Page 1 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Chapter One

“When I grow up and get married, I’m living alone.”

—Home Alone

Thank God for Christmas movies.

Beautiful, cheesy, blissfully predictable Christmas movies.

There was no better fix for holiday burnout, or, in my case, day-to-day burnout.

Most of my friends were lucky if they got to see their relatives once a year, but when your entire family lived in the same town like mine did, it became, well, a lot.

It wasn’t that our Mancini family gatherings had gotten more outlandish—although Uncle Rick’s attempt at spatchcocking the turkey this year and Nona screaming “You’re murdering it!” will definitely go down as one of the funniest moments I had ever witnessed.

It was more that I couldn’t bounce back from it as quickly as I used to.

I didn’t stand and sneer at them Grinch-style, but I did relate to his feelings about the constant noise of it all.

At least he had a literal mountain cave retreat.

Me?

I had an oversize beanbag and cheap noise-canceling Bluetooth headphones.

Had my phone buzzed a few times since I started Meet Me in St. Louis an hour and a half ago?

Yep.

Would I answer those messages right now?

Nope.

The only thing that mattered was me and my girl Esther wondering if she should allow John to kiss her.

Sadly, not as relatable for me as the Grinch’s sensory disorder.

I didn’t earn the nickname “Steadfast G” by spending my time thinking about my next kiss (not that I’ve ever had anyone really pursue me anyway). It’s hard to think about kissing when your family watches your every move and keeps you busy twenty-four seven.

And now that we were officially entering the Christmas season?

Forget about it.

Mistletoe never mattered to the Mancinis—except when Nona was on a mission to hook up my mom with someone in town. But when it came to relationships, my mother and I were definitely two pine cones from the same tree. Don’t date anyone in Mullings Creek unless you want the entire family involved.

My phone buzzed again, and this time I allowed myself to look down at the screen.

Two missed texts from Jo. One from Sam. One from my cousin Nico. A calendar reminder alert, and a Gmail notification from the Adventure Italy Academy.

The Adventure Italy Academy?!

I sat up quickly, hit pause on my laptop, and then took in a deep breath through my nose, filling my belly the way my little brother Leo taught me, before exhaling through my mouth.

I had applied to the Adventure Italy Academy months ago on a whim, thinking it would be the perfect way to end my senior year of high school. I could immerse myself in the language while visiting all the places Nona and Papa—before he passed—spoke about. And I’d be doing it alone.

No Aunt Helen breathing down my neck, analyzing every color I wore.

No Nona telling me to “eat more” even though I always ate all day every day.