Chapter 13
By Monday evening, Natalie had decided that mistletoe was a much more dangerous plant than anyone admitted in polite society.
It looked innocent enough sitting in a small cardboard box on the counter at Winter Wishes, tied into neat little bundles with red ribbon and pearl-white berries tucked among the green leaves.
It should have looked festive. Charming.
Perfectly appropriate for a Christmas gift shop with cedar garlands over the windows and cinnamon candles burning near the register.
So why did it look like trouble?
Natalie stood behind the counter with her hands on her hips and glared at the box as if it had personally betrayed her. “You are not going above the door.”
The bell over the front entrance jingled, and Mark Clemons stepped inside carrying a narrow wooden brace and a paper bag from the hardware store. “Are you talking to inventory now?”
Natalie looked up too quickly. “Only the difficult inventory.”
His gaze shifted to the box. “That looks like a plant.”
“It is a plant with a reputation.”
“Mistletoe.” Mark’s mouth curved faintly as he set the brace and bag on the counter. “That explains the glare.”
“I don’t glare.”
“You most certainly were.”
“I was evaluating risk.” Natalie picked up one bundle by the ribbon and let it dangle between them. “Anna thought these would be charming near the gift-wrap station.”
“Anna is braver than I thought.”
“Anna is not the one who will be trapped beneath it by every customer with a matchmaking hobby.”
Mark glanced toward the ceiling above the gift-wrap table then toward the front door. “You’re right. The door would be worse.”
“It’s definitely not going above the door.”
He reached into the hardware bag and pulled out a small packet of screws. “I agree with you.”
“Are you sure you weren’t considering alternatives?”
He shrugged. “I brought a brace for the side shelf near your ornament tree.”
Natalie followed his gaze toward the western Christmas tree near the front window. The shelf beside it did lean a little, though she had been pretending not to notice.
“You came here after work to fix a shelf?” she asked.
“Well, that tree called to me, and I happened to notice that if someone touches it, it leans so…” He shrugged again. “It needs fixing.” Mark picked up the brace and walked toward the display before she could argue. “Do you want it repaired or admired from a distance?”
Natalie grabbed the small screwdriver from behind the counter and followed him. “Repaired, but I reserve the right to point out that this is why people keep saying flattering things about you.”
“People say things because this town has too much time and not enough livestock emergencies.”
“This town has plenty of livestock emergencies. It simply multitasks.”
He chuckled, crouched beside the shelf, tested the loosened support, and held out his hand without looking back. “Screwdriver.”
Natalie placed it in his palm. “You know, temporary fake boyfriends who fix shelves set unrealistic expectations.”
“Temporary fake girlfriends who hand out hot chocolate and smile at people all day set unrealistic expectations too.”
She blinked.
Mark kept his attention on the shelf, but the tips of his ears had gone slightly red.
Natalie smiled. “Did you just compliment me while pretending not to?”
“I was making an observation.”
“A very generous one.”
He tightened the first screw then checked the angle with his thumb. “The shelf should hold now.”
“Thank you.”
He looked up at her from where he crouched, and the lights in the window reflected in his eyes. A small curl of sawdust clung to his sleeve. He looked too handsome and kind for a man she was supposed to be pretending with.
Natalie turned back toward the counter before she could stare any longer. “Since you’re here, I should warn you that Mrs. Barlow asked me today if we had discussed the Christmas dance yet.”
Mark stood and brushed his hands on his jeans. “We haven’t.”
“It’s the Friday before Christmas.” Natalie picked up the mistletoe box again because she needed something to do with her hands. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but if my aunt is already going to assume we’re together…”
“It’ll be expected for us to go.”
“Yes, even though there will be way too many people with opinions about other people’s lives.”
“So a normal Shooting Star Canyon gathering.”
“Exactly.”
Mark leaned one shoulder against the counter. “Do you even want to go?”
“I’m helping with decorations and the refreshment table, so yes. I have to be there whether or not I have any dignity left by then.”
“You have dignity.”
“I own a Christmas shop and just argued with mistletoe.”
“You have seasonal dignity.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “That is a very narrow category.”
“It suits you.”
Natalie tried not to enjoy that as much as she did. “Are you going?”
“I usually avoid dances unless my mother makes refusal impossible, but half the town assumes we’re going already, and it wouldn’t be breaking any rules so…”
“The rules. Right. Can’t dare break them. I bet you never broke a rule in your life, cowboy.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I have far too many brothers. Trust me. I got into my fair share of trouble.”
“Hmm. Probably more than your fair share.”
He just eyed her. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, you just seem like you could convince someone you didn’t do something that you did.”
“Like what?”
Why did it feel like he was cornering her?
And why was her first thought their fake dating arrangement and the way he had somehow convinced her this was harmless?
Natalie set the mistletoe back in the box and forced a lighter tone. “I don’t think we need to actually dance at the dance. Just show up.”
“Good. I want to protect your toes.” Mark pushed away from the counter and picked up the remaining brace from the hardware bag. “Where exactly did Anna want the plant trap?”
“The gift-wrap station.”
He looked over at the small arch of greenery above the wrapping table. “That actually might work. It’s not directly over the counter, and it won’t block the lights.”
“You are not supposed to encourage the mistletoe.”
“I’m encouraging proper placement.”
“That is worse. It gives the mistletoe legitimacy.”
Mark took one bundle from the box and examined the ribbon. “Do you have a ladder?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I have a ladder, but I also have concerns.”
“About the mistletoe or the ladder?”
“Both, currently.”
He carried the bundle toward the gift-wrap station. “I’ll hang it high enough that no one bumps into it.”
“Height is not the issue.”
“It usually is.”
“Not with mistletoe.”
Mark unfolded the ladder beneath the arch and climbed two steps, the mistletoe dangling from one hand. “Then what’s the issue?”
Natalie came closer despite knowing better and held the end of the ribbon while he reached for the center hook above the greenery. “The issue is that people see mistletoe and lose all sense of propriety.”
“They do?”
“Yes. Perfectly rational women become giggly. Grandmothers become strategic. Children start asking questions they should not be asking in retail establishments.”
Mark side-eyed the mistletoe. “That is a lot of power for a plant.”
“It’s dangerous.”
Mark secured the ribbon around the hook, then lowered his hand. “There. Safely above the gift-wrap station.”
Natalie stepped back to inspect it. The little bundle looked beautiful against the greenery, which was irritating. “It does look nice.”
“High praise.”
“Do not be smug.”
“I fixed a shelf and hung a plant. I’ve earned moderate smugness.”
“You have earned one thank-you and possibly a discount on an ornament.”
“That seems fair.” Mark stepped down from the ladder and folded it, but when he turned, Natalie realized they were both standing beneath the arch.
Beneath the mistletoe.
Outside, Main Street glowed with Christmas lights, and a few people moved past the windows in coats and scarves. Inside, the air smelled like cedar and cinnamon, and the music playing softly from the speaker behind the counter had moved into a slow instrumental version of Silent Night.
Mark looked up.
Natalie looked up too because pretending not to notice would have been ridiculous. “Well… ah…”
“I hung it. You inspected…” Mark looked back down at her, his expression steady but not as guarded as usual. “…a little too closely.”
Her breath caught at the change in his voice.
They had a rule—no kissing. At the time, Natalie had thought the rule was wise.
Wisdom, apparently, did not keep her from noticing Mark’s mouth.
He did not move closer. He only stood there, close enough that she could see the faint line of tiredness near his eyes and the tiny streak of sawdust on his cuff.
Close enough that she could easily reach up and brush back his dark hair from his forehead.
Close enough that all the reasons this was fake began to feel paper-thin and fragile.
“We have a rule,” she whispered.
Mark nodded once. “I remember.”
“Good.”
“Very good.”
His gaze dropped, not long, but long enough.
Natalie should have stepped away. She even told herself to do it. One backward step, one laugh, one joke about mistletoe having no legal authority over fake relationships. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was.
Mark lifted one hand slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, and brushed a loose strand of hair back from her cheek. His fingertips barely touched her skin, but the tenderness had her sucking in a breath.
“Natalie,” he said softly.
“Yes?”
“I’m trying to remember why that rule seemed so necessary.”
Her heart gave one hard, foolish beat. “Because this is supposed to be temporary.”
“I know.”
“We agreed not to make things complicated.”
“I remember that too.”
“If we kiss, people will expect it to mean something.”
Mark’s thumb lingered near her cheek for half a second before he let his hand fall. “What if people aren’t the problem?”
Natalie stared up at him.
The bell over the front door jingled.
They sprang apart so quickly that Natalie bumped the gift-wrap table, sending a roll of silver paper tumbling to the floor.
Mrs. Barlow stepped inside with a covered casserole dish in both hands and stopped short, her eyes moving from Natalie to Mark then up to the mistletoe above them. Her face brightened with terrifying speed. “Oh. Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Natalie said too fast.
“Yes,” Mark said at the same time.
Natalie turned to him in horror.
Mark cleared his throat and bent to retrieve the fallen wrapping paper. “A shelf repair.”
Mrs. Barlow’s smile widened as if shelf repair had become the most romantic phrase in the English language. “How lovely. I only stopped by because the church supper had extra chicken casserole, and I thought you might not have eaten yet, Natalie.”
Natalie crossed over to her and accepted the dish. “That was very kind of you.”
Mrs. Barlow patted her arm. “You work too hard, dear.” She glanced at Mark then at the mistletoe again. “Both of you do.”
Mark set the wrapping paper back on the table with great care. “Evening, Mrs. Barlow.”
“Evening, Mark.” Mrs. Barlow moved toward the door with the satisfied air of a woman who had gathered enough information to feed three conversations and possibly a prayer chain. “Merry Christmas.”
The bell jingled again when she left.
Natalie stared at the door.
Mark stared at the floor.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Natalie lifted the casserole slightly. “We have been rescued by chicken.”
Mark looked at her then, and the laugh that escaped him was low, reluctant, and warm enough to make the almost kiss even worse. “That may be the strangest sentence you’ve ever said.”
“I own a Christmas shop. The competition is fierce.”
His smile faded slowly. His gaze flicked once to the mistletoe then back to her face. “I should go.”
“Yes. Probably.”
He picked up his hat from the counter and paused near the door. “We can figure out about the dance later.”
“Yes. Later.”
Mark nodded, and for a moment, she thought he might say something else. Instead, he opened the door and stepped into the December evening, leaving the bell to jingle softly behind him.
Natalie stood beneath the mistletoe with Mrs. Barlow’s casserole in her hands and her heart behaving in a way that felt entirely unreasonable.
The rule had stopped them from kissing, but it had not stopped her from wanting him to.