The Trouble with Mistletoe. Jennifer Snow

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      “Stop biting your nails.” Her mother smacked her hand away from her mouth. “Can you hand me the oven mitts?” Opening the oven door, she fanned the blast of escaping heat.

      Victoria opened the same kitchen drawer where the mitts had been for as long as she could remember. Nothing had changed here. From the antique table-and-chair set in the corner that had once belonged to her grandmother, to the lace curtains hanging in the tiny kitchen window, everything looked just as it always had. Even the advent calendar hung in the same spot on the wall near the window, where it had year after year. She remembered how excited she used to be on the first of December when they would fill the tiny squares with chocolate balls and count down the days until Christmas Eve. Despite the absence of children in the house now, her mother still kept up the tradition.

      Victoria handed the mitts to her mother. “But I thought you said he was working for an architecture firm? And he usually worked out of town.” So many unanswered questions.

      “I really don’t know. The store does mean a lot to Brookhollow.” Her mom shrugged, taking a knife from the block on the counter. “You’ll have to ask Luke those questions,” she said, cutting into the casserole.

      Victoria’s stomach growled. “Since when have you become so tight-lipped?” she asked pointedly. Her mother would be the first one to admit she couldn’t keep a secret. She prided herself on being a source of information in town, even if that information wasn’t always accurate.

      “Are you calling me a gossip?” Her mother faked an expression of shock. She set the knife in the sink and rinsed it. “Look, all I know is what I hear around town’ You know Darlene Dawson and I don’t talk much anymore.”

      Victoria sighed. Her ignorance about what was going on locally couldn’t be blamed on her mother. She’d done her best to distance herself from the everyday happenings in Brookhollow. Over the years, she’d been successful in convincing herself that she wasn’t missing much. She grabbed a fork and sampled the casserole. “Oh, my God, that’s good.”

      Her mother swiped her hand away. “Don’t pick. Your aunt and uncle should be here any minute and then we can eat.”

      Her dad swung open the kitchen door and poked his head inside the kitchen. “Luke’s truck just pulled into the cul-de-sac.”

      “What? You invited Luke? Mom, you can’t be serious.” Victoria dropped her fork onto the counter and turned toward her father. “And you—how could you not tell me?”

      “I had nothing to do with it,” he said, quickly escaping the kitchen.

      Turning, her mom set the dinner plates onto the counter and said, “Oh, relax. I saw him earlier today, replacing the burned-out bulbs in Ginger’s Christmas lights and he said he was looking forward to seeing you again, so I invited him to dinner.” Her mother shrugged.

      “Mom, he is my ex-fiancé, in case you’ve forgotten. Not to mention my company is working for the store trying to buy out Legend’s.” She paced back and forth in the kitchen, frowning. How could her mother have invited him to dinner? How could he accept knowing the reason for her visit? And why hadn’t he said anything?

      “Business is business, honey. I’m sure you two will figure that stuff out. But can’t you just put it aside for the evening and have a pleasant dinner with an old friend? I’m sure Luke has long gotten over the fact you left him at the altar.” Her mom waved a hand dismissively and busied herself with the pie she was making. “Even if his mother hasn’t,” she mumbled, rolling out the crust.

      “I didn’t leave him at the altar.” Victoria stopped pacing, wondering how many times they’d had this conversation. Too many. “I called off the wedding two weeks before and, besides, he certainly didn’t try to stop me.” Memories of those last few weeks before her supposed wedding day were painful to recall. The stress of the preparations—her mother and Luke’s mother forcing her to taste wedding cakes and try on dress after dress—even though her heart wasn’t in it. The entire time, hidden in her bedside table drawer had been an acceptance letter for an entry-level position with Clarke and Johnson Acquisitions.

      When she’d applied the summer before she’d never imagined the big New York firm would accept her application—she’d had only a two-year business diploma. But they had offered her a job and she’d had a month to decide. Keeping the offer to herself and struggling with her conflicting desires had created tension between her and Luke and had made her question her commitment to him. Their ideas about a life together had seemed worlds apart.

      She’d chosen the unpaid internship with a dream of a future so different from the one he’d been planning, and left him behind. And he hadn’t tried to stop her.

      Her mother waved a hand. “You know what I mean. Anyway, it’s in the past. At least I’ve learned to keep it there…unlike some people.”

      Victoria shook her head. Her mother was impossible, and Luke’s mother would be furious if she found out. The two women, once best friends, hadn’t spoken since the day Victoria left town. According to her mother, she’d let the feud between them die, but Luke’s mother still held a grudge. The two avoided each other as much as possible in the small community.

      The doorbell rang.

      How was she supposed to sit at the same table with him, after everything they’d been through? She was here to do battle with him over a store. And this was supposed to be a pleasant evening? She peered through the glass opening of the kitchen door.

      Luke shifted from one foot to the other on the front porch. Wearing clean jeans and his leather jacket, his short hair gelled into a spiky, controlled mess, he’d obviously gone home to shower and change.

      She made no move to let him in. Why couldn’t he have gotten fat? Or bald? Or both?

      “Victoria, go take off your suit jacket and brush your hair, while I get the door.” Her mom removed her apron and straightened her sweater.

      Victoria held out an arm to block her mother. “I have a better idea. You go get pretty for Luke, and I’ll let him in. He may as well get used to seeing me at my worst.”

      Victoria forked a lump of potatoes and savored the rich, buttery carb combination. No one used butter quite like her mother. If she wasn’t careful, she’d pile on a few pounds in her short visit. She pushed a mushroom around her plate, only half listening to the conversations around her. Her father, Uncle Frank and Luke discussed football statistics across the table and her mother and Aunt Linda complained about the new format of the Brookhollow View, the local newspaper.

      “I can never find the movie listings or my horoscope. They keep shifting things from one section to another,” Linda said, shaking her head as she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

      “Uh-huh.” Sheila nodded in agreement. “And last week the flyer inserts were missing.” She turned to Luke. “How’s the casserole?” she asked as she poured him another glass of wine.

      “Thank you. It’s delicious…better than I remember.” He smiled and shot Victoria a glance.

      She lowered her eyes to her plate. Just get through this meal. Her mother’s attempt to create a blast from the past was working. From their favorite dinner dishes to the old picture albums of the two of them in junior high and high school she’d produced before dinner, the memories were overpowering as they came rushing back.

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