Chapter 2
two
. . .
Nathan
Main Street is buzzing with excitement. Shop owners are putting the finishing touches on their Christmas window displays and volunteers are wrangling garland around the last of the light posts and making sure everything looks absolutely perfect.
Santa’s arrival in Mistletoe Bay by lobster boat and the tree lighting ceremony that follows always pulls the whole town together.
Fire hazards, traffic headaches, and all.
I should be used to it by now. Fifteen Christmases as police chief and this week always looks the same—good-hearted chaos wrapped in twinkle lights.
But this year feels…different.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the fact that everywhere I go, someone keeps mentioning her name.
Tessa Pope.
It’s like she’s been haunting my thoughts ever since I pulled her over this morning.
Emmy Alder and her baristas were all buzzing with chatter at the Dockside Cafe about ‘little’ Tessa when I stopped by for a hot coffee after lunch.
Her name popped up again when I had to pick up some extension cords from Rhett Jennings at Red Barn Repair Company.
Everyone was discussing the documentary crew setting up around town. A crew that belongs to her.
Each time someone mentioned Tessa, my jaw ticked tighter.
The same Tessa Pope I used to haul home in the back of my cruiser for “creative mischief.” Things like toilet-papering the mayor’s house.
(Oooh, Charlie just loved that.) Painting hearts on the water tower on Valentine’s Day.
And who could forget about that one unforgettable night she “borrowed” a nativity sheep on a dare?
Now she’s back. Cameras and all.
My agitation still hadn’t subsided when I stopped by the Mayor’s Office to check in with my best friend, and our Mayor, Charlie Emerson.
“Pulled Tessa Pope over again this morning,” I said, sinking deeper into the chair across from his desk. My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing, and the sound of it tapping against the floor was starting to piss even me off. “Doing fifty in a twenty-five zone.”
Charlie didn’t even look surprised as he adjusted a stack of folders on his desk. “Give her the usual talk?”
“In one ear and out the other.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “I swear, she lives to torment me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Maggie and Lilah were sprawled on the couch, the perfect picture of sibling opposites.
Maggie was glued to her phone, thumbs flying, while Lilah had her face buried in math homework like it was a personal vendetta.
I’d known those girls since the day they were born, and God help me, I was probably the closest thing they had to a bad influence.
Maggie looked up, eyes bright with curiosity. “Is she really in town to film a Christmas movie?”
I grunted. “Documentary. Something about ‘old fashioned New England traditions’ and the people who keep them alive.” I leaned back, arms crossed.” Guess she missed the part where those fu … freaking Puritans banned Christmas.”
Maggie rolled her eyes at me. “Okay, old man. The Puritans were from like the sixteen hundreds. Lots has happened since then.”
I couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at my mouth. “Doesn’t make it not true,” I replied with a wink.
Charlie shot me a look—the one that said behave, Hale—then shut his laptop. “I assume we’re all set for tomorrow?”
“Yup. We’ve cordoned off the route, and I’ve got cruisers at both the Dockside Cafe and the Harbor Walk to make sure no one parks there. You’d think folks would know the drill by now, but every year we have to tow some—.”
The knock on his office door cut me off.
Rory, Charlie’s assistant, poked her head in. “I just got off the phone with Jack and Marjorie Dawson’s son, Gabe. They have food poisoning, and it’s bad. He said there’s no way they’ll be better for tomorrow. I hate to break it to you, Charlie, but we’ll need to find a new Santa and Mrs. Claus.”
Charlie’s face fell before she even finished.
I muttered a low curse under my breath while Maggie and Lilah’s heads shot up, matching looks of horror on their upturned faces nearly undid me.
Perfect. Just what we needed.
Because how easy could it be to find a new Mr. she’s not a lanky teenager anymore. She’s a grown woman with curves in all the right places.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Different in a good way or a bad way?”
“Jury is still out, Trouble.”
Her grin widens. “And you look…a little bit older and even more uptight.”
I open my mouth to argue with her. To tell her I’m not uptight. But I quickly close it and grind my teeth. I’m 45- years-old. I shouldn’t be arguing with a…I do the quick math in my head…a 26-year-old.
“Do me a favor? Stay out of the way. Let people enjoy this without your camera in their faces,” I snap at her. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Turning on my heel, I continue down the street, trying to shake the memory of her laugh and the way she’s managed to burn into my skin already.
A couple of teenagers dash past, hauling a stack of chairs for the town square. The chairs shift precariously with their every move. I give them a pointed look. “Careful! Looks like a dangerous game of Jenga you’ve got going on!”
They chuckle, replying, “Yes, Chief Hale!” Their good-natured mischief only reminds me of Tessa, laughing like that with her friends, carefree and untouchable.
Mrs. Callahan’s grandkids gather near the old pine tree in the square, carrying boxes of ornaments.
They wave when they spot me, excited to help out, even if their grandmother volunteered them without their permission.
I give them an authoritative but friendly nod, trying to act like the professional I am.
Meanwhile, Tessa quickly circles around the group, snapping pictures to document every angle, every smile, every perfectly imperfect moment.
Deep in my chest, I know this holiday season is going to test me in ways I didn’t expect. Not because of the town, and not because tomorrow Santa will be making his arrival by boat.
But because trouble has a name, she’s all grown up and back in Mistletoe Bay.