Chapter 3
three
. . .
Bristol
I slide the stack of books across the counter. “Here you go, Tessa. I’m loving the assortment—romance and a little mystery. One that screams ‘I’m secretly looking for inspiration.’”
She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You mean the one with the scandalous cover?”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Exactly. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice the age gap between the hero and heroine. Classic forbidden-romance trope.”
Tessa grins. “You’re ridiculous. But yes, a little taboo. Not that I would know anything about that.”
I lean forward on my elbows, conspiratorial. “Uh-huh. Because nothing says "small-town coming home romance”’ like being back for a project and accidentally living out your own romantic cliché. Older guy, charming, slightly mysterious, authority figure…classic.”
She rolls her eyes, laughing. “I didn’t come back to film a romance story, Bristol. I came for work, remember?”
“Sure,” I say, tapping the edge of a book. “The whole town already knows you’re staying because of a certain Chief of Police.” I wiggle my brows.
It’s the truth. Mistletoe Bay has been buzzing since Tessa Pope came back to town.
And as a romance aficionado, I can’t help but notice the parallels between her story and my favorite books.
The woman is literally living a romance novel.
The only thing missing is the over-the-top proposal sealing their happily ever after.
My hopelessly optimistic heart is willing to bet that Nathan Hale proposes by Christmas Eve.
If only I could have that kind of optimism and ambition when it comes to my own love life.
“Can you blame me? You’ve seen the man.” Tessa doesn’t even bother to hide her blush.
Tessa tucks the books against her chest. “Alright. I’ll let you get back to running the most festive library on the coast.”
“Festive is one word for it,” I say, glancing at the half-finished Christmas display behind me that still smells faintly of glitter glue and pine needles. “Borderline hazardous is another.”
She laughs. “I’ll see you later, Bristol.”
“Bye, Tessa.” I wave as she pushes through the glass doors, the cold December air rushing in behind her. The bells above the frame jingle cheerfully, and then she’s gone.
The moment the door closes, the library settles into that cozy hush I love. The faint sound of someone rustling pages among the bookshelves and the gentle twinkle of the string lights we put up last week really adds to the whole vibe.
I exhale, leaning back against the counter.
And then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, expecting a text from my friend Harrison, goat farmer extraordinaire. Who also happened to still be madly in love with his old high school flame and co-owner of Winterberry Tree Farm, Jeremy Price.
Instead, the notification at the top of the screen has me sucking in a breath in shock.
It’s a match!
You and RedBarnRhett have officially been connected.
My heart stops.
Oh no.
Oh absolutely not.
Rhett freaking Jennings? The town’s insanely hot handyman who also happens to own Red Barn Hardware?
Man bun, broad shoulders, and seductive smile Rhett.
That can’t be possible.
My thumb hovers.
Don’t click it.
Don’t open it.
Just lock your phone and pretend this never happened.
My phone vibrates again.
New message from RedBarnRhett.
I nearly drop my phone.
I’m not ready. I need a script. I need a plan. I need a paper bag to breathe into.
But my thumb betrays me and clicks on the notification to open the chat.
MATCHED: Mistletoe_Reader )
Mistletoe_Reader: That’s not creepy at all.
RedBarnRhett: You didn’t check out how the app works before you signed up? Or before we matched?
Mistletoe_Reader: No. Not really.
RedBarnRhett: Lol. Good. Then there is still time for me to change all the embarrassing details I included in mine.
I stare at the screen, a laugh catching in my throat. He’s actually funny. Who would have guessed? And somehow this no longer feels like the world’s most awkward attempt at online dating.
His typing bubble pops up again.
RedBarnRhett: So since you didn’t prepare, should I assume you also didn’t come with a list of witty icebreakers?
I roll my eyes and smile to myself.
Mistletoe_Reader: Nope.
Zero preparation.
I’m winging it.
RedBarnRhett: Bold strategy. I respect it.
My cheeks warm.
Why does this feel like flirting?
Why does he make it feel effortless?
RedBarnRhett: Alright, if we’re both winging it, here’s my first question:
Are you actually a librarian, or is that just part of an elaborate online dating persona? Am I being catfished?
I snort quietly, glancing around the empty library like someone might catch me flirting with a hardware store owner at ten o’clock in the morning.
Something tells me that Rhett already knows the answer to that question.
Granted I’ve never seen him in the library when I’m on duty, but I’ve certainly seen the man around town.
There’s no way in a small town like Mistletoe Bay, he hasn’t figured out that I’m actually the librarian. One of two, to be exact.
Mistletoe_Reader: It’s real. No catfishing happening here.
I’ll only shush you if I have to.
RedBarnRhett: That sounded like a threat.
I like it.
I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to muffle the sound of my laugh.
My phone buzzes again.
RedBarnRhett: Alright, your turn.
Ask me anything.
Unless you want me to keep talking and accidentally reveal something humiliating.
The opening is dangerous and oh-so-tempting.
I hover over the text keyboard, my heart being all fluttery and stupid.
Mistletoe_Reader: Why did you sign up?
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Pop back up.
And then—
RedBarnRhett: Long story. Short answer: I finally had the time.
What made you decide to sign up?
Shit. He would ask me that.
Mistletoe_Reader: Uhm. Well. I’m big on supporting the community and its residents. So, I figured I would do Luke a little favor. Not that he really needs my help with the new features he’s beta testing.
His reply comes fast—too fast.
Like he doesn’t even have to think about it.
RedBarnRhett: A favor, huh?
That sounds suspiciously like “I didn’t actually mean to match with anyone.”
I wince.
Because…yeah.
Exactly that.
Mistletoe_Reader: I meant to sign up.
Just not for real. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I hoped that since I was just supposed to be giving feedback on some new features and the overall app performance, I wouldn’t match.
I really need to stop talking.
Three dots appear again.
RedBarnRhett: You weren’t looking to match with anyone?
Or just not looking to match with me?
My heart jumps straight into my throat.
Absolutely not.
He does not get to ask questions like that. Not when every time we run into each other in person, he acts utterly indifferent.
And certainly not with that stupid smile I just know he has on his face.
Mistletoe_Reader: That is not what I meant. Not at all.
RedBarnRhett: Good.
Because I would’ve been offended.
Mildly.
Maybe a three out of ten.
Mistletoe_Reader: You’re ridiculous.
RedBarnRhett: I get that a lot.
Don’t worry, though.
I won’t hold your accidental match against you.
I groan quietly.
Mistletoe_Reader: It wasn’t accidental. Doesn’t this app supposedly have a very high match rate and like some crazy algorithm that ensures matches are something like 95 percent or more compatible?
RedBarnRhett: So you did do your homework.
My stomach drops.
Great. Now I’ve backed myself into a corner and accidentally implied I researched this thing more than I did.
Mistletoe_Reader: No. Not really.
I just overheard Luke explaining it the other day.
The typing bubble pops up immediately.
RedBarnRhett: Mhmm. Sure.
Sounds like something someone who absolutely did her research would say.
Heat crawls up my neck.
Mistletoe_Reader: I didn’t. I swear.
RedBarnRhett: It’s okay. I’m flattered.
I blink at my phone.
Flattered?
Mistletoe_Reader: By what?
RedBarnRhett: That you’re trying so hard to convince me this wasn’t accidental
and also wasn’t intentional.
That’s dedication.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Perfect.
Amazing.
Now I’m coming off like an awkward librarian that I try so hard to pretend not to be.
Mistletoe_Reader: Maybe I should just stop talking before I make this worse.
RedBarnRhett: No.
Please continue.
This is the highlight of my morning.
I choke on a laugh—actually choke—before glancing around to make sure no patrons heard me.
He’s impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
Mistletoe_Reader: You really don’t need to encourage me.
RedBarnRhett: Pretty sure I do.
Otherwise, you might disappear and claim it was a “beta test mishap.”
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts.
Mistletoe_Reader: I wouldn’t disappear.
RedBarnRhett: Good. Because I was planning to message you again later.
My breath catches. Just a little. Just enough to annoy me.
I don’t want to like this version of Rhett.
But, I already do.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes again.
RedBarnRhett: Ah. Duty calls. A customer just walked in. We’ll chat again later, Bristol.
The warmth that spirals up my chest is absolutely not something I should be feeling. Not this early on.
Not from a match on a dating app that I didn’t mean to take seriously.
Not from Rhett.
I swallow hard, fighting a smile I really, really shouldn’t have on my face right now.
I close out of the app, but the smile stays—stubborn, traitorous, impossible to wrestle off my face.
God, no. Absolutely not. I am not doing this again.
It’s barely been ten minutes and I’m already acting like some wide-eyed teenager who’s never been burned by a charming man with good banter and better timing. I know better. I’ve learned better. The universe practically branded that lesson onto my forehead in my twenties.
And Rhett?
He’s exactly the kind of person I avoid catching feelings for.
Local. Well-liked.
Someone I’ll have to see around town when things crash and burn in spectacular, humiliating fashion. Small towns don’t let you forget your mistakes—they laminate them and file them alphabetically in their minds (and maybe even town hall) to recall, forever..
I try to school my expression, but my cheeks still feel warm. Ridiculous.
The door chimes, and I nearly jump.
Act normal, Bristol.
Evie Alder strides in, cheeks rosy from the cold, a reusable tote slung over her shoulder. She gives me a bright grin.
“Hey, Bristol,” she calls, heading straight for the desk. “You look suspiciously happy for someone who’s been stuck behind a counter all morning.”
Great. Wonderful. Exactly what I need—someone perceptive picking up on cues my body is throwing out there that I can’t seem to control.
I clear my throat, smoothing my sweater like it will erase some invisible evidence that I was just chatting up the town’s handyman. “Do I? Huh. Must be warm in here.”
Evie raises an eyebrow. “It’s twenty-four degrees outside.”
“I’m very temperature sensitive,” I deadpan.
She laughs, dropping her tote onto the counter. “Or you just had an interesting interaction with someone who’s probably insanely attractive.”
I cough and shake my head. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She leans on the counter, studying me far too closely. “Your ears turn pink when you lie.”
“Maybe I’m cold,” I argue, even though my entire face is now probably the color of Rudolph’s nose.
Evie just grins wider. “Well, whatever—or whoever—it is, I hope it keeps making you smile like that.”
I groan, dropping my forehead briefly to the cool countertop.
Yeah. Me too.
That’s exactly the problem.
I groan. “Please don’t do this.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely doing this,” she says, wagging her brows. “Who is he?”
“No one.” I lift my head and swipe some of the returns into a neat pile.
“Evie, don’t you have someone else to interrogate? Or, I don’t know, a cafe to get back to?”
“Oh!” She digs in her bag. “I almost forgot. I brought you a little gift.” Evie pulls out a small thermos and pastry box and sets them on the counter. “Peppermint hot chocolate and your favorite chocolate peanut butter balls.”
“Wow. Thanks. What do I owe you?”
“I would say nothing. They’re an early Christmas gift from Emmy and me. But I’ll trade you for the details on why your face is still bright red and you’ve got that lovey-dovey look in your eyes.”
“Evie!” Emmy hurries into the library, slightly out of breath, and scolds her sister. “Please, ignore her,” she says, turning to me. “Those are a gift. And you don’t owe Evie anything.”
Evie rolls her eyes. “Spoilsport.”
“Quit meddling. Don’t you get your fill by harassing me and Hayes?” Emmy glares at her sister.
These two are nothing if not entertaining.
Evie gasps. “I do not harass you and Hayes. I’m merely encouraging what is right in front of your face.”
“Well, like I said, leave Bristol alone. Let’s go see what romance novels are available this week, shall we?”
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave Bristol alone. For now.” She does that whole thing where she points at her eyes then back to me, exactly like ‘I’ve got my eyes on you.’
As she heads toward the new-releases display, I can feel her still watching me. Plotting.
I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ to Emmy the minute Evie turns her back.
And force my mind, and my heart, not to drift back to thoughts of Rhett all over again.