Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Carlos hadn’t meant to laugh. He’d genuinely thought Lettie was joking. “Mistletoe Mafia”? Alliteration like that didn’t exactly scream journalistic rigor. It sounded like a parody headline. Like something pitched in the holiday humor column next to a recipe for gingerbread fudge.
But Lettie hadn’t been joking.
Carlos’s laugh hung in the air for a half-second too long.
It was half a second too late when he caught the way her posture snapped taut.
The slight flinch, barely there. The subtle shift of her mouth pressed into a hard, cold line.
The weight of what he’d done settled on his shoulders like a sleet-soaked coat.
Oh no.
Her jaw locked, eyes narrowing not in amusement but offense. Hurt. Not that she’d let the sight linger. Lettie Noel didn’t show anything she didn’t intend to.
Carlos saw it anyway. In the stiffness of her spine. In the way she blinked like she’d just been slapped with something she should’ve seen coming.
“Lettie—” he started, already reaching out, already too slow.
She turned on her heel without a word. She didn't look before crossing the street. The white walk man blinked red, and then cars were between him and her. Carlos had half a mind to dodge into traffic to chase after her.
It took another half a minute before the white walk man came back, giving him permission to cross.
But by then, the crowd had eaten her up.
A group of carolers swept between them, jostling in their coordinated scarves and cheery dissonance.
Carlos tried to push through, but someone shoved a hot cocoa into his hand—”free sample, sir!
”—and then another bumped into his shoulder, murmuring apologies.
He twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of her white coat, her dark hair, anything.
But she was gone. Like she’d never been there.
His breath fogged in the cold as he stood motionless in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching the paper cup like it might somehow ground him. The sugary scent of peppermint and fake marshmallow filled his nose, cloying now, nauseating.
His grip tightened around the cup. He wanted to chase after her. Say something, anything. Apologize. Explain. Let her know he wasn't mocking her. But hadn't he been? A Mistletoe Mafia was too preposterous. Still, he would do anything to take back that flash of hurt he'd caused.
But Lettie was already too far ahead. Too far out of his reach.
Carlos stood still for a beat longer, watching the place where she’d vanished. The snow fell softly around him like some cruel cliché.
He ducked into The Binding Thread Books, the small indie bookstore nestled beside the coffee shop. It smelled like fresh pages and a vanilla-scented candle working a little too hard.
The front display at The Binding Thread was a shrine to Christmas cheer.
There were titles like A Cozy Holiday Murder and Mistletoe Miracles stacked artfully between garlands and gold stars.
Little wooden sleighs held paperback novellas.
A string of fairy lights blinked around the base of a pine-scented candle labeled “Bookish & Bright.”
The store had a small placard in the window that read, “Proud Stop on the Honor Valley Holiday Trail,” complete with the official snowflake crest and QR code to scan the town map.
One of the few places he’d seen it displayed so clearly.
He made a mental note to ask how being on the trail map had benefited them—foot traffic, local partnerships, cross-promotions.
That kind of civic integration was exactly what Noel Magazine loved to spotlight.
But as he scanned the rest of the map, something prickled at the back of his mind.
He hadn’t seen the same placard at Grain & Hearth Bakery earlier.
Not on the door. Not in the window. No wreath.
No red ribbon. Just that warm, flour-dusted air and the distinct feeling that the owner had been watching the street more than her oven.
Come to think of it…he hadn’t seen The Wick and Flame Apothecary listed on the Holiday Trail map either. At the time, he’d thought maybe they just hadn’t signed up. But now…
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Especially not as he watched the customers in The Binding Thread cluster around a much smaller shelf near the checkout counter. The crowd completely ignored the large holiday display.
The shelf they all eyed was almost bare, save for a cardboard sign perched above it: “Manifest a New You: The Diet Mindset That Will Change Everything.”
Not exactly festive.
A harried-looking bookseller in a Santa vest caught sight of him and straightened with practiced cheer. “Mr. Nowell? Thank you for coming in.”
Carlos smiled, offering a handshake. “Thanks for making time, Mr. Barnwell. I know the season’s busy.”
The bookseller chuckled. The sound was tired, breathy. “That’s one word for it.”
Carlos gestured to the crowd. “Is the manifesting book written by a local author?”
Mr. Barnwell gave a faint wince. “No, it's a national bestseller. Sold out before it even hit the shelf.”
“Why not order more copies?”
The question came out casually, curiously. But the way the owner paused, glanced over his shoulder, and then forced a brittle smile made Carlos still inside.
“Because it’s Christmas,” he said too quickly.
Carlos tilted his head, watching him. “Right.”
Mr. Barnwell's eyes flicked toward the display of untouched holiday books. “We were encouraged to stock up on seasonal titles. Push the festive stories. Feature the approved list.”
“Approved list?” Before Carlos could press, the door chimed.
A delivery driver wheeled in a dolly stacked with fresh boxes. The label on the boxes showed that the contents held the manifesting book. The moment word got out, chaos unfurled like tinsel in a wind tunnel. Customers swarmed. People reached over each other. One woman nearly climbed the counter.
Carlos stepped back to avoid the elbows. Beside him, someone clucked disapprovingly.
“Such a shame,” came a familiar voice, crisp as brittle. “It's so disappointing when people forget the reason for the season.”
Carlos turned and came face to face with Mrs. White. City Council member. Planner of the Holiday Trail. A smile like a frosted blade.
“I bet you wish church attendance looked like this,” he said.
Ms. White's smile tightened. “The Lord wants this town to flourish. But He also knows there's a time and a place for things.”
She looked at the cash register, where money changed hands like prayers in a pew.
It struck Carlos oddly. Like hearing carolers sing a pop song. But before he could ask what, exactly, Mrs. White thought the gospel of joy cost these days, movement out the window snagged his attention.
Lettie.
She was across the street, notebook in hand, head down, moving with purpose.
Carlos excused himself and stepped toward the door. Somehow, he made his way through a sea of customers and their newly purchased hopes in paperback form. But by the time he pushed outside, Carletta was gone.