Page 4 of A Mistletoe Mix Up
I place another book back on the shelf. “I’m happy for you and Andrew, truly I am. But not all of us have the luxury. Some of us need to guard our hearts.”
She laughs softly. She’s heard this from me a million times before. “You can’t guard it forever, T. At some point, you’ll have to let someone in.” She walks away toward the back room.
I know she means well. But letting someone in? Being vulnerable? The thought sends an uneasy shiver down my spine. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the feeling and continue working.
The book in my hand is a used copy ofEmmaby Jane Austen. I trace my fingers over the embossed title, a sigh escaping my lips. Classic romances—it’s beautiful in books, but in real life, I don’t think it’s for me.
I tuckEmmaback in its place and continue working. Hours later, I’ve finished decorating the children’s area. Last year, Jane added a faux fireplace with a speaker near it that played crackling fire sounds. We decided on brighter colors this year, with pink and teal ornaments hanging from the ceiling and tinsel strewn across the top of the bookshelves. The rug features brightly colored nutcrackers and poinsettia flowers. It’s very lively and fun, just like the kids.
“Janey! We’re here!” Jane’s grandmother, Nonna, comes in with her hands in the air.
She’s sporting a baby blue sweater with a snowman and bold, glittery buttons that shimmer in the shop lights. Behind her is Jane’s mother, Greta, wearing a bright-green sweater with a large, knitted Rudolph complete with a jingling bell on his nose.
“Mom! Nonna!” Jane rushes over to them, pulling them both into a hug. “You’re a little early with the ugly sweaters. We usually wait until Christmas.”
“What fun is it to decorate for Christmas without dressing festive?” Greta pats a shopping bag. “And we brought you ladies some, too.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to, Mrs. Brooks.”
Jane told me about this tradition. Every Christmas Day, the Brooks family dons the most outrageous sweaters they can find for their annual photo. Last year’s picture featured Andrewlooking partially mortified in a sweater with a gingerbread man in handcuffs—very fitting since he’s a detective.
“Of course, we do! You’re part of our Timeless Tales family, too.” Greta leans closer to me and whispers, “Plus, we found them on clearance.”
Nonna pulls out two sweaters from the large bag. One is bright red with a Christmas tree made out of tinsel with dangling mini ornaments that jingle with every movement. The other is forest green with a family of penguins wearing sunglasses amid a blizzard of white pom-poms. There’s no mystery why they were discounted—the store probably considered paying people to take them.
“Who gets which?” Jane asks, taking in the sweaters.
“The green one’s for Tandy.” Greta grins. “It’ll make that gorgeous red hair of yours pop.”
I run my fingers over the surprisingly soft fabric. “You’re just saying that so I’ll actually wear this thing.”
“And red for you, Jane. It’ll match your rosy cheeks when Andrew comes by.” Nonna winks at Jane, and we all giggle.
Jane nudges me. “C’mon, Tandy. We can’t let them show us up.”
I pull the sweater over my dress as Jane does the same. She twirls around, arms outstretched, making the mini ornaments jingle with every move.
“Shake them bells!” Nonna shimmies, making the snowmen on her sweater dance.
Greta joins in, causing Rudolph’s bell nose to ring. I shake my shoulders and make the pom-poms on my sweater bounce. We laugh together, the sound filling the bookstore.
“Shhh. This is the good part!” comes a small voice from the children’s section.
We stifle our giggles, dancing more quietly now.
Jane pulls out her phone for a picture. “Everyone, smile!”
She flips the screen around, our eyes meet, and we dissolve into hysterics.
“We look like deranged elves.” I gasp, clutching my cramping side from all the laughter.
“Complete nutcrackers.” Jane’s face now matches her red sweater.
Greta wipes her eyes. “We do look a little crazy, don’t we?”
“Or just perfectly attired for decking out the bookstore,” Nonna adds, gathering us into a group hug that jingles all our embellishments at once. “Alright, let’s get to work!”
A few hours later, the bookstore looks magical. Tinsel catches light, ornaments gleam on the Christmas trees, and more decorations than we probably need are strewn across the bookstore. There’s something about Christmastime here in Oakridge Hollow. It truly is magical. But it may be my last.
