One

Emmy Banks hummed along to a cheery Christmas carol playing through the speakers as she hung a third sprig of mistletoe over

the doorway of her antique shop, Mistletoe Antiques. She clasped her hands together and tilted her head. "Maybe one more—"

"Three isn't enough, Mom?"

She glanced at Carina, who was standing behind a glass display case that doubled as a checkout counter. "There's never enough

mistletoe in Mistletoe, Missouri," Emmy told her daughter.

Carina groaned. But she was smiling, her plum lipstick contrasting beautifully with her mahogany skin. She started unpacking

a box of old books that had been dropped off earlier that morning. Emmy joined her, turning up the volume on her phone. Another

Christmas hymn sang through the three Bluetooth speakers strategically placed around Emmy's shop.

"Christmas carols too?" Carina asked.

"It's December 1! Most places have been playing carols since before Thanksgiving." Emmy slipped on her purple glasses with

sparkly rhinestones on the arms, and picked up the pile of receipts next to the cash register. Just because she needed reading

glasses at forty-one years old, those glasses didn't have to be boring, and she had several pairs in different colors and

styles. "When did you become a scrooge, Carina?"

"I'm not a scrooge." She pulled out a worn book with a brown frayed cover and brushed off the dust. "But by the time the Christmas season is in full swing, I'm a little tired of hearing the music."

Emmy never was. She wouldn't mind listening to Christmas carols and enjoying holiday decorations year-round. In fact, she

had a fully adorned fake tree in her apartment living room that she meant to take down two years ago, but she kept it displayed

because it was so festive. Dusting the tree was a pain, but worth it. During the summer, she even organized holiday movie

watch parties in the small café in the back of the store—one movie every Thursday night. She also sold quite a few early Christmas

gifts on those nights.

"Don't forget, we're decorating the store tomorrow night after we close," she said to Carina.

Her daughter winced. "Sorry, Mom. I've got a date."

Emmy peered at her over her glasses. "With Jeremy?"

Carina smiled shyly. "Yes. We're going bowling."

"How romantic ." Emmy snickered and grabbed her accounting ledger and calculator. Ever since they opened the shop five years ago, Carina

had tried to convince her to computerize the records. Emmy refused. She enjoyed the physical action of entering numbers on

paper and tabulating them with her slim Sinclair Cambridge, a vintage calculator from the seventies she'd picked up at one

of the many estate sales she loved to frequent.

Carina scoffed. "I think bowling is very romantic."

"But you're a terrible bowler," Emmy pointed out. "And I mean that in the best way."

"Oh, I'm awful, all right. But Jeremy doesn't know that." She sighed, hugging the book to her chest. "And when he finds out,

he'll have to give me personal coaching."

Laughing, Emmy slid past Carina. "Just don't let him get too personal ."

"Mom," Carina said, rolling her eyes. "I'm twenty-one years old. I can handle myself."

Emmy kissed her daughter's cheek. "I know you can. I should probably tell Jeremy to watch out."

Carina gave her a good-natured grin and looked at the front of the book. "Marshall Blankenship?"

"Author or title?" Emmy snatched a pencil off the counter and tucked it behind her ear.

"Author."

"Doesn't ring a bell," she said. "You'll have to look him up. I'll be in the café if you need me."

"Oh wait," Carina said, pulling out her phone. "We need today's selfie."

Emmy put her arm around Carina and pressed her cheek against her daughter's as Carina held up the camera and they both smiled.

For a split second Emmy saw their images on the phone screen—her own fair skin and short, straight blond hair a stark contrast

to Carina's dark complexion and short braids.

"Perfect!" Carina tapped on the screen to post the image on their social media platforms. Then she held out the phone to Emmy

to show her the pic. "You look so cute, Mom."

"And you're gorgeous. I really should talk to Jeremy—"

" Mom ," Carina warned.

"Just kidding." Emmy chuckled as she made her way down an aisle consisting mostly of décor items—baskets, metal signs, small

lamps, and miscellaneous bric-a-brac—to the café area. There was a self-serve coffee and hot chocolate station on a long counter,

along with snacks, all available for a voluntary donation. Near the station were several shelves of classic books, along with

a few vintage volumes. Last year Emmy had set up the small book section, and she had started taking orders for both old and

new books a few months ago. She set her things on one of the four round, blond oak wooden tables and fixed herself a cup of

cinnamon hot chocolate.

As she toggled the hot water carafe and placed her cup under the spout, an unexpected memory surfaced. Or rather, a person—her ex-boyfriend, Josh Whitfield. When they had started working together to bring Mistletoe Antiques to fruition, he had been against the idea of providing refreshments on the honor system, insisting no one would put money in the kitty for plain coffee and a cookie or pastry.

"Maybe not in the big city of St. Louis," Emmy had said, getting in a friendly dig at his hometown. "But things are different

in Mistletoe." She brushed his carrot-colored bangs to the side and put her arms around his neck. "Trust me," she whispered.

"Everyone will pay their fair share."

He drew her close. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

"Yes." She started to smile but saw a flash of doubt in his sea-blue eyes. Their grand opening was the next day, and even

though they were still bringing in antiques to sell, she was certain they had enough inventory to open their doors. But this

was her dream, not his, even though he'd supported it 100 percent... or at least he seemed to. "It's what you want, right?"

"Right," he said. Maybe a bit too quickly. Then he kissed her, and for several lingering moments of bliss, she forgot where

she was.

And that had been her weakness—whenever she saw a red flag with Josh, he'd seemed to know what she was thinking. He would

distract her with loving words, searing kisses, and promises of their future together. But none of it was true. Two weeks

after the shop opened, he'd skipped town with most of her money and all of her dignity.

Hot water stung her hand and dragged her out of her reverie. She quickly let go of the toggle. The cup had overflowed, and

she cleaned up the mess, salvaged what she could of her hot chocolate, and sat down at the table. Better to think about accounting

than her catastrophic love life.

For the next hour she sipped hot chocolate, crunched numbers, and balanced her ledger. Due to hard work and careful spending, she'd recouped some of what Josh had taken from her, but there wasn't much room for margin. Most months there wasn't any margin at all.

She finished calculating the last of the receipts when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and saw Sheryl Covington's

name pop up. Emmy quickly answered it. "Hey," she said to her childhood friend and part-time employee, although Sheryl worked

more for her love of antiques and people than for money. Her husband, Ben, made a comfortable living as an architect. "How's

Cancún?"

"Tropical paradise. Not a snowflake in sight."

Emmy couldn't imagine Christmas without snow. "No mistletoe either?"

"Oh, there's plenty of that, along with Christmas lights on palm trees. They even have little green and red umbrellas in the

fruity drinks. Very festive. I can't believe today is our last day. We've had an amazing vacation."

"Uh-huh." Emmy glanced at her pitiful bottom line. She wouldn't be taking a vacation anytime soon.

"Uh-oh," Sheryl said.

"Uh-oh, what?"

"You're balancing the books, aren't you? I still think you should take Josh to court for stealing your money."

Emmy scowled. Not this again. "If I did, I'd have to admit to the world I have awful taste in men."

"No, you're just too kindhearted. And Josh is a grade A jerk."

"It's not so bad. I'll earn everything back... in five or six years."

"But—"

"I'll be fine, Sheryl. Don't worry about me or the shop."

"You're my best friend," she said, speaking over her rowdy kids in the background. "I can't help but worry. But I do love

your positive attitude."

Emmy smiled at the compliment. She was an eternal optimist, and that had helped her through some rough times, including Josh's deception and desertion.

"Boys," Sheryl said sternly to her children. "Settle down, or we're going back to the hotel room." After they quickly quieted,

she said, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"I've been trying to get ahold of the rental place so I can reserve tables and chairs. We keep missing each other. Do you

mind taking care of that?"

"Not at all."

"Thank you." Sheryl's voice was heavy with relief. "That's one thing off my list, but I'm sure I'll add ten others later.

It's going to be a challenge keeping Mom's surprise party a secret from her for two weeks. I still can't believe she's turning

seventy."

"We all know Maggie is twenty-five at heart. Have you heard from Kieran yet?"

"My one and only brother who hasn't stepped foot in Mistletoe since he graduated? Of course not. I don't expect him to show

up now. Oh, he sure does promise to, but something always comes up."

Emmy didn't miss the bitterness in her voice.

"Ben's waving me over. It's snorkel time. Gotta run, er, swim . Thanks again, Emmy. See you Thursday."

Smiling, Emmy shut off her phone. She and Carina were the shop's only full-time employees, and Sheryl typically worked one

or two days a week. December was their busiest month of the year, and when Sheryl returned, she would work four days a week

until Christmas.

Business was slow today, but it was Monday, and everyone was getting back into the groove of life after Thanksgiving and Black Friday shopping. It wouldn't be long before things picked up again, especially after Jingle Fest next Saturday. The annual Christmas fes tival was in the larger town of Bird Valley about twenty minutes away from Mistletoe. Every year Emmy looked forward to the festival and took the opportunity to pass out 10 percent off coupons to her shop. She'd learned never to let a business opportunity go to waste.

She closed her ledger and shoved her pencil behind her ear, gathered up her paperwork and calculator, and went to the front

counter. Two customers were browsing the aisles of antiques while Carina was helping another customer in the vintage book

section of the shop. As Emmy knelt and tucked her accounting materials into a lockbox, she heard the bell above the front

door jingle. She shoved the box on the shelf underneath the counter and stood as Cal, the postman, dropped off a package and

a short stack of mail on the counter.

"Mornin', Emmy." Cal adjusted his mailbag over his shoulder, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. "How are you doing today?"

"Can't complain." She smiled and swiftly went through the envelopes. Two were bills she could deal with later, and the rest

was junk mail she would shred and add to the large bag of shredded paper upstairs in her apartment. Once it was full, she

would take the bag to the Mistletoe Animal Shelter. "Help yourself to some coffee," she said, setting down the mail and moving

the package closer to her.

"Thanks, Emmy, but I gotta run. You know how it is during the holidays. Got a lot of Christmas cards to deliver." He nodded

at her and disappeared out the door.

Emmy waved as Cal passed by the picture window, then checked the return address on the package. Oh good, the ornaments had

arrived. She glanced at Carina, who was talking to Mrs. Beasley a few feet away, her back to her mother. Emmy grabbed the

package and crouched down again, eagerly opening it.

She'd ordered several sets of wooden heart-shaped ornaments to sell at the shop, with classic book titles printed on them, along with three specialty ornaments that were decorated like Fabergé eggs for Carina, Sheryl, and Sheryl's mother, Maggie. She'd already sent her parents their present—a small photo album filled with pictures of her, Carina, and her parents' friends in Mistletoe, along with a written recap of the year. She had started creating the yearly photo album when her mother and father had moved to Tampa ten years ago, although they usually returned to Mistletoe at least once every other year.

Her grin faded as she pulled out the ornaments. The books were so tiny, she could barely read the titles on them. Definitely

not what was advertised. And when she saw the Fabergé-inspired ones, her heart sank. All three were broken.

Emmy shut the box and checked her email receipt from the company on her cell. Fortunately, they had a return policy. She pressed

the tape back onto the box and stood. "I'm running to the post office for a minute," she said to Carina as she put on her

coat and gloves, grabbed the defective merchandise, and left the shop.

Crisp Ozark Mountain air chilled her cheeks as she stopped in front of the building next door to hers. The For Sale sign was

still in the window and had been for the past six years. It was the only empty building on Chestnut Lane, Mistletoe's main

downtown street.

She stared at the sign. Now that Mistletoe Antiques had been in business for a few years, she wanted to follow her other dream—to

open a real café. Mistletoe hadn't had a coffee shop since Sips and Such on the next street over had closed its doors two

years ago. This building would be perfect, but she didn't have the funds. I would, if Josh hadn't...

Shaking her head, she frowned. Bad enough she'd thought about him once today. Twice was too much. She spun around—and knocked

into what felt like a solid wall.

"Whoa, lass."

"I'm sor—" Emmy's jaw dropped. In front of her was the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. Thick midnight-black hair, deep-set brown eyes, salt-and-pepper whiskers... sigh . And was that an Irish accent she'd heard? Her stomach wigwagged. That was the only way she could define the odd sensation.

It wasn't a flutter. Or a flitter. Weird. She hadn't experienced a wigwag since... no. It couldn't be—

"Emmy?" he said, dropping his hands and taking a step back, surprise on his face. "Emmy Banks?"

"Kieran?"

He grinned and held out his arms.

***

When Emmy didn't make a move to hug him, Kieran O'Neill wondered if he was being too familiar. After all, he hadn't seen her

since he left Mistletoe right after high school. She'd been a cute girl back then with her heart-shaped face, long, wavy blond

hair, and malachite-green eyes. Now it was cut in a short pixie style that really suited her.

Then he realized she was carrying a box and couldn't hug him even if she wanted to. "Can I help you with that?"

She glanced at the box. "It's not too heavy. I was just taking it to the post office."

"Headin' that way myself." He reached for the box. "Let me give you a hand."

Emmy hesitated, then gave him the package. She was right; it was fairly light. Still, he couldn't abide her carrying it while

his hands were empty.

"Thanks," she said as they walked in step down the sidewalk. "I was just talking to Sheryl. She said you weren't coming home."

"She doesn't know I'm here. I decided to surprise her and Mum. Can't miss her seventieth birthday celebration." Especially since he missed the fiftieth and sixtieth ones, and he felt plenty of guilt over those.

"Did you know Sheryl's in Cancún?"

He nodded. "From her Instagram, it looks like they're having a great time."

"She'll be so glad to see you." Emmy put her hands in her pockets. "She's always showing me pictures of your adventures. Have

you finished renovating the castle?"

"Aye."

Emmy glanced at him. "Nice Irish accent."

"Twenty-four years in Ireland will do that to a lad."

"I do detect some southern drawl mixed in." She grinned. "It makes you sound a little exotic."

"That would be a wee bit exotic, lass." He chuckled as her smile widened and they continued walking. He glanced down at her again. He wasn't all

that tall, about five eight, but she barely reached his shoulder. "Anyway, back to the castle. Took me over fifteen years,

but it's finally done."

"Wow. I didn't realize you'd owned it that long," she said. "What's it like, living in a castle?"

He tapped his fingers against the box. "Well, for fourteen and a half years it was unlivable. The six months I did live there...

let's just say it wasn't exactly cozy. So I sold it."

Her head jerked toward him. "Why? It's been in your family for four hundred years."

"Four hundred and fifty, to be exact, although it's changed hands over the last thirty." Kieran shrugged. "Turned out there

was a reason the O'Neills didn't want it. Living in a castle isn't practical, and it's expensive. When I got an offer from

a hotel chain, I didn't hesitate to sell."

She sidestepped an uneven crack in the sidewalk. "But you put so much time and effort into it."

"And money." A whole lot of money, even though he did much of the work himself, which was why it had taken him so long to

renovate it. He was proud of the restoration, but he didn't regret unloading it. Actually, it felt like a huge burden was

lifted off his shoulders.

"Do Sheryl and your mom know?"

"Not yet... That would be another surprise." He just hoped they wouldn't be too upset about it. His mother in particular

had been excited that Kieran had bought the castle, although she was a little less impressed when she had spent two drafty

weeks living there last year. Castles certainly weren't for everyone.

He and Emmy turned the corner onto Evergreen Way. Although it had been more than two decades since he'd last been here, the

downtown area still looked the same at Christmas, with thousands of twinkling lights hanging on every building, window, and

streetlamp. Wreaths were everywhere, and of course sprigs of mistletoe hung from all the doorways. As they passed the Mistletoe

Diner, a couple stopped for a quick kiss before leaving the eatery. There was probably more kissing in Mistletoe during Christmas

than in any other town in the country. No, make that the world , he thought as he spied another couple giving each other a peck.

"I wasn't surprised when Sheryl told me about the castle," Emmy continued. "Or that you moved to Ireland after backpacking

through Europe for a year."

"Two years, actually," he said.

"That's right." She glanced at him. "You were always the adventurous type. Remember the time—"

"I got caught skinny-dipping in the Mistletoe water tank?" At her nod, he gave her a sheepish grin. He would never live that down. "Number one on my wall of shame. I was such an idiot for taking that dare. I learned my lesson."

"No more skinny-dipping?"

"Not in water tanks, anyway."

She laughed. "Still naughty, I see."

"I prefer cheeky ." They stopped in front of the post office.

"I can take it from here." She lifted the box out of his hands. "Thanks for the help."

Kieran looked at her. "It's good to see you, Emmy."

She smiled. "Good to see you too. I'm glad you were able to come for Maggie's birthday. I know it'll mean a lot to her."

He nodded, although that didn't help his guilt. What kind of son didn't visit his mother for twenty-six years? Even though

he'd flown his mum, along with Sheryl and her husband and kids, over to Ireland several times, he'd always been too busy to

come back to Mistletoe. Correction—he'd never wanted to come back.

"See you around, Kieran." Emmy wiggled her fingers at him and went inside the post office.

Even though she couldn't see him, he waved back, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. In truth he hadn't been

heading her way, but the post office wasn't that far—nothing in Mistletoe was far —and it was good to visit with her for a wee bit.

He turned onto Chestnut Lane to finish his initial errand, picking up two poinsettia plants from Mistletoe Florist. When he

was growing up here, he'd always thought it was cheesy that everything was named after the town or was Christmas themed. As

an adult, though, he got it. Mistletoe was a charming Christmas destination for people visiting southern Missouri, and with

very little industry in the area, tourism was important.

After picking up the flowers, he headed to his compact rental car and got inside, then drove to his mother's, battling an attack of nerves the entire way. He wasn't sure what to expect when he ar rived at his childhood home. When his father passed away shortly before Kieran's fifteenth birthday, he remembered several good-intentioned people telling his mother she should sell the house and find something smaller. But she had steadfastly refused. Just as Kieran steadfastly chickened out at the last minute when he'd thought about returning to Mistletoe.

Fifteen minutes later he arrived, pulled into the driveway, and turned off the engine. The outside of the house hadn't changed

much, except that the window shutters were now a warm brown instead of stone gray. His stomach churned as memories flooded

him, mostly of his father—how they used to play catch in the front yard, how every spring he cleaned out the flower beds for

Mum so she could focus on planting her flowers, how every month he and Kieran washed and waxed the cars. There were bad memories

too, like the chewing out Dad gave him after the water tower stunt, and the two months' grounding he'd gotten for it. Three

months after that, his father had died from lung cancer that was detected too late.

He took a deep breath and got out of the car, shoving down the painful thoughts as he went to the other side to get the poinsettias.

He'd get his bag out of the trunk later. The red petals and green leaves rustled in their pots as he moved. Inhaling a deep

breath, he rang the doorbell. It seemed odd not to just walk into the house. But it wasn't his house anymore.

The door opened and his mother appeared, her gray hair cut even shorter than Emmy's. She was dressed in a bright red sweater

and forest-green slacks. Her blue eyes widened. "Kieran?"

"Hi, Mum." He smiled.

She rushed to hug him, then noticed the poinsettias. "You remembered," she said as she took them from him, tears in her eyes

and her smile growing larger. "I can't believe you're here."

A lump formed in his throat at seeing her joy.

"Let's go inside where it's warm."

He followed, and when he stepped through the door, the spicy scent of fruitcake baking hit his nose. His mother was the only person he knew who enjoyed baking and eating it. "How many loaves of fruitcake are you making this year?" he asked as they walked into a modest living room filled to the brim with Christmas décor.

"Thirty. I'm just finishing up the last batch." She set the poinsettias on the credenza. "There. Now the room is complete."

She turned and threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're home, son."

Kieran hugged her tight. When he let her go, he kept his arm around her shoulders as they looked at the pretty red flowers.

"Dad never forgot, did he?"

"Not a single time. Since our first Christmas, he always brought me two poinsettias. I kept up the tradition after he passed,

and now your sister does the same at her house."

Kieran nodded, but he'd had no idea Sheryl bought poinsettias for her own home. He was so out of touch with his family's rituals,

and since he left Mistletoe, he'd been too busy to create any of his own.

Mum wiped her cheek with her fingers. "After so many years, I can't believe both my children are home for Christmas. If only

your father..."

He drew her close. "He's here with us in spirit."

"That he is." She turned to him with a bright smile. "No need to be melancholy. How about a glass of warm apple cider?"

Glad for the reprieve, he said, "Sounds delicious."

Soon they were seated at the kitchen table, which was covered in a red, green, and black plaid tablecloth, mugs of sweet cinnamon

cider in front of them. His mother put a Christmas-themed plate of sliced fruitcake in the middle of the table. Kieran tried

not to blanch.

"When did you arrive?" Mum asked, sitting down across from him.

He took a sip of the cider. "I landed in St. Louis around midnight last night. I just stayed in one of the hotel airports,

then rented a car and drove here this morning."

"You must be exhausted from all the traveling."

"The jet lag hasn't set in yet."

"Where did you get the poinsettias?" She tore off a corner of fruitcake and popped it into her mouth.

"Mistletoe Florist."

"So you've been downtown already." She smiled. "See anything interesting?"

"I ran into Emmy Banks."

Mum grinned. "Your senior prom date."

He recognized the gleam in his mother's eyes. She had the same look when she suggested he ask Emmy to prom after his date

canceled three days before the event.

"It's wonderful she and Siobhan have been friends for so long."

"Still can't bring yourself to call her ‘Sheryl'?"

She lifted her chin. "Her name is Siobhan."

"Not the easiest to spell. Or pronounce." He'd lucked out with "Kieran." Most people knew how to pronounce it, although he

did have to spell it out quite often.

"But it's a lovely name, just like she is. Speaking of lovely..." She snuck another nibble of cake. "What did you and Emmy

talk about?"

"She was running an errand, so we didn't have much time to catch up." In fact, he was realizing that he'd talked about himself

the whole time. She hadn't said anything about herself.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to talk to her."

Kieran shook his head, half grinning. "Don't get any ideas, Mum."

" Moi ? I never get ideas."

"You've been planning my future marriage since I was old enough to date."

"A pointless endeavor, thank you very much." She leaned back in the chair. "At least I thought you'd meet a sweet lass in

Ballyton."

"Here we go."

"And what's wrong with wanting my son to be happily married? You're nearing forty-four, Kieran. Are you ever going to settle

down? Never mind, I already know the answer."

"Which is?"

"‘My life is fine the way it is,'" she said, her imitation of him startlingly accurate.

"Because it's true."

The landline phone on the wall near the fridge rang. "Hold that thought," Mum said, getting up from her seat. "Wait, change that thought." She grinned and answered the phone. "Oh, hello, Pearl! Merry Christmas to you too. How are things in Kansas

City?"

His mother's conversation with her friend disappeared as he thought about Emmy again. More particularly, prom night. He'd

been irritated when his date had called and told him she had to cancel—mostly because he'd already bought the tickets, not

because they were romantically involved. At first it had been a little awkward when his mother had suggested asking Emmy.

She was a sophomore and his kid sister's best friend. He was sure she'd say no. But to his surprise she'd said yes.

At first he was just glad he had a date. Emmy had always been bookish and a little shy. But she was also nice, and they had

a great time at the dance. Then the unexpected happened when he took her home and walked her to the front porch.

He suddenly, and inexplicably, had wanted to kiss her.

Thankfully he regained his senses and told her good night, quickly climbed into his mother's Grand Cherokee, and peeled out of her driveway, bewildered by his sudden urge. He'd never thought of her as anything but Sheryl's friend, and even during the prom the thought of kissing her had never entered his mind. He chalked it up to two things—being grateful he didn't have to go to the prom on his own and ending up having a blast with her at the dance. He kind of owed her for being such a good sport about being a last-minute replacement.

But he didn't feel obligated to kiss her. She had looked so pretty that night, especially under the soft glow of the porch

light. Her long blond hair was loosely gathered up with clips and pins, and several long strands framed her face. The blue

satin dress she wore had sheer short sleeves, a modest neckline, and flared out from the waist, the hem just touching her

knee.

He'd wanted to kiss her, just like he'd wanted to ask her to slow dance, only to chicken out each time. Emmy was a friend,

and she probably would have shoved him away if he had tried kissing her. He didn't want a great night to end on a sour note.

After the prom he didn't see her much, mostly because he was focused on school and working to save up for his trip to Europe.

He'd only planned to stay abroad a year... and that had turned into twenty-six. When he left Mistletoe, he didn't give

the town, or Emmy Banks, more than a second thought.

He sure was thinking about her now.