Mistletoe and Mr. Right by Lyla Payne Page A

world—opens up windows in front of my eyes. In my soul.
    They let in too much light, too many possibilities, and fear makes me slam them shut.
    â€œMaybe. But I know I’m not brave enough to take on a project like that.”
    â€œNot part of the plan?” He gives me a smile, but it hasn’t recovered from whatever triggered his melancholy.
    â€œNope. Afraid not.”
    Grady’s shoulders tense as he reaches out, calloused fingers brushing the back of my hand. My brain insists I jerk it away, that taking comfort from a guy not my boyfriend is wrong, but my body refuses.
    â€œI’m sorry your surprise didn’t go off as planned. If it makes you feel any better, the Donnellys aren’t going to approve of anyone for Brennan who isn’t Katie McBride. So, it’s not totally your fault.” He pauses, managing a more familiar, teasing smile this time. “Aside from the attempted vehicular goat-slaughter, of course.”
    â€œHa.” I pull my hand away under the pretense of straightening my ponytail. “Wait, who is Katie McBride?”
    â€œBrennan’s high school sweetheart. First love. Maeve named all six grandkids they were going to give her.” A line of wrinkles appears between his eyebrows. “He never mentioned her?”
    I’ll say one thing about Grady Callaghan. He sure knows how to ruin a moment.
    After freeing myself from the comfortable confines of the barn and trekking back across the crusty, cold snow toward the farmhouse, I’m greeted by Donnellys. They tumble out of two cars, and the sight of Brennan and a girl I don’t recognize supporting a pale, sweating, barely conscious Mr. Donnelly between them dries up my greeting in my throat.

Chapter Five
    â€œOh my God, what happened?” I’m breathless after sprinting the last several yards to the front porch, following my boyfriend and the mystery girl into the house.
    â€œHe had an allergic reaction,” Brennan grunts, laying his father on the couch in the living room. “He’s going to be fine, just a bit drugged up.”
    â€œWhat? How did that happen?”
    The guilt tightening the skin on Brennan’s face makes my palms sweat. “Don’t freak out, chicken, but my dad’s allergic to nutmeg. He thought that pie you left in the fridge was sweet potato, because that’s what we eat at Christmas dinner, and snuck a few bites.”
    I actually feel the blood drain out of my face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I swear!”
    â€œOf course you didn’t, dear.” There are lines on Mrs. Donnelly’s face that weren’t there this morning, and even though fatigue still tugs at my eyes, there’s no way she looks any better. “It was an accident, pure and simple. We’re lucky Katie was there.”
    Katie?
    I turn toward the stranger, a girl around my age with waves of silky black hair flowing from underneath an adorable green knit hat, complete with pink flower on the side. The color of the hat is no match for her eyes, which are the shade of emeralds and just as sparkly. Freckles scatter across her perky nose and the smile that splits her cheeks could probably power this whole damn island.
    If this is Katie McBride, the girl is a nightmare. Mine, anyway.
    â€œOh, right.” Brennan clears his throat. “Jessica, this is an old . . . friend. Katie McBride.”
    â€œKatie McBride, the hero of the day,” Molly chirps after stomping every last flake of snow from her boots and leaving them by the front door.
    I look down to find mine leaving puddles on the polished oak floors.
    â€œStop it, you all. All I did was recognize the issue and get an EpiPen from the first aid kit in my car.” A pretty pink blush splashes across her cheeks. She turns an apologetic gaze toward me. “I’m a member of the volunteer fire department, so I always carry one. It was seriously no big deal.”
    Great. I