Thankfully, because of the positioning of our guide, there was no chance for Jordan to pull out a chair for me. I wasn't sure I could keep up the fight if he made another chivalrous gesture. I was starting to think I wanted him to win the game and claim me as his prize.

As we sat down with menus unopened and candlelight flickering between us, silence settled over our table. Sometimes one of us would start to say something, but it would just end in an awkward smile and an averted gaze. The confidence Jordan had exuded the entire ride over had suddenly diminished now that he sat with me face to face in the quiet corner of a restaurant bursting with happy families and smiling couples. I couldn't tell what was going through his head, but every time I attempted to bring up the decorations, the doubt of my reason for being here halted my tongue. I wanted him to start. I wanted him to be clear about his intentions. Either by jumping right into business or... I didn't even know. If he didn't start business immediately, what was I to assume?

"First date?"

The sudden question snapped both of us out of our stillness and we breathed in as if it was the first breath we'd taken since we walked through the door.

"No." Jordan cleared his throat and shifted his position to get a better look at our waitress. "No, not a first date. Not any date... just a business meeting."

"You sure?" She waved her pen around, gesturing to the two of us. "It looks kind of like a date. Though if it is," she said, turning to face me, "you should know that Jordan hasn't been on a date in a long time, so he might screw it up. Don't hold it against him." The woman, a tall, bottled redhead with a few wrinkles peeking through her artfully applied makeup, gave me a wink before turning to face the both of us again. I tried to stifle my laughter, but it just came out as a choking cough that made Jordan's face burn with embarrassment.

"It's not a date," he said more firmly. "This is Lyn Creeke. She's the new owner of the Hound and Sparrow. So, like I said, we're here on business."

"Oh?" Her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched as she cast her gaze over at me from the side of her eye. "I thought you were selling the place."

"She'll find the inn a good owner," replied Jordan, with a stern clip to his voice.

For a moment, a tense silence blanketed us and I darted my eyes between the two, uncertain if I should apologize or call a cab to head home before the town brought out their torches and pitchforks. Then the tension shattered when the waitress let out a dramatic sigh and sent her eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh, why do I even hope? Here, I thought we may have had an actual chance for you, Jordan. Lord knows you're not going to ever find a woman unless you're working with her. You don't got time for anyone except that house." She shook her head, then looked at me again and continued on in a conspiratorial whisper. "For the best dear, the man's married to his work."

My second attempt to stifle my laugh went worse than the first.

"Okay, thank you, Aunt Bernice. I think we'll need a few more minutes with the menus."

"Sure thing, Jordan." She spun on her heel and gave us both a wave before heading over to a different table.

"Aunt Bernice? She's your aunt?"

"The benefits of living in a small town," he groaned.

I openly laughed, and soon his embarrassment shifted into a toothy grin. After that, the conversation came more easily. He made a few suggestions from the menu and, by the time Bernice came around for our orders, we were well into our discussion about the tree decorations.

"See, I grew up here and everything, but I'm no history buff. I know our founder's name was Hereford and that he was an explorer who found the mountain in his old age and decided it was as good a mountain as any to spend his retirement, but outside of that... There was a fire that did quite a bit of damage once and then... I mean, I know nothing about some mayor's wedding."

"Well, it's still better than what I know." I shrugged as I grabbed another biscuit from the basket Bernice delivered not long after taking our orders. They tasted just like the ones Marge made for Thanksgiving and they were a fluffy piece of heaven. "I mean, if you can give me any direction at all, I might be able to conjure up some ornament ideas. Creativity, however, isn't necessarily my strong suit."

"Sure it is," he said with a smile. "What about those danishes you did the other day, where you topped it off with holly made with puff pastry leaves and cherries for the berries. Mrs. Salisbury didn't even want to eat it. She thought it was too pretty."

"Well, I don't know..."

"I also hear you made a pretty amazing gingerbread rocket." He leaned in, the candlelight glinting in his warm gaze. His smile, soft and sweet, quickened the beat of my heart, which bashed against my ribcage and constricted the air in my lungs.

"So if you don't feel comfortable with the history," I said, looking to my half eaten biscuit as I struggled to find the breath needed to keep talking, "maybe we should ask someone else around here who might be a bit more familiar."

"Good luck with that." A laugh punctuated his unhelpful answer.

I looked over to find him leaning back in his chair with a playful grin on his lips. However, it didn't have the same hold as his earlier smile and I felt the tension ease from my muscles, though in its place a quiet voice of regret slithered in. I wondered if his adoring gaze had been my imagination.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in town is linked to the competition in some way. We'd be hard pressed to find someone willing to help us. People may have some sympathy considering Gina's death, but she's also a reigning champion, so they will not want the new owner swooping in to reclaim the prize so soon."

"We can research this on our own," I said with an exasperated huff, "but there's no way we can read up on everything and get the ornaments made in time for the competition deadline. We only have a week and a half..." I paused, my words trailing as I caught that smile once again. "W-what?"

"Nothing, just admiring how into this competition you are. I just find it all surprising. Nice, but surprising."

"Well... I guess..." I didn't have words to respond to him. I wanted to say "of course I'm into it, it's Christmas and it's my great aunt's last display..." but I didn't even want to admit it to myself, much less to him. I even wondered if I had let it get too far already. I had to leave here. I couldn't get attached. Not to the inn, not to the town, and not to Jordan. It would all go away someday and I'd be alone once again. Because I did have to leave. I couldn't stay.

Right?

I bit my lower lip and my eyes shook with thought. I felt my throat tightening and my palms sweat as I deliberated my feelings. Thankfully, Jordan interrupted my mental tug-o-war.

"Look, why don't we come at it from this direction?" His gentle voice pulled my eyes back to him. "Let's just put Gina's idea aside for a moment. What is it you would do?"

"That I would do?"

"If you had to decorate those trees, what design would you do?"

"Well..."

I thought for a moment. His question wasn't completely new to me. I'd asked myself the same thing. If this had been my inn—which it technically was for the time being—what would I have done? The answer had been clear to me the moment I thought about it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to voice it out loud. However, we weren't getting anywhere with this town history idea and I didn't want to fail at this competition. Why I didn't want to fail was up for debate, but I didn't have the mental energy to spend on settling that issue.

"Well, there was something I was thinking about..."

"What?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"It's... what if we didn't just throw out the history idea? What if we just altered it a little?"

"Okay." He crossed his arms and reclined into his chair. "Like America's history or the state's?"

"Well, I mean we could, but I was thinking..." I sighed, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What if instead we did Gina's history?"

"Gina's?" He snapped forward, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping slightly, and his palms planting onto the table. "You want to do Gina's history?"

"Well... I... it's just right, isn't it?" I asked with a shy shrug. "It's her last display, and it's clear the town loves her, and I think it would be nice to honor her one last time since she clearly loved the season and this town and..."

My words caught in my throat as Jordan reached over and took hold of my hand in his. His rough fingers wrapped around my far softer skin, his grip firm, but not painfully so. His thumb made slow circles on the top of my hand and it sent a shiver up my spine.

"You mean it? This is what you'd want to do? Truly?"

"Yes," I answered honestly.

"I... Madelyn..." He struggled with the words, though my name, my full name, sounded so foreign and lovely upon his tongue that it melted what little hold I had over myself.

He won. The game was his, and he reigned supreme and I did not care. Business, pleasure, whatever we were doing there, I didn't care. My grandmother probably groaned somewhere in her grave, afraid of the path I'd set before myself. She'd hardened me. She prepared me with such care to keep me safe from the pain this road may bring, but I'd been bewitched by the Christmas lights, by the festive cheer, by the magic of the carols. Grandmother was right. I'd lost my sense of reason and I didn't care. I just wanted him to keep holding my hand.

"Excuse me, are you Lyn Creeke?"

The voice came from behind me and I snapped around so fast my neck hurt.

"H-hello, I'm Lyn."

Before me stood a man about a decade older than myself, probably pushing towards 40, dressed in a suit that I knew well enough to recognize he, like me, was not from around here.

"Sorry to bother you, but I'm Devon Myers from Panoramic Destinations," he said, offering his hand. "I've been calling you, but since I hadn't heard back from you yet, I thought I would just come to town myself and show you how serious I am about purchasing your property."