Witching You Mistletoe and Mayhem (Witching You #3)

Chapter 1

Valerie

“I think I’m cursed,” I whispered, leaning covertly over the polished counter of the bar.

The bartender’s rag slowed as he looked up, meeting my gaze over the din of laughter and a reggae-infused holiday remix. Palm fronds strung with twinkle lights swayed in the warm, salty air, and an inflatable snowman bobbed in the pool, its plastic grin unwavering in the blinding sun.

Don’t be fooled by the tropical vibes; this wasn’t a vacation.

I was trapped in a holiday-themed paradise thanks to corporate’s mandated Snow and Sun Wellness Retreat.

The three-day boot camp combined our Snowbelt and Sunbelt divisions, where agents like me—witches tasked with conjuring holiday miracles for clients in need—gathered to “bond” and level up our festive spells.

Think trust falls into fake snow drifts, a ropes course that would test even Santa’s tolerance for heights, and a coastal rivalry that no spiked eggnog fountain could smooth over.

The rivalry was friendly enough. We were all on the same team, after all, and miracles lost their shine if you weren’t casting them for the right reasons.

But while I’d moonlighted on a few Snowbelt cases, and even taught a seminar in their so-called wonderland of slushy streets and gray skies, I was a Sunbelter through and through.

Give me sunscreen and a sandman dotted with seashells over blizzards and fifteen layers crammed into a parka any day.

From my seat at the tiki bar, I watched coworkers line up at the s’mores station while a DJ in a sequined red shirt tested speakers for tonight’s big Snow-meets-Sun luau.

As head of the retreat’s party-planning committee, I should’ve been out there schmoozing and handing out souvenir tumblers.

Instead, I was hiding behind giant sunglasses at the bar, trying to dig up intel for a different kind of mission.

One that might finally fix what I like to call the Glitch.

Rumor had it there was an enchanted waterfall deep in the jungle that could fix broken magic.

I needed to know if the stories were true, and maybe grab a map.

Which was why I crooked my finger to signal the bartender closer, pausing only long enough to point to a tray of sugary cherries and whisper, “Bring those with you.”

The tropical breeze ruffled his ash-blond hair as he slid the tray in front of me. “You said you’re cursed? That sounds serious.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered, popping a cherry into my mouth.

The burst of flavor made my eyelids sink to half-mast. Was it weird that I preferred cocktail fruit to actual cocktails?

No. It made perfect sense, considering my line of work.

“This is a safe space, right?” I asked, sliding my palms across the bar as if it doubled as a confessional. “You won’t tell anyone what we talk about?”

“It’s our creed," he said, bracing his elbow against the counter.

I checked for eavesdroppers before tapping my painted fingernails against the fruit tray. “See these?”

He nodded.

“My job’s the human equivalent of a maraschino cherry.

I bring the ingredients together, add a magic twist to balance the flavors, and then I’m left perched on the rim.

Don’t get me wrong, I love helping couples.

But these days, I’m always the garnish, never the drink.

” I bent forward and dropped my voice. “My love life is tamer than a Shirley Temple.”

His brow lifted. “That’s… bleak.”

“Right?” I stabbed another cherry with my straw. “And it’s not just a metaphor. Look.”

I tugged my badge dangling from its glittery chain and flashed it at him.

Beneath an ID photo, with my dark curls flat-ironed into submission, lucky heart-shaped earrings catching the light, and a smile that was a little too optimistic, it read: Valerie Spellman, Chief Operating Meet-cute Maker.

(COMM, because even witches love acronyms.)

“My title sounds fake, but it’s real. I’ve got a razor-sharp Cupid’s bow, and I never miss.”

The bartender squinted as if he didn’t buy it.

They never do. Skepticism in all things, especially love, was on the rise these days. Which made my job harder than ever.

I flicked my straw like a wand, and the twinkle lights above the lifeguard’s umbrella blinked green and gold, forming an arrow that pointed straight to the bar. The lifeguard glanced over, her lips curving into a slow smile as she gave a shy wave.

“The resort manager will whisk her away if you don’t act quickly. She has a break in ten minutes. All you have to do is ask her out.” I slid a sparkly business card across the bar. “I’ll take care of the rest. On the house.”

A flash of color tinted the man’s cheeks as he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. He reached for the card and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “All right. You’re perceptive. If you’re so good at your job, what’s the problem?”

“I’m the problem.” I dropped my chin into my hand and snarled at the fruit tray.

“The truth is, my magic’s gotten glitchy.

It still works on others, but not on me.

When I’m one-half of the meet-cute equation, every shot backfires.

Every coffee shop encounter ends with some poor guy backing away, brushing latte foam off his dry-clean-only blazer.

One guy called the cops. Apparently, that counts as assault with a piping-hot weapon. ”

The bartender’s eyes widened. “Ouch.”

“And I wasn’t even trying to score. I just ordered my usual, smiled at a stranger, and—bam.” I slumped lower on my stool. “Now I’m banned from my favorite café.”

He winced and shifted to stand between me and the coffee pot brewing on the countertop as if it might become a projectile. I pressed my lips into a frown. Smart move, but still… hurtful.

“Oh. It gets worse,” I said, taking a sip of courage from my frozen cocktail. “Last month, I was stranded on the side of a country road with miles of sun-bleached hills and stubborn tumbleweeds in every direction.”

“Sounds isolated. What happened?”

“My magic happened.” I pointed the end of my straw at him like he was an agent in one of my seminars. “You see, damsel-in-distress is supposed to be a sure thing. It’s a classic scenario.”

"Makes sense," he said.

“Well, a handsome stranger pulled over. Tall, dark, helpful—” I sighed, puffing a stray curl off my face. “and apparently, a carjacker. While I was digging lipstick out of my bottomless purse, he hitched my Mustang to his tow and drove off. That’s not a meet-cute. That’s grand theft auto.”

The bartender’s rag nearly slipped from his fingers. “You are cursed.”

“I know! I can’t be the matchmaking agent who racks up more police reports than phone numbers. My coworkers are starting to notice.”

I brushed imaginary lint from my strapless dress and scanned the bar, double-checking that my secret was still safe.

Then I took a long swallow of my cocktail.

Maybe tequila would dull my humiliation and make my confession less tragic.

But honestly? There wasn't enough tequila on the island for that.

It wasn't just my reputation that haunted me—I missed it. The sparks. The butterflies. The miracle moment I could conjure for everyone but myself.

Now I was stranded in no-man’s land—literally—and every failed attempt left a residue of jealousy that grew into something worse: the quiet ache that maybe my glitch was permanent.

I'd started to doubt my abilities. Sometimes even love itself.

And if I stopped believing in love…

My throat squeezed. I couldn’t go there. Not yet.

“Have you tried the apps?”

The bartender's voice cut through my thoughts, bursting the little bubble I'd built around them. I scoffed, flicking melted ice from my fingertips.

Have I tried the apps. Did he think I was new?

“My accounts were hacked. Twice. Then some dude stole my bio and started catfishing subscribers. The cybercrime task force has me on speed dial.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly. This is how it starts. Doubt settles in, belief systems falter, and it trickles down to my clients. Then—” I snapped my fingers.

“Poof. Magic gone. I’ve seen it happen. I know how bad this can get.

” I leaned over the bar, my desperation thicker than the sultry air.

“So tell me, are the stories about the waterfall true? Can it fix me?”

His expression softened into something close to pity.

“You mean the wishing waterfall? Locals say it can wash away whatever weighs you down, bad luck, even curses.” He tossed his rag over his shoulder, warming to his topic as if he normally served oracle wisdom alongside his drinks.

“Just be careful what you wish for. The water doesn’t always flow the way you’d expect. ”

An ominous shiver snaked down my spine. I shrugged it off. Figures there’d be a catch. But warning or not, a ritual cleansing was exactly what I needed.

Before it was too late.

I’d already tried burning enchanted candles. Salt circles had been a waste of time—and salt. I even splurged on the full Three-Ghosts-of-Christmas overnight package with a highly sought-after medium. It cost a fortune and did absolutely nothing.

Scrooge got enlightenment.

I got an empty bank account and a new fear of the dark.

I cringed. No more ghosts for me. I was one jump scare away from moving into a blanket fort.

The wishing waterfall might be my last shot.

“Got a pen?” I asked, reaching for a cocktail napkin. “I need directions.”

The bartender humored me, and I doodled landmarks until a burst of laughter erupted from the cabana behind me.

A group of Snowbelt agents lounged in the shade, singing a chorus of reimagined carols, with lyrics guaranteed to get you on Santa’s naughty list.

I applauded the ingenuity of a very R-rated line, then did a double-take. My teeth clenched when I spotted Grant Delaney holding court, drink in hand, conducting the risqué orchestra like he'd written the sheet music.