Sweet Mistletoe

by Elizabeth Bromke

  Paisley dropped the matter but hadn’t yet replied to Shelby’s original question. “I believe in true love, which is why I started the company. I was young, but I saw what my parents had. I felt it. I still feel it. Sometimes I think the only way I can keep their memory in my heart is if I recreate that.” She swallowed. “You know?”

  Betsy’s coffee mug hovered midair, and her eyes turned wet immediately. Shelby wrapped an arm around Paisley. “It’ll happen for you, Paisley. Especially now that you’re putting yourself out there.”

  “Whatever did happen to your Christmas Eve date, Miss Paisley?” Betsy asked, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a red paper napkin.

  Paisley glanced suspiciously at Shelby. “You told her about it?”

  Shelby shrugged, but her gaze narrowed on her mother. A warning, no doubt.

  Committed to changing topics and getting down to business, Paisley simply smiled. “It wasn’t meant to be. I gave him a chance, and it didn’t pan out.”

  “Don’t you believe in second chances, though?” Betsy pressed.

  Paisley blinked. She never quite thought about it. In her mind, a fool was only a fool if fooled again. She’d hate to be a fool, and she’d hate to lower her bar, so no. Apparently, she did not believe in second chances.

  BeachBum’s silly profile came into mind, but now it was competing with something bigger: a real chance to save her business. A better chance. Something that would mean more than Paisley’s image no doubt.

  After the Mistletoe. In her eyes, the investors wouldn’t possibly hold her to the ultimatum if she could drive dozens or even hundreds of sign-ups in the matter of a single night. And the success stories to come from it would speak for themselves. In her eyes, Paisley was standing up for what she built.

  But was she really willing to fall for it, too?

  Chapter 26—Knox

  “We need you to help this week.”

  His mama was on the phone, and she meant business. But for the life of him, Knox didn’t understand why she needed his help or why she meant business.

  “What for?”

  “Oh, a little bit of everything, Knox. We’ve got a party to plan, and I don’t have your father to help on this one.”

  “Mama, the trees are up. The lights are up. What more—?”

  “Don’t you sass me, Knox Lincoln. Just get yourself over here when you can, and I’ll set you to work.”

  He’d just been ready to take Hickory on a walk, so he figured he may as well bring the poor guy with him. A quick beach run wouldn’t hurt, and what else did either one of them have to do that day? A whole lotta nothing, that was for sure. By now, Knox was merely biding his time before school resumed and with it, preseason track workouts.

  He pulled up to the beach house in his truck but let it run as he sat alongside the driveway.

  Knox recognized Shelby’s VW Bug, naturally. But a second car took up his usual spot. That’s how it was for Shelby and Knox—as the two remaining singletons of the Calhoun clan, they still had a “spot” each in the driveway.

  Frowning, he unbuckled himself and let Hickory out the back. The old dog took off like a pup toward the beach, then immediately bee-lined right, disappearing behind the beach house.

  “Hick!” Knox shouted, nervous to lose sight of the old man. “Hick!” He blew a loud whistle with his fingers. “Com’ere, boy!” The dog didn’t materialize, so Knox took off jogging down through sand weeds and past driftwood through the cold morning air. It may not be snowing weather there in Indigo Bay, but winter was winter, and especially relative to their hot, humid summers.

  He jogged through a wet breeze as the surf splashed against a nearby outcropping of rocks, and that’s when he cornered the back of the house and found his dog licking the neck of a stranger who’d squatted down to pet him. “Shameless mutt,” Knox grumbled beneath his breath.

  His mother and sister were there, too, each with a hand held against her face to shield the sun.

  “Knox! Over here!” his mother hollered unnecessarily. He shook his head, chuckled, and made his way over.

  “Hickory, heel,” he hissed. But the dog ignored him and flipped onto his back for belly rubs.

  Then Knox recognized the woman. Her champagne-colored hair lifting on the breeze.

  She scrubbed Hickory’s belly, but something else caught the mutt’s eye, and he wriggled back on his feet and jogged off, leaving her to stand and turn toward Knox.

  “Mistletoe,” he murmured on a breath.

  “Knox, you met Paisley at the Christmas party, remember?” his sister asked.

  He nodded and took a step closer. “Mistletoe,” he repeated lamely.

  “Yes,” the woman replied, her expression unreadable in the harsh light of morning. “I’m the president of Mistletoe.”

  “No, I mean, we kissed—I mean, I kissed you—I—” He pushed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I mean we met beneath the mistletoe. At the party.”

  “Oh. Right.” The woman looked toward Shelby, awkwardly.

  Knox was duly humiliated at his own fumbling, and still he mustered the idiocy to add, “I had to leave soon after.”

  “For Bridger,” his mother added helpfully, offering Paisley a sad smile.

  Knox was glad for the added comment. No sense in reminding her that he’d had a date that night. It didn’t pan out anyway, and what good would that do? CarolinaGirl had effectively shut him down to zero. It was a nonstarter.

  He felt Shelby’s eyes on him, icy and knowing. “That’s right. Daddy’s heart attack affected everyone.”

  Paisley frowned. “Yes. I’m so sorry. It had to be a stressful evening for you.”

  “A bad night, for sure,” Knox agreed, meeting her stare. “But it could have been worse. How was your Christmas Eve? Did you have a chance to enjoy it?” Speaking so plainly with a beautiful woman in front of his mother and sister was uncomfortable at best.

  Paisley’s eyes slid away then back to him. “It was fine. Thanks to Mrs. Calhoun.” She turned a warm smile on Betsy, who all but curtsied. “Your family sure knows how to celebrate Christmas.”

  “We’re a very festive bunch,” Betsy replied.

  “She would throw a birthday party for a gnat if she could,” Knox cut in. “Ladies, your New Year’s Eve bash is sure to be a success with Betsy Calhoun on the case.” He winked at Paisley—a reflex—then swallowed.

  She looked down, and Knox could only imagine what the other two women were thinking.

  “What’s the plan today, anyway?” he asked, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. Diversion was effective in football… and with women. Or so he thought, but Paisley’s eyes lingered on him with circumspection.

  Shelby took the hint and pointed up at the house. “Let’s go talk.”

  Chapter 27—Paisley

  In the Calhoun kitchen, Paisley sat adjacent to Knox. His behavior on the beach surely didn’t confirm Shelby’s insights into her brother.

  Perhaps a tad aloof, but by all appearances, Knox Calhoun was as likeable as his sister and as family-centered as his mother.

  Then again, that was nothing more than the result of her limited observations.

  Mrs. Calhoun brought to the table a platter of Christmas cookies and four mugs of hot cocoa, each one bubbling over with marshmallows. Normally, Paisley would be hesitant to dive into sweets in front of a handsome stranger. But though handsome, Knox wasn’t a stranger. And he wasn’t even a romantic option.

  At least, it didn’t seem so. Otherwise, why hadn’t anything happened yet? How could their paths not have crossed?

  She tried to focus. “Thank you, Mrs. Calhoun.” She accepted her mug and slipped a cookie from the platter, centering it on her plate—a delicate piece of china.

  “Paisley, why don’t you outline our game plan for this week? Or for the next couple of days, rather? I suppose we’re a little short on time.” Shelby’s mother lowered herself slowly into the seat directly across from Paisley.


  “Right, and I’m nervous about that. If we plan to make this count—” She dropped her chin and then took a breath.

  “We’ll make it count all right,” Shelby gripped her hand. “After the Mistletoe is going to knock the socks off Mr. Cook and all the others.”

  “Who’s Mr. Cook?” Mrs. Calhoun asked.

  Paisley answered, “He’s one of our investors. We have three, and things are… tenuous right now.”

  She sensed Knox shift in his seat. Was he bored? Irritated?

  “Well, things will become solid as ever. Just tell us what to do,” Mrs. Calhoun said.

  After taking a sip of cocoa, Paisley went through everything she’d managed to arrange since the day before. “Venue is the main concern, obviously. We weren’t sure what your capacity is, and we don’t want a free-for-all. So, we started cautiously with advertising.”

  “RSVP only,” Shelby added. “It’s not a freebie mixer. It’s an exclusive event.”

  “Right. We invited our client list, which is our primary concern. To bring in new clientele and gain brand awareness, we’re running tightly targeted social media ads. Word of mouth is good, too. We’ve set up an online ticketing service on our website, where clients or potentials can purchase their ticket to the event. That function went live this morning, so we’ll keep an eye. We hope to hit fifty guests but keep it under one hundred per Shelby.” Paisley grinned cautiously.

  “An exclusive event of under one hundred singles,” Shelby repeated.

  “Anyway, the next steps are to figure out food, drink, and entertainment. It can all be simple. Hors d’oeuvres, for example, and perhaps desserts. Beverages, of course.”

  “Easy,” Mrs. Calhoun said as she added to a neat list on her Santa-shaped notepad. “Aunt Tiny and I can handle all the food.”

  “Beau has a sound system. Unless you’re looking for live music, I can ask him if you can borrow it. Maybe he’ll help set it up,” Knox said.

  “I think a deejay would be fine. But we’d need a deejay, not just Paisley shuffling through whatever’s on her phone,” Shelby joked.

  “Coach Kern deejays for the prom,” Knox offered. Paisley stole a look at him and couldn’t help but smile. A PE coach who moonlights for school dances wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she cooked up the idea with Shelby.

  But then again, maybe this was the exact sort of thing Mr. Cook and the investors were talking about.

  Down home. Sweet. Easy.

  “That’s perfect,” Paisley replied. “Homemade appetizers, spiced cider, and champagne, and a local’s playlist.” She looked at Knox earnestly. “Think you can convince your two contacts?”

  “Contacts?” He cocked an eyebrow. “If by contacts you’re referring to my cousin and Shelby’s would-be boyfriend…”

  “Would-be boyfriend?” Shelby broke in, smirking and crossing her arms.

  “Whatever you want to call him,” Knox answered, scratching the back of his neck.

  Paisley saw what her vice president had referred to. But it wasn’t quite immaturity or a resistance to women. Rather, an innocence. Naivete. Something sweet and endearing and entirely unfamiliar to the woman who was once a girl who grew up too fast—lost her own innocence too early through unspeakable tragedy.

  Shelby propped her elbows on the table. “I call him Coach Kern.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

  Paisley pursed her lips. “And that’s what you call him when you’re alone together?”

  “Well, we haven’t been alone together much yet.” She flushed, and Betsy’s grin grew by yards.

  “Anyway, if we can cover those things, I think Shelby and I have a grip on the rest.”

  “The matchmaking part,” Shelby explained for Betsy and Knox’s benefit. “We’ll man the door to vet them then do our thing with flitting about and nudging would-be couples toward each other.” She winked at her brother, and Paisley’s chest deflated a bit. Maybe it was a Calhoun thing. Maybe they all winked. Maybe the one on the beach was just a family trait and nothing more.

  She shook the silly thought, but another took its place. Twisting in her seat, Paisley searched the archway to the back deck and frowned.

  “What is it?” Betsy asked.

  “The mistletoe,” Paisley answered, glancing briefly at Knox who’d been watching her and who quickly averted his own gaze. “Is it still up?”

  “Well, no. I had it hanging in the open doorway, but we can put it back up, you know. It’s just that—”

  “After,” Shelby said. “The event is After the Mistletoe. Not during.”

  Knox chuckled. “By the way, what does happen after the mistletoe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Betsy was busy adding a new line of to-dos to her notepad. Shelby’s eyes searched the room, landing anywhere except on Paisley or her brother, so it was up to Paisley to answer.

  “Um, it means that the first moment—that first… kiss—is only the beginning.” She swallowed and met his gaze, and all of a sudden, it was just the two of them. Betsy rose with her notepad and twirled away. Shelby pushed her chair back and said she needed to make a phone call.

  Paisley had answered his question, but his eyes were still on her, still askance and in want of something. She ran her tongue over her lips. “Like, there’s more than just that first meeting.”

  It occurred to her that with BeachBum, she never even had a first meeting.

  However, with Knox, she sure did.

  “But your business… you want to set people up. Isn’t your focus on the first meeting?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes. But that’s why we don’t do the profile picture thing or why we don’t allow photo uploads.”

  “But your clients can exchange numbers and share photos outside of the app, right?”

  He was arguing, yes, but his tone was soft and inquisitive enough that she didn’t feel defensive. She could picture Knox in his classroom, pressing his students to go past the obvious answer. To dig deeper. Look farther. Never stop searching.

  “Only if they’re interested enough. Which means we got them that far. We moved past those basic dealbreakers,” she reasoned, feeling as though she were pitching her app idea to the investors and to Shelby all over again.

  “What are the basic dealbreakers?” he asked, shifting his weight forward and propping his head in his hand.

  She squirmed. “Oh. Well, let’s see. Basic demographic details. Location, age, career, and lifestyle—some people really care about those things, though. You know? Then, of course, religious beliefs. Family goals. Perhaps family history or personal marital history, such as previously divorced or already has children.”

  “Right out the gate, your clients can eliminate anyone who doesn’t qualify according to this, what… this checklist, then. Right?”

  She nodded. “Right. We want to pin down soulmates. Not flings. Nothing casual. It’s important to set the bar high, you see.”

  “What if someone slips through the cracks?” he asked, leaning in another inch.

  Her skin prickled to life. “What do you mean?”

  “What if there was someone who would have been your perfect match, but they had one minor detail that disqualified them?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like they were one year older than your preferred age range.”

  She bit her lower lip before replying. “That’s why it’s important to be generous with your settings on that part of the setup.”

  “Or what if they wanted two kids and you wanted three?”

  “Same thing applies. Make sure your range allows for all opportunities.”

  “What if they were divorced, and you weren’t look for divorcees?”

  “Then, that’s tough luck?”

  “What if someone fibbed on their application, and you found out they were divorced later?”

  “That’s against our Client Terms of Agreement.”

  “But people make mistakes,” he pushed.

  Knitting her eyebrows toget
her, Paisley replied, “That would all come out later, though. Both parties would have to figure it out together. Afterwards.”

  A lazy grin curled across his lips. “After the Mistletoe?”

  Chapter 28—Knox

  He’d suspected the truth when Shelby acted weird.

  However, who knew if Paisley really was CarolinaGirl? Yes, she had the hair color and the eye color and the basic details from the app. Yes, she was in Indigo Bay on the fateful night in question.

  But not everything added up. CarolinaGirl never mentioned owning a matchmaking company, of course. Then again, he hadn’t told her quite a lot about his life. They were keeping delicious details from each other, and that was his first mistake.

  Even if things did add up, however, CarolinaGirl didn’t reply to the message he sent her a day after the kitchen table convo he’d shared with Paisley.

  He tried not to be totally cryptic, but he thought it was both clever and unassuming to simply write, Sure you won’t give me a second chance?

  Three days later, and his message still sat Unread. At least, as far as he could tell. But then, when he went to check for the millionth time if she’d seen it, read it, responded to it, and she still had not, he tapped to open her profile. That’s when he saw that CarolinaGirl had disappeared.

  This could have meant that she was Paisley, and now she didn’t need the app. Or that she wasn’t Paisley, and she’d found someone else. Then again, there was the distinct possibility that both were true: she was Paisley, and she’d found someone else.

  He’d started praying to the Lord that his gut feeling was right, but his brain told him he was all wrong. Why would Paisley ignore him, block him, or delete her profile? It could only be a bad thing.

  Anyway, there was an easy way to find out. All he had to do was to charge straight to Shelby. She’d know. All it meant was giving up his big-brother mystique. He’d have to admit to her that in fact, he was in the market. As long as his sister’s boss was in the market, too.