Page 29 of A Pack of Mistletoe
And as we drive toward the glow of town lights, I swear I can still taste the cherry glaze on my tongue… and the heat of every alpha watching me.
Evander
This magical little town might be my new favorite place in the entire world.
It’s a full-blown explosion of Christmas cheer for the massive, ridiculous tree-lighting ceremony. Lights twinkle everywhere, casting soft halos in the early twilight. Vintage carols drift from speakers on the lampposts, vendors hawk all the Christmas essentials, and the smell of roasted chestnuts and pine curls through the icy air. Several people are even dressed as elves with pointy hats, curly-toed slippers, and jingling bells that chime with every step.
It’s perfect. Completely, utterly perfect.
I turn and, as expected, Logan’s scowling at everything like it personally offends him.
What Idon’texpect is for Rose to be mirroring his expression. Her nose is pink from the cold, her brows drawn together as she stares at the crowd like she’s not sure what to do with all this joy. She looks… lost.
We’re strolling along the main street, passing booths lined with hot cocoa, cookies, and ornaments. Wyatt and Kai are admiring a display of handmade wreaths. Harlan’s busy glowering at the not-so-subtle photographers shadowing us.
I decide to make their job easier and give us the photos we need.
With a flourish worthy of a Hallmark movie, I saunter over to Rose and drape an arm around her shoulders. She startles, blinking up at me. Then she spots the reporters and pastes on a smile. It’s a lovely smile, practiced and polite. Not the real one that makes her eyes crinkle and her curls bounce. And for some reason, that hurts a little.
I like Candy with all her sharp little barbs, those wide brown eyes, and that halo of wild curls. I like the real her, not the version that has to pose for cameras.
Knowing this is all pretend leaves an unexpected pit in my chest, right where the holiday cheer should be.
“What’s the matter, Candy girl? You look like you’ve just swallowed a chunk of coal.”
She glances around, eyes darting over all the lights, the music, the people. “I don’t know. Christmas just never feels as important as people make it out to be. I’ve never had those giddy, excited feelings about the holiday. It all just seems like… a bit much.”
She shrugs, and a suspicion crawls up my spine.
“So you grew up and decided to become a humbug?”
She swats at me. “I’m not a humbug. And no, even when I was a kid it didn’t feel fun. My family wasn’t really into it, so I guess I just never was either.”
I frown down at her, studying her face until she notices.
“What’s that look for?” she asks, a defensive edge to her tone.
I thread my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. To anyone watching, it’s intimate, me playing the part of her doting alpha. But it’s also selfish. I just want to touch her.
“Just wondering why I’m always so attracted to Scrooges,” I murmur.
A reluctant smile curves her lips, softening the tension in her shoulders. And for a heartbeat, I swear the faintest scent of peppermint—cool and creamy—curls through the air. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Strange.
“It’s official,” I declare, catching her hand and tugging her gently toward a stall overflowing with sparkly handmade Christmas decorations.
“What’s official?” she asks, glancing around like the glitter might attack her.
“My new mission this Christmas is to make sure that, by the end, you feel that holly-jolly holiday spirit.”
Her eyes widen, but then she laughs. It's a soft, surprised sound that slides straight into my chest and warms everything inside it.
“Good luck with that,” she sighs.
“First things first.” I gesture toward the ornaments. “Pick a decoration. My bet is you don’t have a single one in that house.”
She doesn’t correct me. She just looks around like she has no idea what to do.
