Page 5 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
“Touch your phone and I’m throwing it in the river.”
“Worth it.”
We pile into the truck, Declan in the back seat still cuffed, me in the passenger seat radiating anger, Kane driving and barely containing his glee, and Noel in the back with our prisoner, probably already planning how to use this against me for the rest of my natural life.
The truck rumbles to life, heat blasting, and Kane pulls onto Main Street, heading for the sheriff’s station on the south edge of town.
“You’re really doing this,” Noel says after a minute of blessed silence.
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously. You. Wearing a Santa suit. This is actually happening.”
“I swear to God?—”
“Already texted Adelaide,” Kane announces, thumbs flying across his phone screen while somehow still driving. “Your sister’s going to lose her mind when she hears about this.”
“If you tell anyone?—”
“Too late. Already told everyone. This is going in the group chat. This is going in the Christmas card this year. This is going on your gravestone.”
Noel leans forward between the seats. “For what it’s worth, you’re going to traumatize any kids there. Your face isn’t exactly jolly.”
I growl under my breath.
Kane is still laughing, the sound filling the truck cab. “Ho ho ho, motherfucker. Welcome to your nightmare.”
I flip him off with both hands and stare out the window at the snow-covered streets of Whispering Grove, wondering how the hell my afternoon went from tracking down a wanted criminal to agreeing to wear a Santa suit.
“I’d better get really good brownies for this,” I mutter.
“Free brownies for a year,” Kane points out. “That’s like, what, at least three to four hundred brownies? More?”
“Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
2
HANNAH
The Winter Party is perfect.
And I meanperfectin that terrifying way where you’ve orchestrated every single detail and now you’re just waiting to see which one decides to betray you first.
Pinewood Lodge sits on the north edge of Whispering Grove, all exposed timber beams and stone, the kind of venue that photographers love and costs accordingly. I’ve transformed it into something out of a winter fairy tale with thousands of white lights strung across the ceiling in cascading waves, creating the illusion of stars. Garland wrapped around every beam, threaded with burgundy ribbon and silver ornaments that catch the light. The large stone fireplace on the east wall crackles with fire, stockings hung along the mantel, flames casting warm shadows across the space.
The twelve-foot Douglas fir dominates the north corner. I personally supervised the tree’s installation, made sure it was positioned exactly right so it’s visible from every angle. Morelights, more ornaments, a gold star on top that required a very tall ladder and a prayer that I wouldn’t fall to my death.
Near the tree, a string quartet plays something classical and festive.
The venue is split between function and mingling. Half the space is filled with round tables—seating for thirty families—with white tablecloths and centerpieces made of pine cones, candles, and winter greenery. The other half is standing cocktail tables scattered throughout, tall and circular, perfect for guests to gather around with drinks and appetizers. Right now people are everywhere.
On the far wall, a projection screen cycles through company photos. Team-building exercises. Office parties. Summer picnic. Cascade Tech employees looking happy and productive, the kind of corporate nostalgia that reminds everyone why they’re here.
This event is everything I promised it would be.
Six months. That’s how long I’ve been working for Confetti & Meatballs Event Planning, building this partnership with Scot Giordano, proving myself to his uncle Giuseppe, the man who owns the company outright and has the power to sell it to us if he decides we’re worth the investment.
Scot’s family started this business twenty years ago. His mother’s side, Italian heritage and a dream to create magical events for their community. It grew from there, became the premier event-planning company in the mountain region. A roster of clients that reads like a who’s who of the area, revenue that makes my baker’s salary look like pocket change.
