Just as long as she was still interested.
Chapter 35—Paisley
A half hour after Paisley and Shelby started check-in, the house was packed. Seventy-six guests now moved through the great room, admiring the decorations, moving to the music, and sipping eggnog and punch as they threw sly glances to anyone of the opposite sex.
Paisley was in heaven.
“It’s going well,” Shelby whispered to her as they passed together through the back doors and onto the deck.
“It really is,” Paisley agreed, taking a sip of her own drink—eggnog with cinnamon sprinkled on top.
They stood together beneath a heat lamp, staring out at the water as it rushed onto the beach. Betsy was at the fire, where she’d volunteered to station herself. A small group had joined her there, sliding marshmallows onto their metal pokers to prepare for s’mores.
“Is your brother on his way?” Paisley asked as casually as possible.
Shelby twisted to her. “Knox,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Listen, Paisley—about Knox—”
Paisley waved a hand. “No, no. I’m just… I’m mainly curious just about your dad. Just that he gets his medicine. Or whatever.” She blinked and looked back out at the water.
“I knew.”
Whipping her face to her friend, Paisley’s mouth twitched. “You knew? You knew what?”
“Well, I knew a lot of things. I know a lot of things,” Shelby replied with a little smirk, but it fell away quickly. “Paisley, I knew you were talking to my brother on the app. I mean—not the whole time,” she rushed to add.
Paisley stood frozen. Embarrassed. Uncomfortable. And… confused. “Okay…” she started, but Shelby was quick to go on.
“I figured it out earlier this week, and it scared me. I know what it means to you to save Mistletoe. And I know you needed to find someone to do that. I get it all. I see the whole picture, but Knox? I mean—just like I know all of these things about you, I know my brother. And he’s—shy, kind of. He’s a teacher. In Indigo Bay, and he doesn’t date, and I have no idea what he would be like on a date, and it just—scared me.”
“Is that why you didn’t, I don’t know… set us up?” Paisley shouldn’t ask that sort of question. It made her look desperate. Too interested.
“I never thought about it, Paisley. I mean, it’s Knox. And you’re… Paisley.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Paisley crossed her arms, her eggnog dangling from a trembling hand. What had she missed? Wasn’t she good enough for a Calhoun? Or did her orphanhood in some way disqualify her from being part of their family—even tangentially, as a friend or a coworker or… a girlfriend?
“You’re better than him.” Shelby shrugged. “You’re, like, a really cool, really successful, really pretty businesswoman. And he’s… my brother.” She giggled, and Paisley couldn’t help but giggle, too. Not because she agreed with Shelby—she didn’t feel very cool, successful, or pretty. But because she didn’t quite know how siblings related to each other, and it was funny to find that the stereotypes were true. That the brother-sister ick factor was alive and well even in grownups. And it turned Shelby into a sweet, silly girl. The type of sidekick or friend who Paisley needed in her life. Someone to drag her back down to earth. To laugh with. To have sleepovers with. To talk about boys with… just maybe not the brother kind of boy.
“I don’t know your brother, so I suppose it’s just as well. I mean—you’re right. We have nothing in common. And I’m in Charleston. And I’m busy, and I bet he’s super busy, too. And right now, you guys are all focused on your dad, which should be your focus.”
But Shelby’s eyes had flown to the house and stayed there, narrowed. “Speaking of things we’d better focus on.” She nodded her head purposefully.
Paisley followed Shelby’s worried stare. Weaving through the crowd was a familiar man with thinning hair and glasses. His black sweater over a white button-down set him apart from the younger, more casually and even festively dressed clients.
Mr. Cook.
“Oh no,” Shelby whispered. “He’s on his way here.”
“I’ll handle Cook. You make another round. Be sure drinks are full, guests are paired off. You might have to relieve your mom at the fire, too.” Paisley hooked a thumb toward the beach without glancing back.
“On it,” Shelby answered, striding away and leaving a clear opening for the investor who, by now, had spotted Paisley and moved purposefully toward her.
“Mr. Cook!” Paisley beamed as merry a smile as she could muster. “I’m so surprised to see you here!”
“The email,” he replied, his hands in his pockets and expression unreadable.
“Of course,” she answered. “Our mailing list. You’re a subscriber.” Paisley wasn’t disappointed to know this. Rather, she was encouraged. She lifted her hand toward the house. “Please, let me get you an eggnog and a plate of food.”
He followed her in, and Paisley was careful to maintain a good distance as they passed beneath the mistletoe. Not that Mr. Cook even noticed the hanging bough.
Once at the kitchen bar, Paisley did a quick scan of the dining room and great room, ensuring that balloons were still bobbing, lights still twinkling, people still chatting, music still playing. Everything was as it should be, and Paisley served Mr. Cook an eggnog, sprinkling cinnamon on top first.
“To Mistletoe,” she said, raising her own glass in a toast.
“Don’t you mean After the Mistletoe?”
“Touché,” Paisley replied, sipping from her drink. “We’re going for downhome holiday. Per your advice, I might add.” She tried for a wink at him, feeling stupid to emulate the Calhoun family quirk and awkward to use it on her investor. The same one who held a degree of scorn for Paisley, she could tell.
“I can see that,” Mr. Cook replied. “And I can see that you’re enjoying yourself, too, Miss Barrett.”
Paisley smiled. Maybe her plan was working out. Maybe all she needed was to throw an incredible matchmaking party. Maybe it was enough, after all? A small hometown affair with a house full of clients eager to find someone for their midnight kiss?
Speaking of, she checked her watch. The evening was wearing on quickly, and she and Shelby hadn’t yet settled on their way of ringing in the New Year come midnight. They had basic plans—a song chosen, a toast planned, and Paisley had even secured sparklers and some small-scale fireworks. Of course for that to happen, they’d need an extra hand or two. There still may be time to call someone to help. If not Knox, who was clearly preoccupied, then perhaps Shelby’s cousin Beau could return?
Then again—an idea curled around Paisley’s brain. A risky move that would only work if Mr. Cook’s opinion of her and the party was positive.
She looked him in the eye. “I am enjoying myself, yes. So far, this event is a success. We’ve checked in over seventy-five guests, and we’re expecting another twenty before the evening’s over. You know, those late arrivals who were a little reticent about coming at all. The ones who get fearful of romance, no doubt. The unlucky-in-love types.” She let out a short laugh.
“Speaking of which,” Mr. Cook answered. “Where’s your date tonight, Miss Barrett?”
Paisley’s smile fell away faster than a snowman melting in a heat wave. She swallowed hard, and her gaze flew to the door. Where was Shelby? Then, Paisley remembered her courage. Her decision.
“With all due respect, Mr. Cook, I disagree with your ultimatum.”
“Excuse me?” he answered, a shadow crossing his face.
Coach Kern came on the microphone, reminding the crowd to head down to the beach for s’mores. After his brief announcement, a Bing Crosby number came on, and the people who were inside dancing, slowed. A few left, the idea of melted chocolate and marshmallow appealing, apparently. Still, several newly paired couples remained, dancing slowly and speaking low in front of the fire and the Christmas tree.
The mood was all wrong for a business conversation. “Why don’t we go back to the de
ck?” Paisley suggested, her jaw clenching and unclenching.
Once back in position at the deck, Paisley glanced down to the beach. At the fire stood Shelby and Betsy, and with them, it looked like none other than Bridger Calhoun. Paisley did a doubletake, squinting hard into the night. It couldn’t be. He was supposed to be resting at Knox’s. Had something gone wrong?
Her stomach churned.
“As I was saying,” she continued, distracted by the hullabaloo on the beach. “I respect you as a financial investor, and I value what you bring to our company. Truly, I do. However, I believe this company can succeed regardless of my love life.” She gestured about her. “As you can see, we have a full house tonight. And quaint, small-town events like this—they could be the difference for Mistletoe. They could set us apart. I think we’re onto something here, and I hope we can maintain your sponsorship.”
“Miss Barrett—Paisley,” Mr. Cook replied. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I cannot dictate your personal affairs. But I’ve made it clear that our backing of your company depends on your brand. This—” he lifted his hand to the party “is a great start. However, I’ve made myself clear, Paisley.” A hardness set in on his face, and Paisley was at a loss.
How could she do this? Could she do this? Could Mistletoe carry on without significant financial investment? Without the safety net of Cook and his associates?
She figured she could change his mind. She figured it would be okay, but now she second-guessed everything.
Everything.
“Well, you see, I do understand our agreement, and we certainly hope to keep your sponsorship, Mr. Cook. I just hoped I might change your mind about what our brand requires. This party reflects exactly the goals we share. As for me and my personal life and whether I have a serious relationship—”
“An example,” Mr. Cook added. “A shining example of the very thing you’re selling. That’s all. A boyfriend, Paisley. Where is he?”
Paisley felt her neck grow red as she searched for the right words to admit… there was none.
But before she could even open her mouth, a voice came behind her.
“I’m right here.”
Chapter 36—Knox
When he walked his dad down to the bonfire on the beach, they found his mother there, tending to a s’mores station.
Hickory tried his hand at begging, which was a helpful distraction as the two Calhoun men convinced Betsy that Bridger could relax in a chair in front of the fire. It’d be good for him, they told her.
Once Shelby arrived, happy to see her dad and aloof to Betsy’s irritation, the tide changed in their favor, and Betsy said as long as he was relaxing, Bridger could stay. She’d get him a blanket and an iced water.
That’s when Knox asked about Paisley. Flat out asked about her. It took a degree of courage to do it in front of everyone, including a few errant partygoers who stood awkwardly near.
“Mr. Cook just arrived,” Shelby had whispered, indicating to the back deck with her glass of eggnog.
Knox knew exactly what this meant, but to be sure, he tugged Shelby to the side.
His sister was frank with him, re-explaining the situation that Knox had already pieced together before. Cook was checking up on things—not on the party, in all probability—but on Paisley.
“She’s going it alone,” Shelby told her brother. “She thinks she can change his mind and show him that all the company needs is the right event. Not a… not an exemplar for a founder.”
Knox asked his sister if he could help, and she shrugged. “Only if you can make a serious boyfriend materialize for her,” she said.
In fact, Knox could come close.
So, off he took. Up the sandy stairs and down the deck toward the champagne table.
As he approached Paisley and the unfamiliar, overdressed investor, he heard it all, slipping by Paisley’s side just in time to dip his mouth to her cheek in a chaste peck.
“Sorry I’m late,” Knox declared, grinning mischievously at Paisley. “Who’s this?” He put his hand out.
“Oh, um—hello. Baron Cook. Good to meet you.”
The two shook hands, and Knox could feel Paisley beam beside him. It wasn’t only the right thing to do—the good thing to do. It was the thing he wanted to do. He just wasn’t sure if she wanted it, too. For real, that was.
He could have carried on the charade then and there. He could have made small talk with the two of them. Commented on the great party. The nice weather. The late evening and how tired he was.
But he didn’t.
And he didn’t care what Mr. Cook would think; what Knox was about to do next would only make Paisley even more perfect in her stuffy investor’s eyes.
“Will you excuse me just a moment?” Knox didn’t wait for an answer.
After all, he’d been waiting his whole life to feel exactly what he felt toward Paisley.
He stepped up to the makeshift DJ station with Beau’s old speakers and Coach Kern shoving a slice of pumpkin pie into his mouth. “I need to make an announcement,” he told Kern, who fumbled to move out of the way.
Knox lowered the volume on the music and tapped the mic twice. A dull thud boomed across the room, and Knox hoped those on the deck would hear it enough to meander over.
“Good evening, everyone,” he began, running the back of his hand along his forehead. “My name is Knox, and you don’t know me from Adam, but well, you’re spending your evening in my family’s home. The same one I grew up in, in fact.”
Murmurs rippled across the party as more faces appeared through the back doors, including Mr. Cook and Paisley’s. She frowned hard, bewildered, no doubt. He winked at her.
“You’re here tonight because it’s the hardest night of the year to be single.” A smatter of chuckling came in reply, and Knox laughed away from the microphone, too. “I know, because I haven’t spent a single New Year’s Eve with someone special.”
This time, he was met with an echo of sympathetic ahhs from the females of the group.
“Until tonight,” Knox added, swallowing hard and pushing ahead before he lost his nerve. Knox wasn’t one for grand gestures, but then… he’d never had cause to make a grand gesture before. “The reason we’re all here is because of Miss Paisley Barrett. She’s the reason I’m here tonight, too. If you don’t know the story, Paisley and my sister Shelby wanted to put something on that would make you feel right at home. Comfortable. Well, I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my entire life even though it’s my own childhood home I’m standing in.” He laughed nervously, and the crowd waited. Knox licked his lips and found Paisley standing in the doorway, behind the crowd of partygoers curious enough to congregate in the great room. Mr. Cook even stood ahead of her, at the corner of the kitchen bar, studying him hard, daring Knox to prove himself. “Well, anyway,” Knox went on, twisting the microphone in his hands and returning a soft gaze to Paisley. “It’s not quite midnight yet, I know, but I’d like to take this opportunity to raise a toast. If you would—if you would raise whatever you have—” Knox glanced around the modest DJ station frantically, spotting Coach Kern’s plastic cup of punch and grabbing it. “Sorry, Coach. I need this,” he murmured, and Kern just shook his head and grinned.
“All yours, teach.”
Knox lifted the drink and held Paisley’s stare. His sweet CarolinaGirl. The one he never knew he could find. Certainly not in Indigo Bay. Certainly not there, in the Calhoun family house among family and strangers alike. He cleared his throat and returned the microphone to his lips. “To Paisley Barrett. Before the mistletoe, beneath the mistletoe, and most definitely after the mistletoe.”
He threw back a swig of the punch, set it and the microphone down, and strode with a purpose directly to Paisley where she stood, beneath the little bough of romance.
Knox slid one hand around her waist and the other beneath her chin, and he stared hard at her. “I hoped you were her. I hoped so hard you were CarolinaGirl that I couldn’t sleep this whole week.”
She smiled and bit down on her bottom lip, and Knox’s chest tightened. “I hoped you weren’t BeachBum,” she said with a smirk.
“But why?” he whispered, his face edging closer to hers.
“Because it means this is real,” she murmured back.
Knox’s voice dropped lower. “You don’t want it to be real?”
She lifted her mouth closer to his and answered, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, his lips parting in rhythm to Paisley’s as the sound of their audience blurred away, and all Knox could hear was the pounding of his own heart as they kissed under that sweet, sweet mistletoe.
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to read the next title in the Indigo Bay series, Sweet Carol.
Don’t forget to check out other Indigo Bay stories here!
If you’d like to read more by Elizabeth Bromke, you may enjoy her bestselling sweet romance series, Hickory Grove. Start with The Schoolhouse or The Christmas House today.
Also By Elizabeth Bromke
Birch Harbor:
House on the Harbor
Lighthouse on the Lake
Fireflies in the Field
Cottage by the Creek
Bells on the Bay
Gull’s Landing:
The Summer Society, a USA Today Bestseller
The Garden Guild
The Country Club
Hickory Grove:
The Schoolhouse
The Christmas House
The Farmhouse
The Innkeeper’s House
The Quilting House
Acknowledgments
Above all, I am thankful to Melissa McClone for inviting me into the world of Indigo Bay. And of course, I’m so grateful to Jean C. Gordon, Jeanette Lewis, Jean Oram, and Shanae Johnson for sharing this sweet world with me.
Rachel, Lisa, Sue, and Krissy—you are my team! Thank you for helping shape this story into its finished product.
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