Mistletoe Season by Michelle Major
CHAPTER THREE
THEWEDDINGANDreception were beautiful, or at least that’s what Angi heard from Emma and Mariella. They texted updates throughout the day and into the evening, several messages in all caps with quotes from guests praising the food.
Angi hadn’t seen any of it. She’d stayed with her mother, who, after several weeks of improvement, had started feeling weak and dizzy midmorning on Saturday—right after Angi told her about the late night in the Wildflower Inn kitchen and her plan to stop by the event on her way into Il Rigatone that afternoon.
Her mom had gone quiet as she diced tomatoes for the lunch salads she complained about every day. Seconds later, the knife had clattered to the floor as her mom clutched the edge of the counter.
Angi had phoned the on-call cardiologist, but her mom insisted she just needed rest, and the doctor agreed that she should be monitored at home. So they’d gotten her to bed, and Andrew had climbed in next to her to watch the home improvement shows they both loved.
It had been simple enough to avoid a food catastrophe with the help of her friends the night before. Angi had actually had fun staying up into the wee hours remaking the appetizers for the wedding reception. She felt strong and capable while creating her own recipes and dishes in a way she never had in her family’s restaurant. She refused to think about the timing of her mother’s setback, although it was no secret that Bianca had been angry and hurt when Angi quit her job at Il Rigatone over the summer to work full-time with Emma.
Surely she wouldn’t scare Angi half to death by faking not feeling well?
In truth, it didn’t matter. Angi might have entertained the idea of returning to the inn after her mom was fully well, but she knew in her heart it wasn’t going to work. Bianca needed her. Both Angi’s brothers had their own lives, and after her father’s death ten months ago, Bianca had come to rely on Angi even more.
She owed it to her mom for all the ways Bianca had supported her, even if it meant giving up her dreams to do the right thing as a daughter.
Neither Emma nor Mariella had responded directly when Angi messaged Sunday morning congratulating them on another successful event and reiterating the fact that, after the holidays, she’d be focusing solely on the restaurant. Emma had sent a blue heart emoji and Mariella a GIF of some reality starlet rolling her eyes.
But Angi had no other choice. None that she could see anyway.
“Angela?”
She hurried down the stairs from her bedroom at the sound of her mother’s call. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she rushed into the family room. Andrew glanced up from where he sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table contentedly building some sort of new Lego creation.
“You’re going to be late for the planning meeting.” Bianca tapped the oversize watch face encircling her wrist. Angi had gotten her mom a fitness tracker while she was in the hospital, although Bianca refused to use the complicated gadget for anything other than checking the time.
“I’m not going.” Angi grabbed the hem of her battered sweatshirt as if to prove the point. “I need to be here with you.”
Bianca sniffed. “I feel perfectly fine.”
“Yesterday you could barely sit up without feeling like you were going to faint.”
“That was then,” her mom countered. “You took care of me because you’re a good daughter. My best girl. Now I’m fine.”
Angi counted to ten silently in her head as her mother offered a beatific smile. Had she been played yesterday so that she wouldn’t go to the inn? She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that her mom would sabotage her on purpose. The heart attack and resulting bypass surgery certainly hadn’t been deliberate.
“They don’t need me at the meeting. I texted Carrie and told her I’d help with whatever she needs.”
Bianca sat forward. “A representative from the restaurant needs to be there in person to show that we’re leaders in this town. People think Il Rigatone isn’t the same without your father...” She paused when her voice cracked. “We need to show everyone that we’re honoring his legacy.”
“Oh, Mom.” Angi’s heart ached for her mother. She and Angi’s father, Vinnie, had been childhood sweethearts. His death after a sudden heart attack was a hole in the fabric of their family that could never be stitched, but the loss remained most difficult for Bianca. She put on a brave front, but Angi knew how much her mom missed her husband. “You don’t have anything to prove. Dad would be proud of how you’ve carried on, but he wouldn’t want the stress it’s put on you. He’d want you to take care of yourself the way he took care of you.”
“You will go.” Her mother spoke gently, but there was no mistaking the steel in her tone.
“Yes,” Angi answered with a sigh. “I’ll go.” She crouched down to Andrew’s level and placed a gray brick in line with others that made up one wall of the structure he was building. “Hopefully, I won’t be long,” she promised him. “But if I’m not back by the time you go to bed, I’ll come in and give you a good-night kiss when I get home.”
“Can I stay up late with Nonna?”
“Not on a school night, bud. Nonna can tuck you in after your bath. Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”
“My ears don’t get dirty,” he argued, pulling at one of them. “I wish the weekend could go on forever.”
“Me, too.”
After a kiss for her son and one dropped on her mother’s forehead, Angi grabbed a jacket from the hook next to the door to the garage and started the quick drive into town. She loved the way the Magnolia community celebrated the season with colorful lights strung around windows or at the edges of gutters on the houses on both sides of the street, along with festive wreaths and cheery yard decorations.
It was still hard to believe her father wasn’t here to enjoy it. He’d loved Christmas and all of their family traditions. He’d taken such pride in the ceramic nativity scene and ornaments that had been passed down from his relatives in Italy. She and Andrew had already put up a few things, but her mother wanted to wait on the tree and some of the more meaningful decorations.
As she got out of the car after parking in front of the town hall, Angi pressed her palm to her chest to try to stem the tight ache that collected there every time she thought of her father. A heart attack, similar to the one her mother had suffered, had taken him far too soon. She would not lose her mom, as well. What was a little personal happiness in a trade-off for her mother’s health?
She hurried toward the town hall building, cursing softly when she realized she’d forgotten to change out of the faux fur–trimmed house shoes she wore at night and into regular boots or sneakers. Maybe the ragamuffin look would garner some sympathy from her fellow business owners, but more likely the gossip train would kick into high gear. She could imagine the barrage of texts and calls later tonight at how Angi Guilardi was losing her marbles.
Closer to the truth...they’d started escaping months ago, Angi had slipped and tripped on them on the way out the figurative door that led to her dream life.
The sound of someone retching stopped her in her tracks, and she saw a woman bent over the bushes at the far corner of the building.
“Carrie?” she asked when she recognized the willowy brunette. “Are you okay?”
“Not exactly.” Carrie Reed Scott walked toward her slowly, dabbing a tissue at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t seem to stop the nausea. It’s a little out of control.”
“How far along are you now?” Angi had heard about Carrie’s pregnancy from one of the waitresses at the restaurant, although the artist and gallery owner hadn’t been in for her usual order recently as far as Angi could remember.
“Almost five months,” Carrie said with a wan smile. “I thought the morning sickness would end, but it’s gotten worse and more along the lines of around-the-clock sickness.”
“Can you drive? Do you need a ride?” Angi glanced at the flight of stone steps that led to the building’s entrance. “You aren’t going back in there.”
Carrie shook her head. “Dylan’s on his way to get me.”
Dylan Scott was Carrie’s husband and the real estate developer who was helping his wife lead the charge on bringing the town back to its former glory. They’d dated in high school but had an ugly breakup thanks to the meddling of Carrie’s late father, Niall Reed. The same man who’d owned the house that Emma had turned into an inn.
Angi had enjoyed watching as Carrie and Dylan went from sworn enemies upon his return to town last year at this time to a couple deeply in love. Carrie had always been kind to Angi and supportive of her parents, so she couldn’t be happier for the other woman’s happiness.
Too bad her pregnancy seemed so rough.
“My doctor is talking about hyperemesis gravidarum.” Carrie didn’t seem surprised by Angi’s blank stare. “It’s a condition that results in severe nausea and vomiting for the entire pregnancy term. Only a small percentage of women suffer from it, so I guess I’m one of the unlucky ones.”
“That sounds awful. Didn’t I hear about one of the royals having that?”
“Yep. At least I’m in good company.”
“I’m so sorry, Carrie. The most important thing right now is to take care of yourself. If there’s anything I can do—”
“I meant to talk to you before the meeting. I was hoping I’d feel better or at least well enough to coordinate most of the Christmas on the Coast events, but I’m not sure that’s going to possible.” She winced as the sound of a car peeling around a corner split the night air. “Or that Dylan won’t fight me on it if I try. I’m not up for much of a fight right now.”
“What can I do?” Angi asked, hoping Carrie only needed assistance with some small piece of the monthlong festival. Angi’s plate was already full to running over.
“Could you stand in for me as chairperson of the festival committee?” Carrie asked with a hopeful—if slightly frantic—smile.
“Chairperson,” Angi repeated, the blood pounding inside her head. “Are you sure I’m the best candidate? Maybe Josie from the dance studio or Lily at the hardware store. Even Stuart would be—”
“I’ve seen what you, Emma and Mariella have done with my father’s former house and the success of the events you host there. You have a gift for putting things together.”
“Not me,” Angi protested, her hands held up like a shield. “Emma is the organizer and Mariella the creative genius. I just make the food.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should. Maybe one of them would be a better choice.”
“It needs to be someone who knows the town and the people here. The festival was a success last year because the business owners trusted me. They’ll trust you.”
Unable to come up with a decent refusal when Carrie looked so desperate, Angi was relieved when Dylan pulled in with a flourish at the curb. He hopped out of the sleek SUV and jogged toward Carrie.
“Let’s get you home,” he said with the same level of intensity as an ancient warrior rescuing some distressed princess from a battlefield.
Angi wondered what it would be like to have someone willing to go to battle for her.
“I’m fine,” Carrie murmured, lifting a hand to Dylan’s cheek. She glanced toward the bushes. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the stir-fry you made for dinner.”
“Crackers and ginger ale,” he told her. “We’ve got plenty at the house.”
“In a minute.” Carrie wrapped an arm around his waist, and Angi noticed that a bit of the tension eased from his stance. “Angi and I were discussing the holiday festival.”
Angi gave a little wave to Dylan. He glowered for a moment before his features softened a touch. “You’re going to take over the remainder of the planning.”
Maybe he meant to ask a question, but it sure didn’t sound like it.
“That’s what we’re working out,” Carrie told him, her voice soothing.
It amazed her that Carrie could be so polished and serene minutes after puking her guts out.
“Angi has a lot going on already,” Carrie explained to her husband. “I’m not sure—”
“I’ll help,” Angi said on a rush of breath.
Dylan nodded. “That’s settled. Let’s go.”
Carrie whirled to face him fully. “Enough. I’ll be ready when Angi and I finish our conversation. I threw up, Dylan. It’s nothing new at this point.” She pressed a hand to the small bump of her belly. “I’m going to take care of our baby.”
“I know,” he whispered, his blue eyes flashing with intensity. “I just worry about you. I need you to be okay.”
Angi felt she was witnessing a moment of deep intimacy, and her heart squeezed in response to the palpable love and devotion radiating between the two of them.
After giving Dylan a quick hug, Carrie turned to Angi again. “Are you sure? You don’t have to agree because Dylan is behind me glaring.”
“I’m not glaring,” Dylan muttered.
“More like a glower,” Angi agreed, earning a chuckle from Carrie. “I’m still not sure I’m the right choice, but I’ll do my best. You go home to those crackers and ginger ale. I’ll fill in everyone at the meeting, and we can discuss details when you’re feeling better.”
“Settled.” Dylan stepped forward and tucked Carrie’s arm into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you,” he told Angi. “Avery and Meredith will help, too. Whatever you need so that Carrie can get the rest she needs.”
Carrie opened her mouth like she wanted to argue and then clasped a hand over it. “Another wave is coming. We’d better go.”
Angi hurried up the steps and into the town hall building, then down the main flight of stairs toward the meeting rooms. Thanks to her inability to say no, she was running her mother’s restaurant, her own catering business and now she was adding holiday festival chairperson to her list of responsibilities. The new year couldn’t come fast enough.
GABESTOODATthe podium next to Magnolia’s longtime mayor, Malcolm Grimes, wondering who he’d pissed off in a former life to warrant his current karmic kick in the pants.
As soon as Gabe arrived at the meeting, Mal had approached and requested Gabe’s help coordinating the annual holiday festival. Plans were already mostly set based on the previous year’s event. Carrie and her sister, Avery, had done a great job of marketing the month of holiday-themed events, so tourists and locals were already streaming into downtown for shopping, impromptu caroling and concerts. Over the next few weeks, they’d continue the traditions with a fun run to benefit Meredith Ventner’s animal rescue organization and two weekends of arts and crafts fairs plus live music, as well as a performance of A Christmas Carol by the local theater group and a Nutcracker-themed recital held at the dance studio down the street.
A calendar chock-full of Christmas spirit gave Gabe a splitting headache, but when he’d visited his grandmother earlier that afternoon, she’d been adamant that he represent the flower shop at the business owners’ meeting. Gran still had more lucid days than not, but things were becoming fuzzy enough for her that he wanted to hold on even tighter than before to the woman he knew and loved.
If it had been solely up to him, Gabe would have said no to Mal in a heartbeat. He could imagine Gran’s elation when he told her that the mayor had chosen Gabe to cochair the event with Carrie since she was having some trouble with her pregnancy. Gabe had missed so many opportunities in his life to make his grandmother proud. He couldn’t pass one up now, not when he had no clue how much time they had left.
Just as Mal called the meeting to order and the room went silent, Angi burst through the door. Everyone turned to stare, and Gabe had to hide the smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth. She certainly knew how to make an entrance, even more so with her thick dark hair piled high on her head in some sort of I Dream of Jeannie topknot and her singular outfit, which consisted of a tattered sweatshirt under a thick flannel jacket, paisley-print leggings encasing her shapely legs and fuzzy slippers on her feet.
The slippers were a nice touch, he thought.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her skin turning an appealing shade of pink.
“You’re right on time.” Mal grinned. “How’s your mom doing?”
“Good.” Angi nodded. “Better anyway. She had a little setback this weekend, but...” She drew in a shaky breath, and a shiver of sympathy rippled along Gabe’s spine. “She’s okay.”
He rolled his shoulders to diffuse the sensation. Angi didn’t need—or likely want—his sympathy.
Mal nodded. “We’re sending her our best. She’s a strong woman.”
A few people called out words of encouragement, and somehow Gabe imagined them like bullets ripping through Angi’s soft skin. He was used to thinking of her as tough and unflinching, so the vulnerability she couldn’t seem to hide when it came to her mother unnerved him.
“Yeah.” The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess I should be up there with you.” She frowned as she noticed Gabe, and he curled his lip out of habit. Mutual distaste was much easier to handle than the invisible connection that sometimes filled the space between them.
Mal inclined his head. “We’re waiting for Carrie.”
“Right.” Angi nodded. “Carrie still isn’t feeling well. I just saw her out front, before Dylan picked her up. She’s asked me to take over her responsibilities for Christmas on the Coast.”
“Ah, hell, no,” Gabe muttered.
Mal turned to him with a quelling glance as the gathered crowd erupted into murmuring whispers. Gabe had no idea whether people were talking about him or Angi or the two of them. Either way, he didn’t like it.
“Well, that will be perfect,” the mayor said, his deep voice booming in the large room. “Because Gabe just offered to pitch in, as well.”
“You asked,” Gabe said under his breath. “There’s a difference.”
Mal ignored him and continued speaking to Angi. “The two of you can coordinate the events together.”
“Just like Carrie and Dylan,” Josie from the dance studio shouted with a throaty laugh.
“Not like that at all,” Angi said as more people joined in with laughter and a smattering of applause. “I don’t need help.”
“Me neither.” Gabe moved closer to Mal. “This is a bad idea,” he whispered to the mayor.
“Why?” Mal turned to him as Angi joined them at the front of the room. The older man looked at each of them. “I understand that Carrie and Dylan had a history, but you two barely know each other. Unless you had some kind of secret dating life the rest of us don’t know about.”
“Who’s dating?” Josie, who sat in the front row, leaned forward in her chair.
“No one,” Gabe said through clenched teeth.
“Not even a little.” Angi offered a patently fake smile. “I’d be thrilled to work with Gabe. I’m sure he’ll have lots to offer as far as making this Christmas season in Magnolia the most festive ever.”
The words seemed benign enough on the surface, but Gabe knew a challenge when he heard one.
“I have loads of time to devote to this town,” he said solemnly, placing a hand over his chest. He glanced down at Josie and her cronies, and gave his most winsome smile. “I know it will make my grandma happy.”
As expected, the women clucked and cooed over his devotion. Angi looked like she wanted to reach around Malcolm and scratch out Gabe’s eyes, and it was strangely satisfying to get under her skin.
“Well, then.” Mal grabbed each of their hands and held them above his head like some kind of referee calling a heavyweight boxing match. “We have our new Christmas on the Coast power couple.”