Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jess
Helping Gran pack for the Mistletoe Market in Starlight Bay takes my mind off my rejection from The Chinoiserie Squirrel—and the fake number situation with my potential soul mate.
Gran’s latest batch of cinnamon-pine candles is going to be a hit this year. I’ll be smelling them for days, long after I tape the last box shut.
A knock rattles the back door of the workshop, and then it swings open. In walks Matt, all broad shoulders and brotherly disapproval.
“Thought I’d help Gran load up for the Christmas Market,” he says casually—like we haven’t gone ten whole days without speaking since he blew up at me over the Kiss Cam debacle.
“Gran doesn’t need help,” I mutter, tucking bubble wrap around a candle. “She has me.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been busy locking lips with strangers,” he shoots back, voice low but sharp.
I whip around, my cheeks heating. “Oh my God, are we still on this? It was one kiss. A stupid, meaningless, in-the-moment kiss!”
Matt crosses his arms. “You didn’t even know his name.”
“Just forget it,” I tell him, wishing I could too.
He scowls. “I’m trying.”
“Owww!”
The cry from just outside the door shocks us both into silence. We rush outside to find Gran cradling her wrist.
My eyes widen. “Gran! What happened?”
“My arm’s busted. No cap.”
Matt and I exchange a look—half worry, half disbelief at Gran using slang. He takes her arm and inspects it, making her yelp when he presses too hard.
“You can’t drive like this,” he says.
“Or run your booth,” I add.
Gran stands beside the stack of boxes ready to be loaded, looking hopeful. “Maybe one of you can take my place.”
Matt and I stare at each other.
“I can’t,” he says. “Gordon’s in the Christmas play this weekend.”
I open my mouth, but no excuses come out. I don’t have a son in a play. Or a job I have to get to. I’ve been staying up until two a.m. trying to work on a new collection, but things are at a standstill.
“I guess I can do it,” I say with reluctance.
Gran beams. “Perfect. Jess, a weekend away is exactly what you need.”
“You seem awfully cheery for someone with a serious injury,” I say, eyeing her wrist.
She winces and cradles it. “I just don’t want you to worry.”
Great. Now I feel like a monster for doubting my elderly grandmother. “Do you want some ice?Or I can take you to the doctor?”
“No.” She waves me off. “I’ll be fine. I’m a tough old bird.”
Matt crosses his arms, giving her the same look our mom used to when we were kids. “You should really have it looked at. At your age—”
Gran cuts him off. “Nonsense. I’ll be fine with a little rest.”
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Matt asks me.
My chin lifts, and I level him with a glare. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“Jess, you’re going to love going back to Starlight Bay. Remember the skating Santa?”
Matt bursts out laughing. “Who could forget? Jess about killed Christmas, taking out that Santa on the rink.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Shut up.”
Matt chortles. “I can still picture your scarf tangled up in his skates.”
I glare at him, my face burning. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Maybe you should stay away from the rink, honey,” Gran says, patting my arm. “But after you set up at the market, stop by the Christmas Cabin and buy a cup of apple cider. It’s my yearly tradition.”
Suddenly, it hits me. Starlight Bay is Mr. Mistletoe’s territory.
The thought of running into him makes every nerve in my body come alive.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice wobbly. “Matt, maybe you should go.”
“Sorry. Can’t. Christmas play, remember?”
Gran reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper. It’s a list of instructions—complete with a diagram of candle placement.
I raise a brow. “You just happened to have this ready?”
Her bright blue eyes twinkle. “I like to be prepared.”
She supervises while Matt and I load the van to the brim, and then it’s time for me to go home and pack for a long weekend in Starlight Bay.
Gran folds me into a warm hug. “Don’t forget to have fun,” she says. “You’re gonna love The Sugar Plum Inn. It’s perfect at Christmas.”
“Don’t die of boredom while I’m gone,” I tell my brother.
In a rare show of affection, he pulls me into a hug. “Be safe,” he says.
Tears sting behind my eyes, and I blink rapidly before he can see. I’m the crier in a family of stoics—the artist daughter of two attorneys and the sister of a CEO.
Thank God for Gran, the original black sheep. She’s the only one who gets me.
I wave at them through watery eyes, trying to smile. I’ve been a total wreck since getting rejected by the top boutique in the city. Restless and uncertain, I’m not sure where I belong anymore.
Maybe a weekend away—candles, cider, and anonymity—is exactly what I need.