The Magic Of Mistletoe. Carolyn Hector

owed a lot to Mario, and it was easy to maintain their friendship now simply because they both realized they never should have gotten married. Mario and his family had played a big part in Macy’s life ever since her parents had passed away. Since they dated exclusively throughout high school, they both figured marriage was their next step. Getting pregnant right after prom sped up their plans. While trying to rebuild her life, Macy took on clients who needed help with their outside decorating ideas for the holidays. That business became a niche in town and led her to become extremely successful.

      In a few weeks, all the homes in Tallahassee would be judged for their holiday spirit. Each neighborhood nominated a winner and posted their favorite home on Pinterest. From there, the home with the most votes collected a win. The award, courtesy of the mayor’s office, came with a cash prize, but more important, clout in the community for having the most spirit. In the past ten years, one of Macy’s homes had always won. Her biggest competitor was herself. But she never took all the credit. Each customer would sit down with her and give their ideas of what they wanted. Macy just put it into motion.

      Now here she sat, a successful decorator, and she couldn’t focus on one single thing. The Christmas clock down the hall ticked away. The bells on the front door indicating a visitor were silent. In a way, Macy hoped the feeling of excitement when she heard her bells chime over her front door would never go away. It kept her on her toes. There was always a challenge lurking around the corner, but right now she desperately needed some motivation. The Wainwrights’ ideas weren’t sparking anything with her.

      The Wainwrights were her latest clients. They were a middle-aged couple, married for twenty years, and wanted to finally get involved in the Christmas tradition. None of Macy’s suggestions had worked for them, and none of theirs were things Macy could pull off. She couldn’t make real snow appear and stick for the duration of the holiday season. They had a hard time understanding that if they did not sign their contract, Macy would not to be able to help them. They were going to have to stop just showing up every other day with their latest outrageous ideas.

      Tucking her pencil behind her ear, Macy adjusted the cowl-necked sweater and strained her ear for her latest Christmas gadget, a buff, half-naked Santa with one hand on his hip and the other behind his head while he gave off a hearty “ho, ho, ho.”

      Any distraction was welcome right about now. The lead from her pencil barely made any marks. For the first time in a long time, her mind was elsewhere. Her wrists flicked a few times, sketching the outline of a face that had haunted her all night long. From the curve of his lips to his chiseled jawline, Duke Rodriguez’s face was burned into her brain. Two cups of coffee couldn’t get her to concentrate. Duke’s cocky smile, his eyes and the way he flirted with her yesterday flashed through her mind.

      Matters didn’t get better when the office timer went off and the television screen popped on, directly to WKSS channel seven. Duke’s deep baritone voice filtered through the office. She’d turned her back on the television, but she could still hear him as if he were right behind her. She would never admit it out loud, but his deep voice with the slight island accent made her stomach flip with butterflies. The fact that he had this kind of effect on her bothered her to no end. She was supposed to dislike him. And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

      There had been a whisper running through the Baez home last night when he’d dared to show his face. Everyone with children who watched Tune In, Tallahassee, the morning show, fumed with anger. Macy expected her friends to break out the pitchforks, but all Duke had to do was walk in the room with that nice suit on, smile his dazzling smile and flash those big brown eyes of his, and everyone reconsidered their boycott. Macy found it best to hold her grudge against him. To have a crush on him from afar was one thing; it was a different story when he was in the flesh, flirting with her. And it was obvious yesterday evening that he had been hitting on her.

      Macy had caught Duke staring at her quite a bit at the party but refused to give him eye contact. A man like him probably had a hundred women throwing themselves at him. And then there was the horrible way he got himself introduced. He should have been ashamed of himself for putting Pablo and Monique in a position like that. But that didn’t stop him. He actually had the nerve to try to hire her. She was glad she had a busy schedule. She had five homes to decorate tomorrow, and then every day until a week before Christmas she was busy.

      The heavy bells on top of the door chimed. Macy perked up. Despite her dislike for Duke’s personality, Macy felt her heart sink a tad when she spied her assistant Serena Berks coming in the door. She had no idea why she would even think a man like Duke Rodriguez would come to her place of business. She didn’t know what she would have done with him if he had shown up, but then a devilish little voice nagged at the back of her mind, reminding her that it hadn’t been that long since she knew what to do with a man.

      Down the hall, there came a grunting, a cursing and a sniffling. Poor Serena was dragging in a huge plastic mouse statue with all her might. At five foot two, Serena was just two inches shorter than Macy. The giant mouse, decked out in a red-and-green stitched scarf, had to have been about five seven. Serena’s bobbed red hair was disheveled around her freckled face.

      Macy had hoped to find one or both of the male assistants she’d hired to help lift and cart around some of the heavier decorations. It was the peak season for exterior holiday decorating and the musclemen, Spencer and Andy, hadn’t shown up. Usually, they broke the frat boy stereotype by being reliable. But late last night Spencer had left an apologetic message about not being here this week. She prayed it was a horrible prank.

      Getting up from her desk, Macy peered down the hall to where she had a view of the front door. She shook her head and hid her smile as she twisted her hair into a bun and secured it with her pencil.

      “Hey,” Macy pouted. “Santa didn’t announce your presence.”

      “That’s because I threatened him within an inch of his life if he called me a ho one more time.” Serena projected her voice a little louder so that it could be heard upstairs and in the backyard. “A lil’ help here!”

      “We’re the only ones here,” Macy shouted as she walked back to her desk and closed her sketchbook.

      The outline of the Wainwrights’ lawn was just about done. She hoped they would be happy with it. They’d better be happy. This would be the third time changing things around, and Macy’s time was precious, not to mention that her staff seemed to be dwindling for the Thanksgiving holiday.

      “Here,” Macy offered, picking up the pace down the steps and into the foyer, “let me help.”

      “No, you don’t have to,” Serena argued as she stood the mouse in his upright position. The unplugged giant mouse stood with a black nose, which, when plugged in, turned red. The plastic book of Christmas carols in his hand was open. From a distance no one could read the words, but up close someone had written, “Who let the dogs out?” as a silly joke.

      “Where are the boys?”

      Biting her bottom lip, Macy hesitated to tell Serena the truth. From the looks of her dust-covered garnet-and-gold T-shirt and jean shorts, the bookkeeper’s morning had started off rough. She must have climbed over everything in the shed just to find the mouse. Going into the storage space went above and beyond the call of duty.

      At thirty, Serena had been her assistant for the last four years while she worked on her BS and now her MBA at Florida State University. She was a pencil pusher who kept up with Macy’s schedules and appointments, yet here she was doing all the grunt work. She wondered if Serena would believe that the boys had been toppled over by a giant snowball. It was highly unlikely. The weather for Thanksgiving was scheduled to be a balmy seventy-eight degrees.

      “They left an apologetic message on my answering machine saying they left early for Thanksgiving. I kind of hoped they were joking.”

      “No way! I thought they agreed to be here over the break.”

      Macy rested her hands on her hips as she studied the mouse. “I know. But according to the message, they somehow—” she rested her finger on her chin to recall the exact way the boys had phrased