The Mistletoe Melody

by Jennifer Snow

  A girl took the stage a moment later and began singing Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” Brad turned to Melody with a look of horror. “How do you stand it?” he asked, resting his elbow on the bar and casually covering his ear closest to the stage with his fist.

  Melody laughed as she made a pot of coffee. They were going to need it. It was going to be a long night. “On busy nights, it’s not that bad. I can usually tune them out as I work.”

  The girl failed to hit a high note and Brad winced. “Taylor would die if she heard her song being tortured like that.”

  Melody raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, I’m name-dropping again.”

  He was, but she couldn’t help but fall for it as she leaned on the counter across from him and reached for a handful of peanuts. “You’ve met Taylor Swift?”

  “Just once at a charity event last summer. Sweet girl.”

  “David is in love with her. He doesn’t think anyone knows, but I saw her songs on the MP3 player his grandparents gave to him for his birthday.”

  “I have her autograph on a shirt from the event. I’ll send it to David when I get back to Nashville.”

  “Wow, he’d love that, thank you.” She knew her son would cherish the item—secretly, of course.

  “So, do you ever sing, Mel?” Brad nodded toward the stage as the girl finished her song to the applause of her friends.

  “Sometimes...when it’s slow.” She usually enjoyed evenings like this at the bar. As the crowds dwindled late in the evening, she often found herself onstage, singing to the bar’s empty walls, as Kyle took extended smoke breaks outside. Sometimes she’d even let herself imagine what it would be like if she’d followed her dream of going to Nashville years before. Where would she be now? How would her life have changed? Would she have made it?

  “Now would be a good time,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. The next girl onstage singing “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” was no better than her friend had been.

  “I don’t think so.” The idea of singing in front of him made her uneasy. She wasn’t sure why it made her uneasy all of a sudden, but it did.

  “Oh, come on—you owe me for the concussion.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have been on the ice if you can’t play with the big boys,” she said, ignoring the voice in her head that was warning her not to flirt.

  Brad leaned forward on the bar, placing his hands on her arms to hold her in place. “Rematch anytime, anywhere. I’ll even let you pick the game.”

  She prayed the dim lighting in the bar hid the deepening color on her exposed neck and chest. Agreeing to play any game with him would be more than stupid—it would be dangerous.

  A loud shriek made her jump and she backed away from Brad. As one of the girls approached the bar, she was both grateful for and annoyed at the interruption. “Looks like someone finally recognized you,” she muttered, turning to the coffeepot. She needed caffeine and something to occupy her hands. From the corner of her eye, she watched the pretty redhead flirt with Brad, a scene she’d witnessed a hundred times before. So why was it bothering her this time?

  “I just love your new single ‘In the Morning,’” the girl was saying. A hand to her chest, she hummed several bars.

  Hopefully it doesn’t sound exactly like that, Melody mused.

  “I feel like you’re singing the words right to me...” the girl continued to gush.

  Oh, come on, Melody thought. That was exactly what country music was supposed to do. The genre was made of songs that people could relate to, about real love, real heartache...

  “Yeah, that’s a great song,” Brad said when the girl stopped for breath. “It’s not one of mine, though.”

  Oh, my God.

  The karaoke singer frowned. “You sure?”

  This was too much. Melody laughed, and then covered it with a cough.

  “Definitely would have remembered recording it,” Brad said.

  “Well, whatever. Sing for us.” The girl grabbed his arm.

  “Oh, no, I’m just here hanging out with Mel.”

  The girl swung her eyes to Melody, apparently noticing her for the first time. The jealousy in her eyes took Melody aback. “She won’t mind, right?”

  “He’s all yours,” Melody said, a tight smile on her lips. She meant it—the girl could have him. She certainly wasn’t interested...

  “See?” Turning back to Brad, the redhead plastered a flirty smile on her face.

  “Really, I’m not here to perform...”

  “Come on, Brad. Just sing for the girl.”

  He shot Melody a look, and then reluctantly said, “Fine. What do you want to hear?”

  “‘Hey Girl’ by Billy Currington.”

  Brad’s face fell, and Melody turned quickly to hide another laugh. Not even one of his own songs. Talk about a blow to the ego. She felt badly for him—almost.

  “Okay, Billy Currington it is,” Brad said. “Why don’t you go put the request in?”

  Melody watched as the young girl rushed back to her table to fill out the song request sheet for Brad.

  “Do not laugh,” he said, pointing a finger at Melody.

  She held her hands up. “I’m sorry, but that was almost painful to watch.”

  “Now do you see why I need your help? The only songs people want to hear me sing aren’t even mine.”

  * * *

  “WHERE DO THESE GO?” Brad removed several shot glasses from the dishwasher a long six hours later.

  “You really don’t have to help,” Melody said. She was sweeping the wooden bar floor in front of the karaoke stage. “Besides, you’re concussed, remember?”

  “Not too concussed to help you out. The painkiller’s working,” he said, locating a spot on the glass shelf behind him for the tiny glasses. “But you know what would make this more fun?”

  “Forget it,” she said.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “You were going to ask me to sing again.”

  “Okay, maybe you do.” He emptied the remaining beer glasses. “Come on, Mel. Just one song. I did a couple.” The group of girls had been relentless with their requests of him, but given his concussion, he’d only consented to two. None of the songs they’d requested had been his, anyway, which had been a drag. But he was dying to get Melody up onstage. He wanted to see if she still had the spark, the vibrancy she used to exude onstage. He suspected she did. More than that, he wanted to see her passion—he knew it was still there.

  “No.”

  Crossing the bar, he wrestled the broom from her. “There’s no one in here. What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, bending to unplug the artificial Christmas tree near the stage. “I just don’t want to sing.”

  He stopped sweeping. “That’s not the Melody I remember. The one I remember didn’t want to do anything but sing.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  He moved toward her, setting the broom in the corner of the wall next to the bar. “Not that long ago. Besides, I don’t think it’s something that goes away.”

  “Brad, just drop it, okay? I’m begging you.”

  “One song and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “One song and you’ll never leave me alone.” She grabbed the broom again and handed it to him. “Get back to work.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, Melody pulled the van over to the side of Main Street near the only traffic light in Brookhollow. Leaving the vehicle running, she jumped down and approached the fire truck parked in the lane. Her brother Jim was dusting heavy snow from the lights and Ethan was controlling the ladder from inside the vehicle. Her younger brother had discovered he had a fear of heights at that year’s FireF
it challenge competition. Now he preferred to pull his captain’s rank card whenever possible and make the others do anything that required climbing. He rolled down the window as she approached. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

  “Hey, does Bailey have a dress I could borrow?” she asked, unable to conceal the desperation in her voice. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of this before now, but then again, her life had been falling apart around her in recent months. After she had dropped Brad off and driven home the night before, she’d received a message confirming her performance at the annual Mayor’s Christmas Gala. The party was that evening, and Melody was in panic mode.

  “Have you met my fiancée?” Ethan gave her a look suggesting she was crazy.

  “Crap.” He was right. It had been a long shot. Her brother’s fiancée was more comfortable in her work coveralls than in anything remotely feminine. Melody had been shocked when she’d agreed to be in Victoria and Luke’s wedding party three months before. She wondered how the town mechanic would enjoy wearing a wedding dress.

  “Why do you ask?”

  When she told him, Ethan shuddered at the mention of his almost father-in-law, Mayor Parsons. Despite having dated the mayor’s daughter for ten years, he’d never really gotten along with her family, and luckily Emily had moved to Miami, leaving Ethan to discover true love with Bailey. “Why on earth would you even consider going to that?” he asked his sister. “Pretentious cocktail parties are not exactly your idea of a good time.”

  “They hired me to sing.” She wished she could have refused, but she needed the money.

  “Done!” Jim called out to Ethan, who lowered the ladder slowly. “Hey, Mel. What brings you by?” He shook the snow from his jacket.

  “I was hoping Ethan could help me with a dress for tonight,” she said.

  Jim looked back and forth between them. “Something you two aren’t telling me?”

  Melody rolled her eyes. “I meant a dress of Bailey’s.”

  Jim laughed. “Seriously? Ethan would have a dress before Bailey. What do you need it for?”

  “The Mayor’s Christmas Gala tonight.”

  Jim made a face. “That sucks. Are you sure it’s a dress you need and not a stick up your...”

  “Hey! The Parsonses aren’t that bad, Jim.” Though he came to the family’s defense, Ethan’s protest still sounded weak.

  “I’m glad you two think this is funny,” Melody said. “Anyway, I better go look elsewhere for a dress.”

  “Jill might have something,” Jim offered. “I could check with her.” He’d climbed into the truck and was leaning around Ethan to talk to her through the open window.

  “Yeah, right.” Jim’s girlfriend, Jill, was a personal trainer and a health fanatic. Anything Jill owned would be too small for Melody.

  “What size are you?”

  “As if I’d tell you that.” How Jim even had a girlfriend was beyond her. He clearly did not understand women.

  “Fine. If you change your mind, give her a call. She has a closet full of stuff that still has tags on it,” he said.

  “Okay, thanks,” she said. But she doubted asking Jill would be an option.

  Ten minutes later, she parked her van in front of the only formal clothing store in Brookhollow, Daisies and Dukes. She rushed inside and went straight to the counter.

  The owner, Lily, looked up with a smile. “Happy holidays, Mel. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a fancy dress. I don’t care what color, just something in a size four...” She cleared her throat. “Size six...”

  The store owner looked at her as if she were crazy.

  “Okay, fine. Size eight.” She’d gained weight since having the boys...and her hips had seemed to expand another inch each year.

  “No, honey, it’s not that. I just don’t have anything left. Tonight is Mayor Parsons’s—”

  “I know. That’s what I need it for.” Nothing left? How was that possible? How many women in Brookhollow were going to this event, anyway? Why had she left this until the last minute? She frantically scoured the rack of dresses lining the wall. “What about those?”

  “Those are prom dresses.”

  That explained the hideous pastel colors. “You have nothing? You’re sure?”

  The store owner shook her head apologetically. “I had two returns, but one has a tear...”

  “Where?” Maybe she could work with that. She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but Victoria’s mom was the best seamstress in Brookhollow, and maybe she would be able to make it wearable.

  “Right on the shoulder. It won’t work, Mel.”

  “The other?” She remained hopeful. She needed a dress.

  Lily reached behind her and picked up a navy-and-white eyesore. Melody tried to hide her distaste for the garment. Her seventy-year-old grandmother wouldn’t wear that. “Who returned it?” Better question: Who bought it in the first place?

  “Mrs. Norris.”

  “Ginger?” The seventy-four-year-old woman owned the bakery on Main Street. “Why did she return it?”

  “Said it made her look old.” Lily hid a smile.

  “So that’s it?”

  “Sorry, Mel. I won’t have any new stock until January. My designers are all taking a few weeks off over the holidays.”

  Melody eyed the navy-and-white fabric. Maybe she could dress it up with a great pair of shoes?

  When she suggested as much to Lily, the shopkeeper shook her head. “Forget it, Melody. I am not selling you this dress. Sorry, honey. I wish I could have been more help.”

  “It’s my fault for waiting until the last minute. Thanks, anyway, Lily.” She exited the store and phoned Jill. Somehow or other she would have to squeeze her body into something hanging in her future sister-in-law’s closet.

  “Hi, Melody,” a friendly voice said after the third ring.

  “Hey, Jill. Can I come raid your closet?”

  * * *

  “MAYOR PARSONS, don’t tell me you’ve waited this long to get your tree,” Brad said as the older man approached. In a tan overcoat and dark brown dress shoes, the mayor stepped carefully across the packed snow and ice. Not exactly tree-hunting clothes, Brad thought. He suspected the man had come straight from his office.

  The mayor nodded and removed his leather gloves. “I’m afraid so... And our annual holiday party is this evening, so I’m desperate.”

  Brad lowered his voice and nodded toward his brother-in-law and nephew, who were helping the Mason family secure their tree to the top of their SUV. “Don’t let Troy hear you say that—the price may go up.”

  The mayor shrugged. “Well, I’m at his mercy. Show me what you got left,” he said. He followed Brad through the trail of trees behind him.

  “Were you looking for a spruce or a pine tree?” Brad asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. The family farm was as busy as it had always been, and he marveled at his sister’s and brother-in-law’s ability to take care of things mostly on their own. He was happy to be able to help them this season.

  “Pine, I think.” He paused. “Lillian’s going to kill me if I get this wrong...”

  Brad waited.

  “Ah, she’ll probably be too busy with the last-minute party preparations to notice,” he said with a laugh. “Let’s just go with a pine.”

  “Okay, over this way...”

  Twenty minutes and fifteen untied, examined and retied trees later, Brad secured the chosen tree to Mayor Parsons’s SUV. “Okay, you’re all set.”

  The man reached for his wallet. “Great. You quite possibly just saved me from the doghouse. How much do I owe you?”

  “Forty-five.”

  “Here you are. Thank you and Merry Christmas!” The older man extended a hand and Brad accepted it.

&n
bsp; “Same to you.” Brad slid his hands back into his work gloves and scanned the long line of customers waiting by the gate. His sister Breanne handed out saws to the groups interested in cutting down their own trees, but the line for the precut ones was growing by the minute. It was going to be a busy afternoon. Thank God he’d gotten a decent sleep the night before, and no longer even had a headache.

  He watched as the mayor carefully made his way to his driver’s-side door, and then hesitated before opening it. “Hey, Brad, what’re you doing tonight?” he asked.

  Damn. Brad realized he should have moved on to the next customer right away. The last thing he wanted to do was attend the mayor’s stuffy holiday party. He searched his mind for a good excuse. “Um...I think the kids’ Christmas concert is tonight.”

  “That’s tomorrow,” the mayor said.

  “Right.”

  “So you’re free, then?”

  Unfortunately. “Looks that way.” After a long day working on the tree lot, the last thing he wanted to do was get dressed up to go to the most pretentious party in Brookhollow that season. In Nashville he attended high society events and for the most part always felt uncomfortable. A country boy at heart, he preferred jeans and a T-shirt to a tuxedo.

  “Well, I know it’s not the formal invite my wife sent out to her hundreds of friends three months ago, but please accept my invitation. We would love to have you. Heck, if we’d known you were sticking around, we’d have canceled the band...”

  “You’ve hired live entertainment?” While the mayor and his family lived in the small town, they entertained like big-city politicians. Their four-thousand-square-foot home at the edge of the town park was extravagant and out of place in the quaint, picturesque town. And most of their party guests would be from out of town. Few locals made the guest list.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “A fantastic jazz band from Boston...and Melody Myers has agreed to grace us with her lovely voice.”