Mistletoe Season by Michelle Major

CHAPTER SIX

“HI.”

Gabe stopped in his tracks, holding up the garden rake like a weapon but almost immediately lowered it. He’d recognized Angi’s voice in that one syllable. Somehow, he still felt shocked to see her standing outside the greenhouse.

“This is a gorgeous landscape,” Angi said, waving a hand in the general vicinity of the property. He noticed she didn’t make eye contact, despite seeking him out. He also took note of the hint of color that crept up her cheeks and didn’t think the blush had anything to do with the brisk breeze that whipped through the backyard.

It had been colder than average in Magnolia recently, which only seemed to attract more visitors to downtown. The flower shop had seen a steady stream of foot traffic, although most people came and went quickly. He’d done his best to spruce up the place and had adorned the outside of the shop with just about every one of the decorations Gran had packed away.

No one could say he wasn’t festive, although he also didn’t seem to be fooling anyone into thinking he had any real Christmas cheer. He remembered the lessons Gran had taught him about arranging flowers, but that skill didn’t translate into any sort of other artistic flair for him.

“It’s seen better days,” he answered, looking out to the lawn before returning his gaze to Angi. “If I’m still here next summer, I’m going to clean out the beds and plant a cutting garden plus some vegetables. Tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkins. The whole bit.”

Heat burned along his neck as Angi stared at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. Why couldn’t he shut up?

She wore slim jeans and a canvas jacket with a colorful patterned scarf double-wrapped around her neck. He would have liked to grab the end that whipped in the breeze and tug her closer but resisted the urge. She wasn’t his to pull into him by any stretch of the imagination.

“Where else would you be?” she asked as if he’d lived in Magnolia all his life.

He shrugged. “Maybe Gran will get better and won’t need me anymore.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No, but it’s what I want. The truth is I have an appointment set up next week to meet with her attorney. We need to think about what happens next.”

“You’re running the shop,” Angi said, inclining her head.

“In order to help my grandmother,” he clarified. “Not because it’s what I plan to do with the rest of my life.”

“When we were kids, you seemed so happy putting together the bouquets,” she said quietly. “You’d bring me the bruised flowers, but they were arranged so beautifully I didn’t even notice the flaws.”

“I’m not as good at disguising flaws anymore.” He sighed. “The shop isn’t making money. It hasn’t in several years.” He gestured toward the greenhouse. “I’m doing my best to cultivate a variety of plants to sell as well as the bouquets, and I have ideas for how to incorporate a community garden into the business plan, but who knows if I’ll get that chance.”

“Why not?”

“My mom finally called. She wanted an update on her mother—basically she was asking if Gran was close to kicking the bucket. Mom intimated that she’s going to inherit the house and the business after Gran dies and has made it clear that the first order of business will be selling the properties to the highest offer.”

“But your grandmother isn’t gone yet.” Angi shook her head. “It feels morbid to even talk that way.”

“I know.” He said the words casually, like it didn’t gut him that his mom would discuss his grandmother with such callousness. “But that’s my problem, and I don’t need to bore you with it. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Oh, right. I came to see you.”

The flummoxed look she gave him made his heart feel suddenly effervescent, like he’d taken a big drink of soda and the fizz was making him light-headed. He didn’t know what to think of the Angi who wasn’t snarky or ignoring him, implying that he’d been the one to do something wrong all those years ago. When they both knew that wasn’t the case.

“Yeah, okay. If it’s about the nunchuck lessons I gave Andrew...”

“Excuse me?”

“Joking.” He went to pat her on the arm but pulled back at the last second, not trusting himself with even the most innocuous touch.

“I’m here because I need a boyfriend,” she blurted out of nowhere.

Or maybe out of left field was more like it.

Or outer space.

“What happened to your date on Friday?” Gabe asked, raising a brow. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

“Worse than not well,” she admitted. “He was hung up on his ex.”

“Which hurt your feelings?”

“Good Lord, no. I couldn’t care less about Artie. I wish him and any potential Mrs. Caferno only the best.”

“Why do you need a boyfriend?” he asked slowly, hoping that his frazzled brain could somehow catch up with her train of thought.

“Because my mom has a whole line of Arties waiting to take me out.” She scrunched up her nose, rather adorably in Gabe’s opinion. “I mean not literally more Arties. But more guys. Men I don’t want to date. I’m not interested in dating.”

So much for following her train of thought.

“But you want a boyfriend?”

“A fake boyfriend,” she said, and when her chest rose and fell in a shuddery breath like it was tough to get the words out, awareness zinged through Gabe. He didn’t want to be aware of Angi any more than he already was. “I want you.”

Those three words didn’t help.

“You don’t even like me,” he reminded her.

“My mom does,” she countered. “Andrew, too. We have to work together for Christmas on the Coast.”

“It seems to be running fairly smoothly without my involvement.”

“That’s because Carrie’s amazing and set everything up, but as more events take place over the next couple of weeks, we’ll have a lot to do. Organizing, working with the press, keeping things generally running smoothly. Plus making sure we keep bookstore Stuart away from Josie Trumbell.”

Not helping his mental clarity. “What’s the deal with Josie and Stuart?”

“He’s had a crush on her for years, but she’s still hung up on some guy from decades ago. Normally Stuart tries to kiss her under the mistletoe at some point during the holiday season, and it gets awkward for everyone.”

He nodded. “Keep Stuart away from the mistletoe. Got it.”

“Plus,” she continued with a small smile playing around the corner of her mouth. “This year the proceeds from the special charity event each week are going to benefit anti-bullying programs at the school district. It’s important that we have a record year.”

“As important as you having a fake boyfriend?”

She tapped a finger on her chin, considering her answer. “Equally.” The wind gusted again and she hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Can we go inside for a minute to finish this conversation? It’s weirdly freezing out here.”

“I think we can be done now. I’m not going to be your fake boyfriend. It’s a crap idea.”

“Can I see the greenhouse?” she asked, clearly undeterred.

Send her away, his mind warned, like a flashing danger sign.

Always a glutton for punishment, Gabe turned and opened the latch and led her through. The door snicked shut behind her, and he breathed in the scent of dirt and mulch, only now it was mixed with the faint smell of citrus. Would he ever be able to walk into this refuge again without it reminding him of Angi?

“Look at all of this,” she murmured in awe. At least the greenhouse distracted her from the ridiculous business of roping him into a pretend relationship.

“Why don’t you have more of these plants for sale in the shop?”

He shrugged. “My grandma wanted to concentrate on flowers. They were her happy place. I don’t want anything to take away from that.”

“But you’d be adding to the value the store brings to town, not detracting from it. To its reputation. It could be bigger, more. It could be amazing.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with amazing,” he said. Only with Angi. He might want to hate her and how she’d treated him when they were younger, but he couldn’t deny that his life felt better—more—when she was a part of it.

“You need me.” She nearly shouted the words, and Gabe couldn’t tell which one of them she was trying to convince. “I’ll help you make the shop magnificent.”

“Andrew has already done that.”

“I appreciate his effort, but you need more.” She nodded, as if warming to the idea.

Gabe opened his mouth to argue, and then she said, “Think of how happy it would make your grandmother.”

Talk about going for his soft underbelly.

“Why would it make her happy?” he asked slowly.

She turned to him, her dark eyes filled with an understanding that even he didn’t have. “It wasn’t just the fall and subsequent stroke that caused the struggle in the shop. Iris’s business had been slowing down for years, Gabe. She’d been slowing down. It’s part of why my dad brought lunch to her every week. He tried to keep her spirits bolstered.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “There were little hints as to that in the letters she wrote me while I was overseas, but mostly she supported me. I should have known or guessed.”

“You know now,” she said gently, “You’re here and you’re helping her. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I appreciate the pep talk.” He blew out a laugh. “Especially coming from you, but you aren’t going to change my mind, Ang. I can’t pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“Just until the new year,” she promised. “I’ll help you at the shop in return. We can do some cross-promotion between you and Mariella. She’s gaining a huge following. Beef up your online presence. There are all kinds of ways to improve sales at the shop.”

“Why should I care?” Gabe gently rubbed a leaf between two fingers. “If all of this goes to my mom, it shouldn’t matter to me.”

“You’re doing it for your grandmother. She’s getting better, and think of how happy it would make her to see the shop bustling again. Iris and my mom are a lot alike in that way.”

“Which is why you are burning the candle at both ends to help Emma with the inn while still running the restaurant? It’s too much, Ang. You’re going to wear yourself out.”

“Who says I’m worn-out?”

He lifted his arm and traced the pad of his thumb under her eye. “You need sleep.”

Once again, he was struck by her contradictions. Sassy mouth, sharp edges and the softest skin he’d ever felt.

“Did you just point out my dark circles?” She swatted his hand away. “Rude.”

“I pointed out that you’re doing too much.”

“Another great reason I want to avoid going out on the dates my mom is so determined to set up for me. I’m simplifying my life. Sparking joy and all that crap.”

“You’re not simple, Angi.”

“Just consider it, Gabe. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

He lifted a brow, and she snorted in response. “Down, boy. I mean by helping with the store.”

“The answer is no.”

She glared at him. “I hate that answer.”

“You have a million friends,” he reminded her. “More than most people, I know how hard you worked at being popular in Magnolia. Surely one of your buddies would be a better choice than me. Pick someone else, Angi. I’m not going to fake it with a person I wouldn’t even choose as a friend.”

Even as he spoke the words, he recognized how harsh they sounded. But he couldn’t help it. She’d been cruel to him at a time in his life when he was vulnerable. Yeah, he’d grown up and should move past that pettiness. But he wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

“Thanks for the reminder of why this was a horrible idea,” she said, cheeks once again flaming with color. “There’s a choir concert in the town square tomorrow night. You can come and start carrying your weight as far as this partnership goes. Just do us both a favor and stay out of my way.”

BYTHETIMEthe town square filled with people ready to sing along with popular holiday songs and carols, Angi felt dead on her feet. If Gabe had noticed she looked tired yesterday, she could only imagine what he’d think now.

No. She wouldn’t imagine because she didn’t care.

His opinion didn’t matter in the least, despite the fact that she’d stopped off at the local drugstore on her way into work to buy a new tube of concealer.

She’d stayed up far too late prepping a three-course dinner for the upcoming weekend reception at the inn and then tossed and turned as her mind spun with ideas for new menus and themes for future events Emma had booked. Events Angi would not be a part of because she was quitting her role as of the new year.

What else could she do?

She heard her name called across the faded green lawn in the center of town and turned to see her mother stalking toward her.

“That’s not good,” Emma, who was standing next to Angi, muttered. “I’ll see you later.”

“Chicken,” Angi said under her breath, and Emma let out a few whispered clucks as she hurried in the other direction.

“Are you trying to break my heart?” Bianca demanded, wagging a finger in Angi’s direction.

“No, Ma. Of course not. Emma and I were just visiting. We’re still friends, you know.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They were still friends, although moments earlier they’d been going over the timetable for next weekend. Guilt twinged along Angi’s spine, but she reminded herself the situation was temporary. She was giving up her dream job of owning her own catering company no matter how it made her heart hurt.

“Why is Il Rigatone serving ravioli instead of the signature sausage ball?” Bianca threw up her hands. “I could hardly make it to the booth with the line of people waiting for service, and they aren’t getting your father’s recipe. Angela. That recipe was his Christmas pride and joy. You know that.”

“There’s a line?” Angi looked over her mother’s shoulder but couldn’t see over the people waiting for the concert to begin. “We don’t usually get a line.”

“They’re waiting for your father’s favorites,” her mother insisted, but Angi knew that wasn’t the case. Yes, her father’s sausage balls were tasty, but they’d never been a unique draw at any of the local events where the restaurant served them. In contrast, she knew that her chicken and goat cheese deep-fried ravioli were mouthwateringly delicious and an easy food to take on the go.

She paired them with a drizzle of pesto aioli, and the staff had raved over them when she’d made a batch last week. Everyone from Dom to the longtime waitresses agreed that her ravioli was the right menu item to serve at the holiday events where regional food items would be available for purchase.

“Mom, this isn’t a slight on the sausage balls. We wanted to try something different, to change things up.”

“It’s not your decision.” Bianca crossed her arms over her chest. “You disrespect me and your father’s memory with your selfishness.”

“The restaurant isn’t making money,” Angi said as frustration bubbled up inside her.

When her mother glanced around wildly, Angi realized she’d nearly shouted the words and, of course, immediately regretted the outburst.

But she couldn’t take it back.

“I know you understand how bad it is,” she continued as she lowered her voice and drew closer.

“We’re fine,” her mom insisted. “A bit of a slowdown after your father passed away. But the town is turning around. Look at all these people. More visitors for every festival.”

“People who are in line for ravioli.”

Bianca’s glossy lips compressed. “You have to honor the tradition,” she said. “What are we without our tradition?”

“I miss him, too,” Angi said softly, understanding that her mother was talking about Angi’s father.

“Tradition,” her mother repeated in a soft voice. She blinked rapidly, and emotion clogged Angi’s throat.

“I’ll serve the sausage next time, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“People might like your food,” Bianca said. “But Il Rigatone was your father’s dream.”

“I know.”

Bianca reached out and wrapped her arms around Angi’s shoulders. The embrace felt more suffocating than comforting. “You’re a good girl, my sweet princess.” She released Angi and patted her on the cheek. “Your pesto had too much oil. I can show you how to fix that next time you want to make it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Angi said without bothering to look again toward the line at the restaurant’s booth. What was the point? Her mother waved at one of her friends and then left Angi alone. No need to discuss things further now that the guilt trip had been fully meted out.

Unfortunately, Angi wasn’t alone for long. Dabbing at the corner of one eye—it must be dust because she certainly wasn’t going to cry in the middle of the festival—she heard a loud whistle behind her. “Hey, RPC.”

“Swallow me, please,” she whispered, tapping her booted foot against the grass.

“Remember when we sneaked away from the Christmas parade they used to do down Main Street? It must have been seventh-grade year,” Brandon Mitchelson said, leading her former best friend, Sara Weathers, toward her.

Brandon had been the star center of the high school basketball team, and she’d had an enormous crush on him for most of middle school. Mostly he acknowledged her to get free food. Once she lost weight and grew breasts, he’d tried to get lucky in the empty school gymnasium after homecoming. His breath had smelled like stale beer and cheese puffs.

“I remember.” Sara nodded, her blond hair shimmering under the twinkle lights strewn around the square. It killed Angi that she’d ever thought this grown-up mean girl was her friend. “When Ang ate her weight in cheesecake in the back of her dad’s restaurant.”

Brandon laughed like Sara had told the funniest joke on the planet. They’d married right after high school, their son only a couple of years older than Andrew. Not once had any of them gotten together socially since Angi had returned to town, and she planned to keep it that way. “The cannoli princess was the master of shoveling it in.”

Angi rolled her eyes. “Don’t go there, you guys. Come on.”

“It’s all fun and games,” Sara said. “By the way, your mom came into the salon the other day and spilled the beans that you were going on a date with Artie.”

“No way.” Now Brandon laughed so hard he started wheezing. “No way would RPC go out with that loser.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Artie. He’s a decent human being, which is more than I can say for some people.” She narrowed her eyes at Brandon. “And enough with the nickname. It was obnoxious when we were kids. It’s offensive now.” Of course, she hadn’t had the greatest time with Artie. She didn’t think of him as more than a friend, and even that was a stretch.

“Roly Poly Cannoli and Artie Caferno.” Sara scoffed. “Come on, Ang. Even you haven’t sunk that low.”

Angi blew out a breath as her temper spiked. How could she have been friends with people like this? In truth, she’d worked her butt off in high school to worm her way into the popular clique. Sara had been the undisputed queen bee of their grade. Angi had literally worked her butt off, losing nearly thirty pounds between freshman and sophomore year so that she could finally try out for the cheerleading squad.

And she’d done it. Just like some retro teenybopper movie, she’d made herself into what the cool kids wanted her to be. She’d dated a guy on the football team and been nominated to homecoming court. Everything she’d thought she wanted.

She’d lost other things in the process, including her special summer friendship with Gabe Carlyle. Now she realized what a bad judge of character she’d been. When she’d returned to Magnolia, her old friends had wanted very little to do with her and the feeling was mutual.

In many respects, she was as much a misfit now as her son. Or as she used to be. But there was a difference. She’d stopped giving a damn about the so-called popular cliques and their indiscriminate judgment.

“Artie is a great guy. He’s smart and funny, and the woman who ends up with him is going to be lucky. It’s just not me.”

“It’s embarrassing, Angi.” Sara scrunched up her pert little nose and gave a mock shudder. “Even for a woman in your situation.”

Angi opened her mouth to offer some brilliant retort. Instead, the backs of her eyes stung with the telltale sign of potential tears. She could not let these jerks from her teenage years reduce her to tears. But it wasn’t just them and their petty cruelty. It was the guilt her mom dispensed like holy water on a Sunday morning in church mixed with the cold splash of disappointment at the way her life was unfolding, worry over Andrew and plain old exhaustion.

Her gaze caught on Sara’s, and her former best friend’s crystal-blue eyes took on a sharp glint, like a shark that smelled blood in the water and was primed for the kill.

The worst part was Angi saw it coming and couldn’t get out of the way. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. It was as if she’d been worn down to such a nub that not even her self-preservation instinct would kick in.

Then a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and she was pulled close into the warmth and heat of Gabe’s strong chest. “It’s time,” he said, seemingly talking to her but keeping his gaze on Sara. “I know we agreed to keep this on the down-low, sweetheart...” He placed a gentle kiss on Angi’s temple, just where a headache was beginning to pulse. “But it’s Christmastime and I’m sure your friends will be happy for you.”

“They aren’t my friends,” she muttered.

He chuckled at that, low and slow, the vibration of it reverberating through her.

“Wait a minute.” Sara stepped forward. “You two aren’t a couple.”

Duh, Angi wanted to blurt out. Gabe might kiss her like a man possessed, but with their history she knew nothing would come of it. She just couldn’t figure out why he was at her side now, but before she could agree with Sara, Gabe answered.

“It’s new.” He said it like that was the most normal thing in the world to say. “We’re both busy and private. No need to give the gossips around town with nothing better to do something to talk about.”

Sara frowned, as if she wasn’t sure whether he was talking about her as one of the town gossips.

“You two should meet us over at Champions later for drinks and a round of pool,” Brandon suggested. Angi hadn’t been to either of Magnolia’s local bars since she’d needed a fake ID to get in. “It’ll be like a regular seventh-grade summer reunion.”

Seventh-grade summer, when Brandon had pushed Gabe into the dirt or off his bike every chance he got. When Angi had been too embarrassed to go to the pool or the beach because she’d developed breasts and hips and dimples on the backs of her plump thighs. The summer when she and Gabe had watched movies at his grandma’s house during the heat of the day and taken long walks on the beach at sunset, talking about everything and nothing.

Those were the memories she wanted to focus on. The sweet ones, not what came after.

If Gabe thought it was strange to so casually be invited to hang out with his former nemesis, he didn’t show it. Not outwardly, although Angi felt the slightest ripple of tension cascade through him.

“We have plans for later,” Gabe said with another kiss to her head. The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them gave a different message. One that made goose bumps erupt along her skin. “We’re not exactly advertising what’s going on between us,” he told the couple. “Appreciate if you don’t spread the word.”

Brandon and Sara both nodded, although Angi noticed the other woman’s hand dip into the pocket of her leather jacket like she was already reaching for her phone.

The music cued up, and they all glanced toward the stage. “The concert is about to start,” Angi said, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“Catch you later, RPC,” Brandon said with a wave, and led away his wife.

“What’s the RPC about?” Gabe asked, immediately releasing her.

She stood there for a second, too stunned to move. “Roly Poly Cannoli,” she told him, then immediately wished she hadn’t. It was a horrible nickname, left over from a childhood of being plump and having a sweet tooth.

“Jackass,” Gabe muttered.

“What was that?” she demanded as emotions rushed through her. “You kissed me. You told them we were dating. You know that asking those two to keep quiet is like posting the whole thing on social media. This whatever—” she flicked a hand between the two of them “—is going to go viral in minutes.”

The choir started singing the first stanza of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” but Angi couldn’t even appreciate the way the crowd enthusiastically sang along.

“I know.” Gabe shrugged and turned toward the stage. “That’s the point.”

“You said no.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t do that,” she whispered.

“Break up with me,” he countered.

She let out a groan.

“I thought this was what you wanted.”

“Yes, but...” How could she explain that what had seemed straightforward in theory was so different in practice? That when she’d come up with the brilliant plan for him to be her fake boyfriend, she hadn’t considered how it would feel to be close to him, her body not paying one bit of attention to the fact that it was a charade. “Why?”

He continued to watch the concert for a few more seconds before turning to her. “I saw my grandma earlier today. She was crying, which the nurse told me is normal around this time of year for people in her condition. She seemed confused and upset, and kept talking about going to work and taking care of her business.” The stark pain in his gaze gutted Angi. “You said you’d help with the shop, to get it back to what it once was. I need that. Gran needs that, or at least I need to give it to her.”

Angi nodded. “Okay.” She wasn’t going to push him for more. They were both too close to the edge. A pretend boyfriend was what she wanted, and with Gabe she knew things wouldn’t get confusing.

She closed her eyes for a moment. That was a lie because everything about this man befuddled her. But it was only until the new year, and he’d certainly distract her mom so Angi could also spend time at the inn.

“Okay,” he repeated without glancing at her. Then her new boyfriend turned and walked away.