Mistletoe Meet Cute (Christmas In Kroydon Hills #1)

Chapter 1 Holly

HOLLY

Christmas comes but once a year . . . and unfortunately, the same can be said for me.

—Holly’s Secret Thoughts

“Is that everything?” the beautiful bakery owner asks from behind the register as she pushes three overflowing, pink Sweet Temptations bags across the counter toward my sister.

Hadley snorts and looks down at the ridiculously long list our oldest sister handed her before we left earlier.

She may have threatened bodily harm if we messed it up, in typical Rainey fashion.

She’s always been a bit of a perfectionist and refuses to accept that not everyone feels the same urge.

“Eight coffees, one hot chocolate with extra whip cream and crushed peppermint.” Hadley looks up and smiles at me before continuing, like it’s my fault I prefer chocolate to coffee.

“Five dozen holiday-themed cupcakes, an assortment of pastries, four dozen iced Christmas cookies, and what did you call those giant flaky chocolate things?”

“Pain au chocolat.” Amelia smiles from behind the counter, like she’s holding back a laugh as she adds napkins to the bags. “And they’re delicious.”

Less than impressed, Hadley shakes her head. “My ass is so not going to appreciate how delicious they are tomorrow.”

“You’re barely old enough to drink, Hadley,” the tiny shop owner resembling Snow White lifts a dark brow before glaring at Hadley’s backside.

“Your ass will handle it just fine.” She hands the two trays of hot drinks to me very slowly.

“Tell your dad I said hi, Holly. I can’t wait to bring the grandbabies by to see the Christmas Village this year. ”

“Thanks, Amelia.” Cherry Creek Vineyards, my family’s winery, transforms each holiday season into Kroydon Hills’ very own live-action Hallmark movie, complete with real-life reindeer, a Christmas tree farm on the edge of the property, and enough holiday cheer to make Kris Kringle feel inadequate.

Mom loved the holidays so much, Dad used to say she willed me to be born on Christmas Eve so she could be home for Christmas Day.

“Wait until you see Santa this year. He looks perfect.”

A little handsy, but that’s just with me and my sisters.

Hadley snickers next to me, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

She’s just pissed she’s stuck playing Mrs. Claus this weekend.

I turn to leave but stop short, silently begging the hot drinks to stay standing and not topple, because standing behind me is a giant chest . . . one wearing a baby. A small white hat with two little white bear-like ears covers the baby’s head. A head I can barely see above the dark carrier.

Big hands grab my shoulders, steadying me, and my heart races as I desperately cling to the coffee trays, thankful they’re still standing.

“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry,” I manage to gasp, horrified over how close I just came to spilling coffee on a baby.

“Hey there . . .” a velvety smooth and yet somehow rough and gravelly voice murmurs, and oh my garland, if someone could bottle that sound, they’d be a billionaire. “You good?”

I nod as I steel my spine and rein in my thoughts.

“Must be the mistletoe,” a jolly voice laughs from behind us, and the big baby-wearing guy drops his hands as we both look up to find mistletoe strung above Sweet Temptation’s door.

Apparently, the Santa standing behind the baby-wearing giant is a bit of a romantic because when I glance his way, his cheeks pink, and he looks from the mistletoe to us with a crooked grin.

I’m not sure what’s making him blush, but my guess is the baby-wearing giant.

He’s beautiful.

Broad shoulders and big biceps strain against a thick gray roll-neck sweater that even an Abercrombie model couldn’t make look as good as it does on this guy.

One big hand goes to the baby’s back while the other runs through his own messy light-brown hair as he thumbs it out of his eyes.

Beautiful eyes. Eyes the color of warm moss after a hard rain.

Eyes that feel like they’re searing my soul.

What the actual hell?

“You okay?” he asks, and now that I’ve seen him, it’s safe to say his voice really does match the whole package. Rugged and handsome in a way that makes my hormones perk up and take notice.

When I don’t answer, Hadley slides next to me, pink bags in each hand. “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Holls?”

I nod slowly, pulling my shit together, ignoring my momentary lapse in—well, everything. “Excuse me,” I whisper and let Hadley tug me away from the soft-spoken man.

He doesn’t smile, just watches as he steps aside, and I feel those eyes on me long after we walk through the door.

Wow. I’ve never been one to consider a man beautiful before, but this one certainly is.

Hadley smacks my arm as we stop next to the car. “Oh. My. God. That man was gorgeous.”

“Yeah, he was,” I agree, holding a tight grip on our drinks and my sanity while I try to open the door without wearing the coffee. “I think my ovaries may have just . . . melted.”

“I’d actually consider having kids if their dad was guaranteed to look like that,” she teases as she tosses the pink bags in the back seat of the Tahoe, and I cringe, picturing broken, beautifully iced cookies and smooshed cupcakes.

But my sister doesn’t seem bothered. She flops dramatically in the front seat and sticks her hands out for me to hand her the drinks. “Is that what they all look like?”

“Umm . . . You do realize my degree is in early childhood development, right?” I ignore her hands and carefully rest the drink trays on the floor. “Knowing what their dads look like isn’t exactly a prereq.”

“Speaking of . . .” Hadley twists her hair up on top of her head and steals my red-and-white candy-cane scrunchie from my purse. “Any bites on your resume yet?”

My heart sinks, and I close my eyes before turning to face her. “Not a single one. But it’s only been a few weeks since my internship ended.”

“Look at it this way. At least Dad’s not making you dress up as Mrs. Claus.

” Hadley and I are Irish twins. She’s ten months younger than me, and lucky for me, she drew the short straw this year.

None of us ever want to be Mrs. Claus. Our Santa may be jolly and bright, but he’s also a teensy tiny bit handsy with my sisters and me every now and then.

But oh my garland, does he look great in pictures.

Cherry Creek Vineyards is 127 acres of rolling hills covered with lush landscaping and so many grapes I can’t even begin to guess the number.

Our family’s wine has been a top-selling brand in the area for generations, but the winery itself has only just started to expand into other things over the past few decades.

First, Dad added Petal & Vine, a small bed and breakfast my sister Rainey runs.

The tasting room began offering food, as well, a few years later, but he hasn’t grown it into a full-blown restaurant yet.

Then when my sister Ryleigh joined the team after getting a degree in hospitality management, they started discussing weddings.

The Barn at Cherry Creek had its soft opening a few weeks ago, and this spring will be the first full wedding season the ultra-chic venue is available, and we’re already booked for half the season.

Ryleigh and Rainey love working here.

Hadley and me—not so much.

And don’t even get me started on our brothers.

Luke was the smart one. He went away to school, and when he was drafted to the Philadelphia Kings football team a few years ago, he didn’t even think about moving home. So smart.

Briggs is the baby of the family, and we all swear he’s never leaving home. I feel bad for whoever he marries. He’s got the right idea and is taking classes over winter break and won’t be back from college until a few days before Christmas.

Ryleigh and Rainey have a separate wing of the B&B, where they both live with Rainey’s kids, but Hadley and I still live at home with Dad in the original farmhouse my great grandparents built.

I love my family, I do . . . but if I don’t get a job and move the hell out soon, I may not make it through Christmas with my sanity intact.

As Hadley and I walk into the conference room, where Dad and the girls are already sitting at the table, waiting for us, I internally groan. Weekends in December are insane at the vineyard, and this weekend will be the first after Thanksgiving—a.k.a. the Christmas in Kroydon Hills Kickoff.

Mom always planned all year for the next four weeks, and after we lost her, we all pitched in to continue the tradition.

It’s kind of fantastic and equally exhausting.

And it requires all the caffeine for everyone who’s not me.

I pass out the coffees and snag my peppermint hot chocolate and drop down into my seat, readying for the list.

The one Dad gives out every week.

The one that tells us where everyone is needed and exactly what’s expected.

And I settle in for what’s going to be a long day.

“Holly . . .” Luke calls out to me as I step out of the conference room, hoping not to bring too much attention to the fact I don’t have to work with Santa or check on the reindeer at all this weekend.

Score for me. I love Christmas. My sweater at the moment has Vixen embroidered on it in pink and white with a pretty feminine reindeer standing with her hands .

. . or I guess more accurately, hoofs on her hips, and I rock it on the regular.

Pretty sure she’s my spirit animal. But seriously .

. . not having to get my ass grabbed or my fingers nibbled is my idea of winning.

“Holly—” Luke tugs my hand, and I smack him away and cover his mouth before I manage to drag him into the kitchen and lean against the door. No way Hadley is letting me get away with this while she’s stuck dressing in Mrs. Claus’s fake furs and a white wig.

“Keep your voice down,” I growl. Maybe now wasn’t a good time to give up caffeine. It sounded like a good idea in theory, but maybe not. “Dad gave me the easy jobs, and I don’t want to be around when he realizes it.”

My big brother’s chest shakes with quiet laughter. “You’ve got to get the hell out of here, Holls, or they’re going to suck you in.”

“I’m trying,” I hiss and duck down so Rainey doesn’t see me as she walks outside past the window.

“Try harder,” he lectures and hands me a folded piece of paper. “This is the number for the Dean of Students at Kroydon Hills Prep. A little birdie told me they’re looking for a coordinator for their preschool program. I think you should call them. It could be great for you.”

“Seriously? Do you have an in there I’m unaware of?” I look at the paper in my hand, then back up at Luke. “I sent them my resume two weeks ago.”

“Not an in. Just a friend who may have mentioned it,” he grins, and I may throw up in my mouth a little bit.

Fun fact—peppermint doesn’t taste as good coming back up.

“Dude, kinda strange to be talking about your sister with a hookup.” I cock my head, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. “That’s what I thought.”

“Call the damn number, Holls. You don’t want to work at the winery forever.” He adjusts the black Philly Kings hat, pulling it lower on his head, and smirks. “Or maybe you do. Your call.”

Luke leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ve got to get to the stadium. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I call after him as he walks through the kitchen door, and I stare at the phone number.

“Holly.” Dad pokes his head in. “Your sister needs your help with the kids.”

“Sure, Dad.” Rainey always needs help. That’s what happens when you have a baby and a toddler and your husband turns out to be a cheating bastard who leaves before the baby is even born.

I still say he’s lucky Hadley, Ryleigh, and I didn’t roast his chestnuts over an open fire and pair them with a really fruity red. Would have served him right.

Once the door swings closed, I stare at the number again, then shove it in my pocket.

I’ll call them later.