Sweet Mistletoe Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1—Paisley

  Chapter 2—Knox

  Chapter 3—Paisley

  Chapter 4—Knox

  Chapter 5—Paisley

  Chapter 6—Knox

  Chapter 7—Paisley

  Chapter 8—Knox

  Chapter 9—Paisley

  Chapter 10—Knox

  Chapter 11—Paisley

  Chapter 12—Knox

  Chapter 13—Paisley

  Chapter 14—Knox

  Chapter 15—Paisley

  Chapter 16—Knox

  Chapter 17—Paisley

  Chapter 18—Knox

  Chapter 19—Paisley

  Chapter 20—Knox

  Chapter 21—Paisley

  Chapter 22—Knox

  Chapter 23—Paisley

  Chapter 24—Knox

  Chapter 25—Paisley

  Chapter 26—Knox

  Chapter 27—Paisley

  Chapter 28—Knox

  Chapter 29—Paisley

  Chapter 30—Knox

  Chapter 31—Paisley

  Chapter 32—Knox

  Chapter 33—Paisley

  Chapter 34—Knox

  Chapter 35—Paisley

  Chapter 36—Knox

  Also By Elizabeth Bromke

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to locations, events, or people (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Elizabeth Bromke

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Qamber Designs

  The reproduction or distribution of this book without permission is a theft. If you would like to share this book or any part thereof (reviews excepted), please contact us through our website: elizabethbromke.com

  SWEET MISTLETOE

  Publishing in the Pines

  White Mountains, Arizona

  Created with Vellum

  About this Book

  A single matchmaker. A local teacher. And one Christmas mix-up.

  Paisley Barrett runs Mistletoe, a concierge matchmaking service. During the holidays, business should be booming, but her investors think she’s the reason it's not. A thirty-something single matchmaker doesn’t inspire confidence in clients. So, they hand her an ultimatum—find a boyfriend by the new year, or she’s out of a job.

  Knox Calhoun puts his teaching career first, much to the dismay of his overbearing Southern family who wants him to settle down. Desperate to survive the holidays without too much grief or matchmaking, he uses a dating app to find someone—anyone—to be his plus-one at the family’s over-the-top Christmas celebration.

  When he arrives at his sister's beach cottage, he finds himself under the mistletoe, kissing a beautiful woman. But Knox soon discovers Paisley isn’t his date from the app. But could the mistletoe mix-up work out in both their favors this Christmas?

  This is the fifth story in the Indigo Bay Christmas Romance Series and can be read as a standalone.

  Enjoy the other titles in this series in any order:

  Sweet Tidings

  Sweet Noel

  Sweet Joymaker

  Sweet Yuletide

  Sweet Carol

  For my sweetheart.

  Chapter 1—Paisley

  Out of Christmas decorations!? We’ve got the Mistletoe covered! Download the Mistletoe App and plan this year’s Christmas kiss!

  Drumming her fingers on her desk, Paisley Barrett stared at the computer screen. Her team’s newest iteration of a splash page mock-up glared back at her.

  “Too many exclamation points,” she muttered to herself. “And who wants to plan a kiss?”

  She went back into her email and tapped out a better hook to send to the marketing rep who updated the social media pages and pushed out seasonal ads.

  Instead of an ugly-sweater party, cuddle up with your new favorite matchmaking app!

  “Ugh. Worse.”

  She tried once again.

  This holiday season meet your special someone under the mistletoe. Download Mistletoe and find your perfect Christmas match!

  “The boss wants you.”

  Paisley swiveled around.

  Shelby Calhoun leaned into the doorframe, tapping her smartwatch. “Now,” she added, grimacing.

  Paisley didn’t like being bossed around by her younger VP. Still, she wilted at the command. “Boss? Which one?”

  Though Paisley ran Mistletoe Matchmaking Corporation, and all creative elements began and ended with her, her status as president meant little.

  The true power rested with her investors. A trio of tech-savvy, youthful entrepreneurs who had their hands in every start-up in Charleston.

  She joined Shelby in the hallway.

  “It’s what’s-his-name. The one who’s like my age and totally bald. Thick black glasses. I suspect he was sent here by the other two, though,” Shelby whispered as they strode through the office to the lobby of their building. “He seems nervous.”

  “What do you think it’s about?” Paisley whispered back. But she knew exactly what it was about.

  Downloads had been on a steady decline for six months. Ratings dropped off, too. It was any wonder she hadn’t already found herself in hot water with the money people.

  Paisley’s boutique matchmaking company was in trouble. Plain and simple.

  The three of them met in an open-concept space at the back of her offices. Even as she sat there, Paisley worried her fingers beneath the table, wondering what the awkward man was thinking.

  She flicked a glance at Shelby, who sat rigid and poised. Paisley tried to emulate her, rolling her shoulders back and tossing her hair with one hand. “I’ve considered expanding to include walk-in consultations,” she began, her palms open and sweaty on the desk.

  “And…” Shelby added helpfully, “we have a conference call with a former Tinder associate who says she can give us a low-bid evaluation.”

  The investor raised his hand. “No.”

  Paisley and Shelby exchanged a look.

  “No?” she asked.

  “We’re ready to scale now. And going back in time isn’t the answer. Sure, we love your creative spirit, Miss Barrett. It’s how you sold us to begin with. You’ve got the right ideas. Your execution is fine. And yes, tweaks are always good, but our team met. We reviewed the data and discussed everything, and here’s the problem.”

  Paisley swallowed past a lump in her throat.

  “You see, Miss Barrett, Mistletoe is a matchmaking service.”

  Unclear on his direction, she nodded slowly. “Right.”

  Shelby cleared her throat.

  “And as a matchmaking service, you sell a promise. You sell hope. You sell a way of life. Love. A lifetime of true love. That distinguishes Mistletoe from most of the dating apps on the scene.”

  Again, Paisley nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And your face, Miss Barrett, represents the company. You are Mistletoe. Inextricably, you are the queen matchmaker. Even if we’re an app. Even if you never meet our clients, they see your face on the website, in ads, and each time they get that little notification with a sprig of green leaves and a little clump of red balls—your smiling face pops up along with the alert.”

  “Right,” Paisley repeated. All he said was true. She founded the company on the principle that app-based dating had gone the way of social media—an impersonal service parading as the most personal service ever. Paisley set out to change that. Everything they did at Mistletoe was personally vetted through her and stamped with her image and name.

  “But you see, Miss Barrett,” the investor continued, “it’s
not working.”

  She blinked. A line of sweat crept along her spine toward her perfect blonde A-line cut. The one she’d regretted spending so much money on the weekend before. “Right, Mr. um, Mr. Cook. You see, that’s why I’d like to go back to the drawing board with the brick-and-mortar concept and—”

  “No,” he answered calmly, quickly. “It’s not the business model.”

  Shelby cleared her throat again, and Paisley paled.

  “With all due respect, sir, if it’s not the business model, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem, Miss Barrett, is the businesswoman.”

  Chapter 2—Knox

  “Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!” Knox announced fifteen seconds before the final bell. “See you next year!”

  Half the class groaned at the over-done teacher joke, but Knox chuckled to himself, opening the classroom door and ushering the teenagers out into the chilly hallway of Indigo Bay High School.

  Knox Calhoun returned to his desk. There, he set about wrapping up final grades so he could meet his cousin for a celebratory slice of pizza. Bayside Pizzeria on the marina was their usual Friday spot, but the last Friday of a semester was a particularly important dinner. Two weeks of freedom from work for Knox. And for Beau, two weeks of freedom from helping his kids with homework, something that never was a strong suit for the jock turned electrician.

  Beau Sanderson was Knox’s best friend in the world. But having a family member as a best friend could complicate things. Especially since Beau was a Calhoun-Sanderson family favorite, doing exactly what his parents and grandparents asked of him.

  Of course, Knox was no rebel. He just liked the life he’d made for himself. He liked to keep things as they were. No sense in fixing something that wasn’t broke, after all. This attitude wasn’t passed down to Knox, of course. His mother was a meddler and his father a wheeler and dealer. The Calhoun matriarch and patriarch attributed their wealth and success to such dispositions.

  Knox earned his contented personality. Fought hard for it—passing up the opportunity to work at his father’s Charleston-based car dealership, Calhoun Luxury Auto. Instead, Knox followed his childhood dream: teaching high school English.

  To someone like Bridger Calhoun, a decorated war veteran, reading books and writing poems were frowned upon, to say the least.

  Even Betsy, Knox’s mother, had fussed over what a career in public education might do for Knox’s prospects.

  None of it discouraged their hard-headed only son. But as a way to prove to his parents that there was more to his life than literature, Knox coached football in the fall and track in the spring, which served to fill so much of his time that he wasn’t often forced to bear the brunt of the nagging.

  Lately, however, as Knox approached the turning-point age of thirty, the phone calls turned more frequent. The text messages were laced with implications.

  That’s why he looked forward to his Friday night pizza with Beau. Beau, a married man and father of four, lived vicariously through Knox, drooling over the seemingly clean and free life that bachelorhood provided him.

  Knox arrived five minutes early to Bayside Pizzeria and ordered himself two slices of cheese and a root beer and slid into their favorite booth by the window.

  Time ticked away, Knox people watching and thinking about his winter break plans.

  Mainly, he wanted to get some good reading in. It would help him decompress between all the holiday events he’d been involuntarily signed up for.

  Ten minutes later, with no sign of Beau yet, Knox rose to refill his cup at the soda fountain.

  Next to the machine, a bulletin board hung on the wall with various advertisements, solicitations, and business cards stapled in no discernible order. Some worn and yellowed. Some new and unfamiliar.

  His gaze settled on a pine-green flier, stapled squarely in the center of the board.

  Barks and Bows, presented by the Indigo Bay Animal Shelter.

  Knox read the details of a fundraising gala set to take place the next evening. Raffles and games. Food and music and special guest appearances. Knox’s worst nightmare and an event he had zero intentions of attending. He’d donate from afar.

  Knox was all about the animals. He had one of his own. A haggardly old boy named Hickory who was good for belly rubs and short walks to the mailbox and little else. Well, other than company, of course.

  Knox let out a sigh and checked his watch.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket.

  Shaking his head, Knox pulled it out and answered without so much as a glance at the screen. “Yes, I’m still here,” he began.

  But Beau cut him off, launching into some yellow-bellied overview of how May dragged him to the Mansion B&B to help set up her table for an event the following night. He was terribly sorry, yada, yada, yada, adding finally and weakly, “My bad, Knox, but you know how it is.”

  Clicking off the line, Knox returned to his booth, picked at his remaining slice of pizza, and slumped onto the table.

  No. He didn’t “know how it was.”

  And he didn’t want to.

  Chapter 3—Paisley

  “A matchmaking company owner should represent the brand impeccably. This isn’t an issue of the latest tech or industry tricks. It’s an issue of your image, to put it plainly,” the investor went on. He sat as still as the glass of water Shelby brought him. Placid. Menacing.

  “My image?” Paisley replied. If her image was being called into question, there was nothing she could or would do. Paisley put her image ahead of almost everything, opting for facials and faux eyelashes over brunch with her friends. Choosing electrolysis over a good book. She had the strawberry-blonde A-line bob. She had the organic fake tan. She had the Jimmy Choos, that she couldn’t afford, and the MK briefcase, and the French manicure (gel, never acrylic), and the salad for lunch, and the protein smoothie for dinner and—

  “Mistletoe is a boutique matchmaking service. Your slogan is Sometimes love needs a little help from above.”

  “It’s a great slogan,” Shelby interjected.

  “It’s downhome,” the man shot back. “It’s warm and easy and spirited. It’s an inspiration!” His voice rose, but as he went on, his gaze narrowed on Paisley. “Listen, Miss Barrett. Our team backs Mistletoe because it isn’t a luxury high rise. It’s not a hook-up app for girls with long, fake fingernails or for bleary-eyed frat boys. It’s a service to facilitate connections between people who were always meant to be together. They just never found each other. That’s why you’ve opted for the photo-free profile angle, right? To keep things old fashioned and charming. Like a blind date brought to you by ol’ Mamaw, right?”

  Paisley swallowed. “Yes, that’s all true, but my image—”

  “Is that of a businesswoman. Not a sweet, old, meddling grandmother who wants her son to find his soulmate,” the investor shot back.

  “And we want a sweet, old, meddling grandmother as our CEO and president?” Shelby tried again. Paisley gave her a look. She wasn’t helping.

  “Yes, Miss Calhoun. That is our brand.”

  “Mr. Cook, I’m happy to… soften my look, if you think that will make a difference, but—”

  “Actually, no,” he answered, smoothing his tie down his torso and standing. “We need more than that.”

  She rose with him and splayed her hands, shaking her head. “I’m sorry; I don’t understand.”

  “Paisley,” he replied, cutting the formalities, “get a boyfriend by the New Year, or we’re pulling out.” He turned to the door then spun on his heel, adding, “A serious one.”

  “At least, well… you know,” Shelby offered once they were alone again.

  “What?” Paisley asked, slumping in her desk chair.

  Her vice president lowered her voice and leaned forward. “At least we get another chance.”

  “We hardly have another chance,” Paisley argued. “Find a boyfriend by the New Year? How is that even—legal? Or practical?” Ideas swirle
d in her head. They were private investors. They could control every single cent they tossed her way. And she needed every single cent they tossed her way. Mistletoe was struggling to find its grounding. “Hey, I know.” Her eyes lit up. “Let’s just make you the face of the company. We can take some pictures of you and one of the guys you go out with and—”

  Shelby shook her head. “We’re too far down the rabbit hole with your name on everything. They’ll never go for that anyway. But…” she went on, eyeing Paisley, “I think this will be fun. I mean, this is what we do, Paisley.”

  “Right, but I don’t have time, Shelby.” Paisley tapped the ball of her high-heeled foot on the tiled floor. “I’ll just fake it. Whatever. We’ll find a guy, hire a photographer, set up some social media accounts, and poof.”

  “What do you mean? Like… you want to make a listing to hire an escort?”

  “Ew, no.” Paisley flushed. “I mean that I have some… friends of friends. They’ll know someone who can step up.” That was a fib. Paisley had few friends, in fact. Yes, she had her Taco Tuesday Team—leftovers from college. Her book club—a handful of older neighbors. And Shelby, who she wasn’t entirely certain considered Paisley to be a friend to begin with…

  “Why not test out our new app?” Paisley offered, lifting her palms. “You’ve been so worried about it. Who better to give it a real-time spin than the CEO?”