Page 24 of Mistletoe All the Way

“I leave tomorrow.” I give her a smirk. “Will you miss me?”

“Every second of every day.”

“I thought so.”

“And while I’m missing you, can you take some photos of yourself at the kickoff event for the campaign?”

I groan. “I hate selfies.”

“Put Rusty in them. Selfies with dogs do better anyway. We can put that on socials to prime the pump.”

Sounds dreadful. Every single bit of it. “I don’t have socials.”

She waves a hand airily, then stops right outside a hut labeled SANTA’S GROTTO. “Look at that line. I’ve never seen a line so long,” she says.

I harrumph as Rusty and I turn to check out the line of kids and parents queued up to sit on the man in red’s lap.

“Oh, what a cute puppy!”

I snap my gaze around, scanning for the dog she’s spotted, but instead I’m looking right at Eloise, who’s lifted her phone and is snapping pic after pic of me.

I tilt my head. “Are you kidding me? You tricked me again.”

Her smile spreads from sea to shining sea as she lowers the camera. “All’s fair in love and Christmas contests.” Then she slides next to me, showing me the pics of Rusty and me, my eyes wide and excited, like I’m eager to see St. Nick.

With a gleam of triumph, she switches over to her social media app, then with the speed of a cheetah, she uploads the photos, and says, “There.”

“There what?” I ask, my hackles raised.

“I uploaded it to your social,” she says, then shows me a feed named the Cowboy Vet.

And the profile pic is me at the diner.

“Look, was it sneaky? Maybe,” she says, repeating my words from earlier back to me.

The thing is—she wears sneaky well.

But also, this feed looks good. I can see where she’s going with it. How it might help me convince Gramps I can handle not only the horses but also the holiday spirit of the farm. And how it might help her to prove her marketing mettle. With all she’s doing for me, I should do my part. “Fine. I’ll take some selfies with Rusty back home. But you’ll see him when I return. He joins me on every road trip.”

“You never fly here?”

“Not with Rusty. He hates flying.”

“You drive for him?”

“I do. But I also prefer the solitude.”

“Of course you do.”

“Watch out. You just might get to know me.”

“But will I like you is the question,” she says, then flashes me one of those magnetic grins again. She’s all teeth and charm and shiny hair, and a fierce, don’t-mess-with-me attitude that has me agreeing to whatever she wants.

Photos, chestnuts, Christmas market—there’s no telling what she’ll convince me to do next.

9 SOMETHING BIG

Eloise