2. Kate

2

KATE

As I trudge down the garland-lined staircase at the Whispering Winds Inn, everything feels black and white. Muted and drab. The small mountain town inn seems less magical than when I first entered through the grand wooden doors and glimpsed the festive decorations that put any Hallmark movie set designer’s work to shame.

The soft sound of Christmas music in the background grates my frayed nerves. The smell of cinnamon, clove, and sugar cookies is so cloying that I’m holding back my gag reflex. And the strings of lights, tinsel, and ornaments are sparkling a little too brightly.

Then again, my aversion to bright lights and general merriment might stem from the copious amount of eggnog I consumed during dinner last night. The dinner where I sat and watched my sister canoodle with her fiancé— my ex— across the table. A clenched smile on my face and alcohol seeping through my pores as they shared a steaming mug of hot cocoa. Forced laughter as he brushed whipped cream off her nose and then sucked it off his finger.

Sigh. The joy of being in love… and the misery of being perpetually single and reminded of that fact every holiday season.

Usually, I have enough Christmas cheer that it doesn’t faze me, but this year my cheer’s spread thin, orchestrating the perfect winter wedding for my sister. I don’t even care that she’s marrying Henry. He and I were never going to work.

The wedding is a hard pill to swallow because it’s the wedding of my dreams. The one I’ve planned for longer than I’ve been a professional wedding planner. But what’s the point of planning a wedding that will never happen? Might as well have someone I love see my vision come to life so I can at least experience it second-hand.

But watching my dream wedding morph into someone else’s feels like a sharpened candy cane straight to the heart. Today, I’m feeling it more acutely. And the text messages from my sister aren’t helping.

Pearl: We need to talk.

Pearl: Meet us a Windy Brews at 9 am?

I’m getting flashbacks from when Henry broke up with me. So as I head over to the mulled cider station, manned by the Inn’s resident Santa Claus, I’m hoping for a little bit of a pick-me-up.

“Good morning, Bert,” I say, forcing a smile.

He gives me a once-over and then taps his nose. Maybe this man really is Santa. If Santa had a penchant for spiking his mulled cider with booze…

“Made this one for you,” Bert says, winking at me as he proffers a small cup.

“I hope that means what I think it means,” I say, grabbing the steaming cup.

Bert peels back his red, velvet jacket to reveal the silver flask, taking a quick nip before letting out a deep, throaty sigh. “Don’t tell Martha,” he whispers, coughing slightly as he glances sidelong at his wife.

She’s standing at the front desk of the Whispering Winds Inn with a festive tray full of cider, eggnog, sugar cookies, and candy canes. With a red dress, white apron, glasses, and bonnet covering her gray hair, she’s the quintessential Mrs. Claus.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” I seal my lips and pretend to lock them.

I take a sip and grimace, coughing as I head for the exit and ponder what went so wrong in my life that made me pick up day drinking with Santa Claus. And as I brace myself against the frosty air, stepping onto the sidewalk, not even the festive atmosphere of Whispering Winds’s downtown is enough to wrench me from my funk.

But I need to grin and bear it. This wedding needs to go off without a hitch. I bring the cup of cider to my lips, but rather than take another swig I stop myself. I look around and then march to the first trashcan I see and toss it in. I need to be on my A-game for whatever is waiting for me.

I hope it’s nothing, but I know any exchange that begins with We need to talk isn’t going to be fun. I thought I was making this experience for Pearl and Henry memorable. I’ve scheduled every part of their day from morning to night to ensure they’re having a great wedding week.

Wham! greets me as I open the door to Windy Brews. Coffee, sugar, and nostalgia smack me right in the face when I slip inside and dust off snow flurries from my coat.

I can’t help but smile when I see a few kids munching on candy canes, mugs of steaming hot cocoa in front of them. Kids in elf ears with windburned cheeks. Dogs in elf ears and reindeer antlers. Glittering lights, wreaths, and garlands galore. The cafe is overflowing with so much Christmas spirit that it’s beginning to rub off on me.

Everything will be okay. The wedding. My life. I need to stop fixating on what’s wrong. And I need a cup of Quinn’s Mistletoe Madness, stat . I have no idea what it is—a little of this, a little of that so she says—but it has been fueling me all week. Along with a few bars of Mom’s peppermint bark, when it’s available. I haven’t met Mom, but from what I’ve heard, she’s the lovely, albeit a little wild matron of the town.

When Quinn meets my gaze, smiles, and lifts that glorious little plastic bag, I know I’m in luck. “Saved you some,” she says, sliding it across the counter.

It feels like I’m taking part in some drug deal, slipping the bag into my pocket and then sliding my card to Quinn.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she says, smiling. “I’m not sure how this town would function without me slinging caffeine.”

“It would be more of a sleepy mountain town, that’s for sure.”

She nods. “Speaking of caffeine… The usual?”

“Unless you have anything stronger.”

“Not this year. I’m working on a new formula though. Holiday Rush? Santa’s Little Secret? I’m workshopping names.”

“Well, whenever it’s ready, I’ll be the first in line. Or if you need a tester…”

“Oh, so you’ll be back after the wedding?”

It feels like I’ve missed out on the magic of this small town. Sure, I’ve been to the Christmas festival, snagged some treats from the pop-up vendors, caroled, and watched the amazing light spectacle in the park each night. But it’s like I’ve viewed it through a pinhole, my attention solely focused on Pearl and her experience that I’ve neglected mine.

“I think it might be hard to stay away. I’ve never been to a town like Whispering Winds. You guys go all out for Christmas.”

“Some people think it’s a little much.”

“Scrooges,” I mutter.

“Couldn’t agree more. But,” Quinn says, finishing up the order and sliding my card back. “This town tends to convert the non-believers.” She gestures over my shoulder. “Here’s one now.”

I glance behind me and see a towering man wearing a Santa hat, shaking off enough snowflakes from his coat that it looks like a miniature blizzard.

“He’s massive,” I mutter to Quinn as I turn back around.

“A massive Scrooge too. Well, reformed Scrooge.”

I wouldn’t mind trying to convert a Scroogelike mountain man, but a chance like that would never happen . Relationships just don’t work out for me.

“Thanks for the peppermint bark. I owe you.”

“Consider it an early Christmas present, and remember to drop a piece into the latte for the full Christmasperience.”

“Is that a word?”

“The best,” she says, beaming as I head for the pick-up counter. “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

“Merry Christmas,” the behemoth behind me responds in a deep baritone.

I’m still a few minutes early, but I spot Pearl and Henry huddled together in a booth. My stomach roils, a bitter mixture of bile, nerves, and a tablespoon of Bert’s concoction. Maybe I should’ve finished that drink.

“Mistletoe Madness,” Max calls out behind me a few moments later.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling at him as I open the lid and drop in a piece of the peppermint bark.

I give it a quick stir, replace the lid, and then take one big sip, relishing the taste of Christmas in a cup and steeling myself for this meeting. No matter. I’ve got my drink. I’ve got my Christmas cheer back. And I’ve got Bing Crosby in my ears. Nothing could dampen my mood.

Famous last words because there’s a woman I’ve never seen before sitting with them. Are they really breaking up with me? And is she my replacement? Ho, ho, holy shit. I’m so disoriented that I accidentally knock off some guy’s fake antlers as I navigate around the crowded tables.

“Sorry,” I mutter, awkwardly replacing them, noting the gaudy Christmas sweater with bells, lights, living holly, and Santa knows what else.

“Kate!” she shouts, waving at me before sliding out of the booth.

“Pearl,” I mutter tentatively as I stare at the smartly dressed woman. I know everyone who’s attending the wedding. I know Henry’s family tree as well as mine, and I know that this woman is neither a relative nor a friend. “What’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who is that? And why did you send me that cryptic text?”

She’s vibrating with excitement. “Look, I know how hard it has been this year for you. And I know you swear you are completely fine with me marrying my Henry. But…” She pauses. “Just hear me out.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“It’s nothing, I swear. It’s good. Great. Fantastic even.”

My sister does not do hyperbole, so I’m even more on edge and I can’t stop myself.

“Are you firing me? I know I packed the schedule but this seems excessive.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Although that schedule of yours… Well, we’ll talk about how Henry and I will be spending the rest of the lead-up to the wedding. This meeting is about you. Possibly your future?”

“Could you just come out with it?”

“I hired a matchmaker for you. And she’s set you up with an amazing man. Merry Christmas!”

I swallow hard. Merry Christmas indeed.

This is the last thing I need right now.

I’m at the finish line of this wedding. I don’t have time for whatever this is. This man could be my dream man, but unless he’s a project manager willing to lend a helping hand, then I don’t want to see him until after this wedding.

Just a few days ago the photographer I hired got sick on a safari in Kenya, so I’ve already had to book travel arrangements for the replacement. That’s just one of the many last-minute snags. Not to mention the annoying details I need to address with the florist about shipping the new flower arrangements. And, of course, the behind-the-scenes shitshow with the wedding venue that I’ve been shielding Pearl from.

I. Don’t. Have. Time.

I sip my drink, trying to soothe my nerves as Juliet describes the man she’s found for me. In any other circumstance, I’d consider it. I would love to spend a week with a man hand-selected for me in a remote mountain cabin but that time isn’t now.

I make eye contact with Mr. Christmas, the man whose reindeer antlers I knocked off earlier. He’s been looking at us the entire time, drinking his hot cocoa and… smiling. I smile awkwardly at him as he sips his drink, and when he sets it back down he has whipped cream all over his lip and nose.

He’s not unattractive but it’s more than a little off-putting being openly gawked at by a man lit up like a Christmas tree with antlers on his head… and a red nose? Did he seriously paint Rudolph’s—Okay. Abort. Look away and disengage now . I mean, I’m not opposed to someone expressing their love for Christmas but there are limits.

“He’s a real Christmas fanatic,” Juliet says, reclaiming my attention. “And I think you two will mesh well together.”

“My sister loves Christmas,” Pearl says as Henry pokes at his croissant. “And I think you’ve outdone yourself, Juliet. That file you sent over was perfect. He’s perfect.”

Henry clears his throat and Pearl grabs his arm. “For Kate, of course.”

“There was a file?” I ask blankly.

“You didn’t review it?” Juliet asks, turning to me.

I shake my head. “I had no idea about any of this.”

Juliet frowns, recovers quickly, and turns to Pearl. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“I know but…” She looks at me. “Will you give it a chance? Him,” she says, nodding to the man next to us.

My stomach drops. My body turns ice cold. I’m resisting the urge to turn my head to the left because I know what’s waiting for me. I can feel his gaze on me, although it might be the heat from the Christmas lights on his shirt.

“No,” I mutter, shaking my head. And then a little bit louder. “You’re not talking about Rudolph, right?”

Pearl laughs nervously, and then, “Surprise! He’s a wonderful guy, Kate. He’s fun. He’s kind. He?—”

“He’s been next to us for the last twenty minutes, staring.” I’m trying to be discreet, lowering my voice and covering the side of my face with my hand. “Didn’t it cross your mind to, you know, invite him over and not awkwardly sit next to us?”

Good grief. I’d have preferred Pearl to replace me over this.

“I know you don’t like surprises,” she says, unironically. “And I didn’t want to spook you, so I had Evan sit at a different table while we explained everything.”

The ship has sailed on both accounts. Surprised? Yup. Spooked? Hell yeah. I’m trying my best not to acknowledge the man to my left. The man who apparently will be my plus one at Pearl’s wedding. The man I’m supposed to share a cabin with for the next couple of days, Christmas included. But it’s hard to ignore the blinking lights, antlers, and red nose when they’re trained right at the side of my face. How did Pearl think this was a good idea?

“I tried to veto that,” Juliet whispers, leaning in. “But now it’s making sense. I’m. Sorry . I thought you knew about this.”

It’s not her fault. It’s my sister, and I’m assuming, my mother. I swear every single year I hear whispering about finding a man. And that’s when Henry stepped in. We’d met at another wedding I’d planned. He was in the wedding party and showed me a bit of interest. With the holiday season creeping up, I figured why not? Not exactly the best way to start a relationship…

And last Christmas at my parents’ home made it clear that neither of us were really in it. I spent more time binging holiday movies, making sugar cookies and gingerbread men, decorating, and partaking in all the activities that brought me joy during the holiday season. Henry spent the holiday with Pearl. I didn’t mind because I had an entire Christmas with my mother off my back.

But now I’m back to square one. I never thought she’d take it this far. No wonder she had Pearl deliver the Christmas surprise.

“I just want you to be as happy as I am,” Pearl says, squeezing Henry’s hand and leaning into him.

“This is a lot, Pearl. Could we put this off until after the wedding?”

“Evan’s leaving the day after. He lives in California, so not exactly an easy commute.”

I pinch my brows. “Long. Distance?”

Did no one think this through? Before I can protest, Pearl waves Evan over. He scoots over, inch by grating inch as the metal chair grinds against the tiled floor. Death by embarrassment is real, and I’m experiencing it firsthand.

“Excuse me,” Evan says as he tries to scoot by a group of people. “Sorry,” he mumbles, still scooting. Still grating.

Clomp. Scrape. Clomp.

I close my eyes, trying my best to envision my happy place. Unfortunately, my happy place looks a lot like this town. A lot like this cozy cafe. But it’s doing nothing to correct my mood.

“Hello,” he finally says as the sound of the Tin Man skating on a chalkboard subsides.

“Hi,” my sister chirps as I open my eyes, turn, and pretend this is all a fever dream that I’ll wake up from soon enough. I’m going to wake up from this, right? Please save me.

“Helloooo. Evan. I’ve heard… so much about you.”

He beams. I stare at his blinking lights. He sees me staring, and says, “Oh, I forgot the best part.”

“It gets better than this?” I squeak.

He nods and then presses a button, and lo and behold, a distorted, crackly version of Jingle Bells assaults my ears from somewhere in his sweater.

“Great, isn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” I say, swallowing.

“It plays Santa Claus is Coming to Town too. Want to listen?”

“No, that’s—” The song. Yep. Right on cue.

“See! You guys are already hitting it off,” my sister chirps again.

I’m stunned into silence. I love Christmas, but this man loves Christmas. He’s on an entirely different level that’s thankfully out of reach for me. I’m more than content with my level, relaxing at home, watching The Muppet Christmas Carol, The Holiday, or hell, I’d settle for a 24/7 Die Hard marathon right now if it meant I could finally wake up from this nightmare before Christmas.

“That’s quite an outfit,” I finally manage, as I try to ignore the whipped cream clinging to his nostrils.

“Thanks,” he says. “I brought one for you too.”

“Oh, you didn’t—” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence as I watch him pull a second sweater out of thin air. “You really shouldn’t have,” I mutter, taking it into my hands before using it as a divider between us so I can glare at my sister.

“I made it myself.”

I can tell, spreading it out in front of me.

“He’s quite handy,” Pearl adds. “Learned that from the file. Thanks again, Juliet.”

I glance to my right and Juliet seems almost as shocked as I am. “There’s a lot that a file doesn’t show,” she says, blinking slowly.

“Is it true that you own a year-round Christmas store?” My sister asks. Maybe she should be dating this guy. She’s far more interested than I am, although it doesn’t take much.

“I do,” Evan says, shifting in his chair. “Christmas Miracles.”

I think I’ll need one of those to get through this alive. Two, if I’m being honest. The second one’s for my sister because the likelihood of her making it to her wedding alive is slowly diminishing. I glance at Henry and he’s in tears as he tries to hold back his laughter. Glad someone’s enjoying themselves.

“I don’t want to rush,” Evan says, leaning in. “But I have a full day scheduled, and I want to make sure we’re able to get it all done before the blizzard hits.”

“See!” Pearl says excitedly, shaking a finger at me. “Two peas in a pod. Kate loves scheduling things. You should see the spreadsheet she sent us this week.”

I’m a wedding planner. That’s what we do. I try to express those thoughts through my searing eye contact but it doesn’t land.

“I love spreadsheets,” Evan says, rapping his knuckles on the table. “There’s magic in a good pivot table. And speaking of spreadsheets,” he adds, uttering a sentence no living person wants to hear. “I whipped one up on the plane ride over. We’ve got a lot of Christmas festivities to get through. Are you ready to spread some Christmas cheer?”

I stare at him. At his antlers. To my sister, Henry, and then back to my sister.

“Kate,” she says through a gritted grin.

I stare at the sweater in my hands and then back at Evan.

“I’d love to,” I say, pulling each syllable from my throat like a boot in mud.

Why not? It’s not like this could get any worse for me.