began in August and ended in June. Then there was a stretch of no-man’s land called July.
Knox was no workaholic, but he itched to get back to the classroom. It’s where he found his purpose—working with the classics and molding young minds. It satisfied the thing inside every man—the need to pass something along. And if he were as confirmed a bachelor as he told everyone, he’d better cling to his career with a tight grip.
So, surviving the week was the main focus. With Hickory by his side, Knox found ways to avoid his mother and sister, each of whom kept trying to lure him to the house on some Christmas errand or drive them out to some Christmas event.
The only event Knox wanted to swing by was the Indigo Bay Animal Shelter’s adoption drive. He made a small appearance with Hickory, dropping off his donation and shaking hands with old friends.
Then, Tuesday through Friday, he found any and every opportunity to steer clear of the Calhoun family beach house. This took the shape of helping Beau, who was bored at the marina, where there was a lull in action.
Knox also spent more time with Hickory, walking the beach until the arches of his feet ached. And he carved out more time Christmas shopping, something Knox didn’t mind in the least, if it meant he wasn’t roped into another gingerbread house decorating contest.
But the whole week, he still sensed trouble.
Something was stirring with his mama and Aunt Tiny, though Knox couldn’t pin it down. If he dared to ask Shelby, she’d only rope him deeper inside the female drama. He knew he needed a plan. Something to keep him off their radar that Friday.
Otherwise, the whole function could turn out exactly like it did every year for the past five—with an argument about family tradition and settling down and setting a good example for Shelby and being a man, already.
That one always came from Bridger, who believed that male teachers were the stuff of looney tunes and particularly single male teachers. It was an uncomfortable and particularly bothersome part of their father-son dynamic, and Knox wished he had what his dad had with Bragg.
This year, it was sure to be worse since Bragg was out of town. Shelby, however single, always came up exempt from any scrutiny. Knox was fairly certain that was because of her baby-of-the-family status. She was protected by the slower passage of time.
At almost thirty, Knox’s clock was racing toward something inevitable. Something he wanted no part of.
Though when he stopped to think about it—about what was keeping him from putting himself out there, he didn’t have a good answer.
He loved his family, even his stubborn and old-fashioned father who tried with all his might to push Knox toward PE at the very least; coaching football wasn’t enough, apparently.
And Knox dated plenty. But when it came time to make that turn—the type of turn that would lead to a family introduction, he got cold feet. Couldn’t do it.
Wanted to. But couldn’t. Not badly enough, at least.
On Thursday, he met Beau at Sweet Caroline’s for a coffee before the storm of the holiday weekend hit.
“What’s the plan for Friday?” Beau asked through a mouthful of pancakes. He’d brought his oldest, who was scribbling in red and green on a paper kid’s menu, content to be out with his dad instead of home with his mom and sisters.
Knox took a long sip. “The usual. Party starts at five. Mingling, drinks, dinner, presents—”
“Presents?” Skeeter cried out.
Knox winked at his little second cousin—or were they first cousins twice removed? Knox never could figure it out. “Only for the good little girls and boys. Are you a good boy?”
“Not always,” Skeeter replied, immediately disheartened.
Beau scruffed his son’s hair. “Most of the time is enough, Skeet.”
Knox smiled at the cute duo and let out a sigh.
“What?” Beau asked. “Depressed already? You know, usually the holiday blues don’t set in until Christmas Eve at the earliest. You know, with presents and stuff. When you find out that you didn’t get what you wanted.”
“Yeah, well,
” Knox answered, “Who in the world knows what I want?”
“You want what everyone wants.” Beau shoveled another forkful.
“And what’s that?”
His cousin twirled a syrupy fork above his plate, jerking his hand toward his son and the rest of the café and nowhere that gave an answer.
Knox lifted his eyebrows. “Pancakes?”
Beau swallowed and belted out a laugh. “No, not pancakes. Well, yes. Pancakes. But also a family. A life. Right?” He threw an arm around Skeeter and tugged the little boy into his side. “A few kids, a wife. It’s all you need. And it’s a lot, too. Trust me on that one.”
Skeeter grinned meaningfully at his dad then went back to scribbling, his pancake barely nibbled.
Knox dropped his voice. “What about your job? Time with your pals?”
“I do my job. I spend time with my pals,” Beau answered, stabbing his fork in Knox’s direction. A string of syrup wobbled beneath it. “See? I’m here with you right now.”
“Yeah.” Knox downed the rest of his coffee and started in on his eggs. “I am dreading the party this year. I just know how it’ll go. Where’s your girlfriend? Who are you dating? Where is she? Are you ever going to settle down?” His pitch returned to normal. “I almost can’t take it, Beau.”
“So don’t go.” Beau shrugged and flagged down the waitress. “I gotta get home. May needs to wrap gifts, and the kids’ll be underfoot all the while.”
“Beau, come on. I have to go. You know that.”
“Then bring a date,” Beau answered, cool as a clam, as if it were the easiest answer in the world.
“I don’t have a date. I don’t have anyone. I don’t want anyone. Not anyone in Indigo Bay, at least.”
“Oh right.” Beau gave him a wry look. “You’ve dated all the single girls here and still manage to come up empty somehow. Maybe you should widen your scope. Ever think of that?”
“What, like go to Charleston for the night?”
“Maybe. Or you know what?”
“What?”
“May was telling me all about your sister’s dating service. I guess they run it two ways. You can just walk into their office in Charleston or—”
“Or?” Knox rolled his eyes. No way would he entangle his romantic life—or lack thereof—with Shelby’s work life.
“They have an app for your phone.”
“No, thanks,” Knox shot back. He wasn’t a dating app type of person. When he met a girl, it was naturally. Through a blind date or from walking Hickory on the beach. He didn’t need technology to meet women.
“Okay then, take a day trip to Charleston and see what they can muster up for you there. Better than your mama dragging some poor girl to the party on a wing and a prayer.”
Knox’s eyes flashed up. “What did you say?”
Beau paused mid coffee sip. “I’m kidding, Knox. Calm down. But if you’re going to the party, and you’re dreading the third degree, bring a date and hide out on the deck. Two birds, one stone, you know?”
It was the worst idea in the world. Anyone willing to go to his family’s Christmas party would be a total looney. After all, that was a huge emotional commitment. Then again, he must be a looney to even consider it.
But Beau was right. If he could scrounge up a date then just sneak off, maybe his folks would assume the best and leave them both alone.
The only problem would be disentangling himself from the date—should he find one—once the party was over.
But he was desperate, and at the very least, he knew he could find someone local enough if he went through Shelby’s app. After all, it was based just a half hour away.
After a quick reference of Shelby’s social media page to double-check the name of the app, he downloaded it to his phone and got to work tapping out quick answers on his profile.
He didn’t have to be thorough.
He tapped in his name and basic details, noting the distinct lack of a profile picture option—a bizarre quirk for a dating app. Wasn’t the point that you could weed someone out right away? Maybe Shelby and her so-called handsome boss should have called it Blind Date, rather than Mistletoe.
Then, just as he was about to submit his profile, another thought occurred to him.
What if his students found out he was on a dating app?
Improbable as it was, teenagers were just the sorts to fiddle with these things for fun. Or maybe one of their parents were on it. Then he’d be in hot water. There was no way he could be mixed up in that sort of scandal. Dating a student’s parent or being found out by his students for using a dating app? He wasn’t sure which was worse.
He scrolled back to the name box in Basic Details and read and reread his own name.
The directions indicated you could put your name or a handle. After clearing Knox C. from the box, he re-entered a username. BeachBum.
Fitting and charming, he figured.
Good enough for a one-time date.
Chapter 7—Paisley
Paisley started the week by combing through Mistletoe profiles and turning up empty. The men were all familiar; she’d seen many of them before she looked for herself. They read like goofs or lotharios. There was no middle ground.
Then, on Wednesday, she stumbled across an unfamiliar profile nearly as vague and watered down as her own. This intrigued her enough that she logged into the backend of the app to see when he had joined.
That morning.
Committed to saving her business, she added the little Mistletoe symbol to his profile. This would come up as a notification for him—Somebody wants to meet you beneath the Mistletoe! And it would save his profile in her Stocking.
Now that she was using the app for herself, Paisley wondered if the Christmas imagery was a bit too much. She made a note to explore that after the New Year with her team. Maybe they needed to minimize the seasonal flavor.
Almost immediately, her inbox lit up with a blinking red bow. A new message notification.
She tapped it open.
Good morning, CarolinaGirl.
At first, Paisley frowned. She felt awkward using the handle. Like the shell of a person, not a real person. An… avatar, instead.
Good morning, BeachBum.
Setting her phone on the counter, she transferred her steaming hot cocoa and a roll of wrapping paper to her kitchen table. She decided to put together gifts for Shelby’s parents, nieces, and nephews, and now would be as good a time as any. If there was one thing Paisley knew, it was good to have plenty of distractions.
The phone buzzed just as soon as she stretched a rectangle of foil-lined paper across the oak tabletop.
Forcing herself to wrap one gift first, she carefully centered a Deluxe Barbie Set in the middle of the sheet, then drew a side of paper up, holding the box in place as she folded it tightly over and repeated this action three more times, pressing the corners into sharp edges and using no more than three pieces of tape.
Just as soon as she finished the first package, she grabbed her phone and stared at the stranger’s response.
What are you up to today? he wrote.
Paisley rolled her eyes. Bored already, she diverted to his profile, gobbling up the scant details in moments. Teacher. Football coach. Beach lover. Book reader. Owned by a sweet, scruffy, old dog.
His basic info was at once perfect and too good to be true. He sounded like a Southern dreamboat and managed to paint a picture in so few words, she didn’t need to read his physical details to learn that he was tall, dark, and handsome in an easy way. Like the teacher everyone had a crush on. Not overtly hot, but attractive in the context of his position as an authority figure and because he was just so darn smart and sweet.
Her boredom replaced by curiosity, Paisley brought her phone with her to the table.
She tapped out a quick reply. Wrapping Christmas gifts. You? Leaving the app messenger open and the phone face up by her tape dispenser, she moved on to an unwieldy plastic brick container of building block
s.
Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t need to hear it to see the little red ribbon glow again.
What a coincidence. Me too.
Frowning, she slid down into a chair and pushed a rolled tube of giftwrap away, centering the phone between her hands.
A man who wraps gifts, huh?
Now they were having a full-blown in-app convo. No lag. No delay. No more dots.
I’m serious about Christmas.
Paisley grinned. Who isn’t?
Good point. So, you own a business? What kind?
At that question, Paisley faltered. Software development. She cringed at yet another fib. But there was no way she’d confess to owning the very app she was using until it was time. Until something actually worked out and she could declare her product tried and true.
Ah, he wrote back.
It was Paisley’s turn to ask a question. You’re a teacher? What subject? Or… grade?
High school English.
What’s your favorite book? She went with a default question. Surely, he’d give her some arcane title she didn’t recognize or did but had nothing to say about it. Paisley scraped her way through humanities.
A Christmas Carol.
She grinned. Timely.
Who doesn’t love the story of a miserly old humbug who can find it in his heart to love?
Paisley’s eyebrow lifted. Good point. It’s a classic tale, no doubt.
Do you have a favorite book? he answered.
Not as much of a reader as she ought to be, Paisley contemplated fibbing. Thinking better of it, she answered frankly, I’m not a big reader. Hope that isn’t a dealbreaker… She bit down on her lower lip and winced, waiting for him to scold her. Almost… hoping he would scold her.
Surely, you have a favorite story, though? That’s all books are, you know. Stories…
Paisley’s mouth twitched into a small smile. If it’s a good story we’re talking about… then sure…
Sweet Mistletoe Page 3
