Meet-Cute Me Under the Mistletoe

*Holly*

I should have expected my parents' bakery to be busy with the official kickoff of Christmas starting this weekend, but the mountains of boxes of Christmas cookies piled on the counter and near the back door were clear evidence that Christmas was in full swing. And I knew it wasn't a minute too soon as I caught a glimpse of the first snow beginning to fall flake by fluffy flake outside the small window in the bakery's back room. I topped one final swirl of baby Jesus' hair on his sugar cookie-baked head. Perfect, I thought, but the sound of my mom calling to me from the front of the store brought me out of the zone.

"Holly! You're fixin' to be late if you don't get out of here soon!" she called. It was a sweet, sugar-coated, well-meaning threat. I was my parents' only kid, and while I'd been a regular attendee of the Santa Claus Ball for my whole life, this was the first year I would be attending as a single adult woman. I technically could have participated in the one adult activity–mistletoe kissing–for a few years now, but I had missed out because I hadn't made it home from the dorms in time for my first three years of college. But considering my mom's love for the Santa Claus Ball, you could say she was a little eager to see me off, not to mention the assumed and unsaid reason she was so excited for me to go....

"Are you sure you guys can keep up here?" I asked though I was already lifting the apron over my head. "I can stay a little longer...."

"Holly Lane Garland, you are going to leave this sweet-toothed beast to us, the owners–"

"And Jack!" my father added.

"Yes, yes, and Jack," my mother said. I could imagine the way her eyes rolled around in their sockets as she recalled sweet, freckle-faced Jack, the young man they were training to help manage the bakery as they geared up for retirement. It seemed my father was all for more free time, while my mother was hesitant to lay down her oven mitts and her piping bags. She'd built this place from the ground up–literally–and after they'd married, my dad agreed to help her manage it.

I poked my head around the curtain draped across the doorway leading from the storefront to the back room. I spotted my mom ringing up a new customer while my dad walked toward the front door with his arms full of four boxes of snowman cupcakes. As much as he was ready to relax and spend some leisure time with my mom, he never slowed down. For her sake, he barreled on through, even as the arthritis creeped into his knees, giving him a distinctive hobble.

I imagined him walking out and spotting the silver-white of snow flurrying from the sky and explaining to the customer he was following that his knees had been telling him all morning that snow was due.

"We've only got a couple more hours left before Jack shows up to kickstart the rest of tomorrow's orders," she said after sending her customer away with a smile. She turned to me and leaned back against the register. "I'm telling you, cookie, we'll be fine. We've been doing this longer than you've been alive."

I sighed, glancing back at the full, chaotic kitchen behind me. As fun and exciting as it was to help my mom decorate cookies, especially during the Christmas season, I felt a little overwhelmed by what people expected of them. How had they managed this madness by themselves for so long?

Just then, I felt the distinctive double vibration indicative of a text message for my phone in my back pocket. I patted the little bits of flour dust from my hands before I grabbed it. It was Gretchen. Her text read, "Don't forget that you need to pick up your mask and your dress," and then, "Are you coming here or am I going there?" then, "Maybe your house is better? It's closer." A split second later, she added, "Can I borrow that extra pair of Mary Janes you have?"

I chuckled. Gretchen was my organized mess of a best friend, and she was looking forward to the Santa Claus Ball just as much as I was. I wasn't sure if her boyfriend knew it, but every special occasion for the last two months had sent her into an excited tizzy, anticipating the moment he'd finally pop the question.

I shot back a quick line of messages.

"My house."

"My shoes."

"My dear best friend...."

"Please don't forget to breathe."

When I glanced up from my phone, my mom was smiling softly at me, amused and surely annoyed that I hadn't left yet.

"Mom, c'mon," I said, walking up to her and leaning against the counter next to her. "How many other girls do you know who are willing to put off leaving for a party to spend a few extra minutes with their mother?"

She craned her neck up at me and tucked the loose strand of peppered gray hair behind her ear. She did that slow blink she always made when she was giving in to my or my dad's wishes.

"Okay, then, tell me about the Santa Claus Ball. How are you doing your hair? Are you gonna kiss anyone?" She blinked her eyes expectantly at her last remark.

I'd been fed captivating stories about the Santa Claus Ball since I was a baby. It was where my mother and father met twenty-four years ago, after all. But she'd painted so many beautiful scenes in my mind, magical scenes really, of the silver and gold shining off the Christmas garland, the tantalizing smell of hot toddy and pie. She had spoken about how the dazzling shine of the multi-color Christmas lights had felt so alluring that she was sure she was in a dream. And when my dad tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to dance, she'd been entranced by the low tenor of his voice and the gentle way he'd led her in the dance. When they took off their Christmas masks and revealed their faces, her breath had caught in her throat because of the young man's bright shining eyes and radiating smile.

My mom never said anything to make me believe that she expected the same thing to happen to me, but I could tell that there was a small smidgen of hope reserved for just that. And it was Christmas, that special time of year my mom went softer than butter in a hot pan for all things love and cheer. She was a sucker for Christmas-she wasn't shy about admitting that their first encounter was directly related to my arguably overly-Christmasy name. And I'd managed to obtain a large part of that character trait, too, but with a more subtle approach.

While I was in awe of my parents' love and marriage, I wasn't so naive to believe every love was like that. I'd had friends of divorced parents, met women and men alike in college who were in tortuous relationships. So I had decided a long time ago–and after I learned that the son of Santa Claus in the Santa Clause movies had grown up and had children of his own by now–that I would take my time. I would focus on school first and worry about love later, one thing at a time.

"Mom, really? You're not going to ask about the foods I'm going to eat or the decorations?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"What can I say?" she said with a shrug. "I'm up to my elbows in deserts all day every day. I wanna hear about the other sweet stuff."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "You'd think you were the twenty-two-year-old college student and not me."

My dad had just shut the door behind him and wiped his feet on the Christmas present-shaped welcome mat. "Oh, if there's anything that makes this old tree sap up, it's the Santa Claus Ball." He leaned over the counter and kissed my mom on the hair. "Though you'd think meeting me there was enough for her."

This was becoming too much, even for me, so I decided to change the subject. "Gretchen thinks that Joey will propose to her this time."

My mom's and dad's ears both perked up at that.

"Hasn't she been thinking that since the Fourth of July?" my dad muttered.

"Do you think he will?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I guess you never know."

A short, quiet moment passed as each of us thought about it. "It would be quite sweet if he did," my mom said.

"But I hope she doesn't get her hopes up too high," my dad added.

I nodded in agreement. I was all for Joey and Gretchen getting hitched, but this occasion felt a little too on the nose for them.

"Are any of your college friends coming?" my mother asked after a moment.

I shook my head. "Nah, they're too far away. Maybe they'll come up for one of the bigger events though."

"That's a shame," my dad said, coming around the counter and patting me on the shoulder. "It's been a few months since you've seen them, right?"

It was true. Now that I had switched over to online classes, I'd moved closer to home and decided to take on some part-time work at the bookstore. I lived in the next town over from my parents, Mistletoe Mountain, which was, yes, the most Christmasy place in the US. But I loved it there. It was almost like having Christmas all year round.

I spent most of my time focused on classes. And when I wasn't at the bookstore, I was hanging out with my two best friends, Gretchen and Abigail. I hadn't spoken much to the few friends I'd made while I was on campus since I'd been back.

I talked with my mom a couple more minutes before I got a panicked message from Gretchen and a voice message right after that from Abigail simply stating, "Please help."

After giving my parents a quick habitual kiss on the cheek, I got in my car to leave... except the engine didn't even turn over.

My dad came out to look at the car. "I don't think it's the battery," he said as he scratched the bridge of his nose. He used to be a car guy before he got wrapped up in the bakery business with my mom, so I trusted that he knew when it wasn't an immediate fix.

I could feel the twitch of uneasiness crawl up my arms. I really, really didn't want to miss the Santa Claus Ball.

Next thing I knew, my mom was tossing a pair of keys at my head. I nearly caught the Christmas Mickey Mouse cake pop keychain right to the nose, but thankfully, I caught it.

"I'd say you can take our car, except there's no gas and it's full of supplies I need for a cake Jack promised to work on first thing."

The bakery van? I glanced outside at the red and white decaled van out front. "Guess that'll do," I said. I was quickly losing the time I'd planned to use to get ready. If I didn't leave now, I'd be late for sure.

"Thanks, Mom! I owe you! I'll work for you every day during Christmas break!" I yelled as I ran out the door.

"You better not!" my mom hollered back at me.

The twenty-minute drive went by quickly as I admired the patches of snow that had begun to collect on the sides of the road. The mix of adrenaline and long-awaited anticipation of the ball had my chest feeling tight with giddiness. I just knew it was going to be exactly as my mom described-probably minus the meeting the love of my life part.

When I pulled into the driveway of Abigail's and my little townhouse, Gretchen was running out on the front porch to meet me. I couldn't tell if she was excited or panicked, but perhaps it was both.

I brushed my fingers over the silver-beaded garland we'd hung around our porch rail as I trotted up to meet her.

"Shoes! Where are your shoes?" she said, clutching my arms dramatically.

I stepped inside the door and pushed aside the extra coats and scarves hanging behind the door and pointed at the floor. Gretchen nearly fawned to the ground, thanking me with every retroactive breath she took.

Carol, my little black and gray terrier, trotted over to meet me after Gretchen ran off to situate herself. I gave Carol a little scratch on the neck, jingling the bells on her collar. She gave my hand a happy lick and retreated back to her gingerbread shaped dog house.

The rest of the time we had to get ready went smoothly, and Abigail braided my hair and helped me pull on the white wig. It probably seemed a little silly for people on the outside, but dressing up as Mrs. Claus was part of the gig, part of the tradition.

Everyone had their own take on it, and as I checked myself out in the mirror, I was satisfied with my look. I ran my hands over the flared red skirt and double-checked that the back of my diamond red earrings were on securely.

"I got the masks!" Abigail said as she clunked through the house in her white heels. "Let's get this show on the road!"

*Patrick*

I couldn't be upset that Mrs. Henson had some work for me on a Saturday. She was a nice, older woman who regularly asked for my services, even the non-electric related things. But I was willing to do anything for her because not only was she a close friend of my aunt, but she had also come to feel like a grandma to me. And after her husband of fifty-five years had passed away a few months ago, I'd started to give in to even more of her requests to come out and fix whatever small problem she was having–even on a Saturday.

"I'm so sorry to have you come out again," Mrs. Henson said as she wrapped her crocheted shawl around her shoulders. "I'm afraid I just don't know how to do anything."

I noted the way she squeezed her eyebrows together with anxiety. I felt bad for her, and I didn't want her to feel guilty for depending on me. It was only natural for a partner to feel a little lost after losing the person who had been faithfully by their side for over half their life.

I gave her my best careless grin. "It's no problem at all, Beth." She'd made me start calling her by her first name within the first month. Maybe it had something to do with the heartbreak of hearing "Mrs." and "Henson" strung together so many times.

She opened the door wide to let me in. It was chilly in this place. Yes, it was mid-November, so one might expect that, but it wasn't good for an elderly woman to be in this kind of atmosphere. She was bound to get sick.

Mrs. Henson hugged her arms tightly around herself. Under her little hand-made shawl, she was also wearing a turtle neck with a sweater over it. I glanced down at her feet, which were stuffed into a pair of fuzzy house slippers with fat, fuzzy socks puffing out the sides.

I sighed. It had been a couple of weeks since I'd seen her last, and I wondered if I didn't need to start seeing her more, even when she didn't ask.

"How's Chester doing?" I asked as she led me through her small living room into the main hallway.

"That little son of a gun is around here somewhere. You wouldn't believe what he did last night!" she said.

I grinned. Talking about her cat seemed to put her at ease. Her pinched eyebrows gave way to that classic amused and irritated expression she wore when she talked about Chester. He was an adopted orange tabby that Mrs. Henson had decided to get a couple of months after her husband's passing.

"What'd he do this time?" I asked with a smirk. "Dig up your hoya again? Scratch the curtain?"

Mrs. Henson gave a light huff. "Get this. I'm sleeping soundly–yet rather a bit coldly–in my bed. Then this little bugger comes zooming through the house and comes dashing right over me in bed!"

I set my bag down, but I had a feeling I wasn't going to need it. All she wanted me to do was adjust the thermostat. It wouldn't take me long, but I took my time as she told me stories about Chester and how John would have absolutely loved him, and all the while insisting that he hated him.

After I switched the air to heat and changed the temperature from Celsius to Fahrenheit, I gave Beth an in-depth tutorial on how to operate her thermostat.

"I feel like a big ol' goof," she said.

I patted her on the back. "You're not a goof, Beth," I told her. "Lots of people don't know how to operate these things when they first get them. There's a learning curve no matter your age or gender or ability."

She gave me a crooked, doubting smile. "Thanks for saying that, Patrick."

I picked up my bag and started to say my goodbyes, but a bashful look came across Mrs. Henson's face and she reached out to pat my forearm.

"I'm sorry, but would you mind doing me another huge favor while you're here?" she asked, a tinge of pink coming up between the wrinkles of her cheeks. "I promise I'll pay you. I'll even pay extra since it's a Saturday and you're doing more work than you bargained for!"

I patted her cool hand. "That's not necessary," I told her, though I was beginning to wonder what time it was. I'd need to shower and get dressed before the Santa Claus Ball. I was a bit nervous to go since this was my first time going as a single man since I'd broken up with my girlfriend. This time I'd participate in the Mistletoe Mystery and potentially be matched with a date. It'd been a year since I'd dated anyone, but I thought I was ready to dip my toes back in the water. And with the Mistletoe Mystery, there was no pressure for anyone to actually date their match, so it felt like a safe enough reintroduction to the dating world.

Mrs. Henson guided me to the kitchen and pointed at the stove. She gave it a timid point. "It's not working."

I tried to switch on the stove, and she was right–no heat. I worried a bit that this one might take a bit too long to find out and fix, but I looked at the lonely, withered woman next to me and knew I couldn't leave just yet.

"How long has it been out?" I asked.

She scratched at the loose bun tied up behind her head. "Maybe about five days? I was trying to make some soup a few days ago but the stove top didn't seem to be working. I hoped that it was just the top, so I went ahead and prepared to bake some Christmas cookies for a party with your aunt, but I ended up having to take the dough to her place to bake them because the oven wasn't working either.

I nodded. "All right," I said, mentally preparing myself to get back in the work zone and push out thoughts of the Santa Claus Ball.

It took longer to work on the stove than I expected, but it turned out that since it was an older stove, we'd either have to order a part to keep it running or Mrs. Henson would have to decide if she wanted to buy a new one. But it was working for now.

"I'll have to give it some thought," she said. "The new ones are probably all fancy, and I won't know how they work either. Pretty soon I'll be living in a house that's smarter than me! I won't know how to walk through the door!"

I did my best to console Mrs. Henson and let her know that she wasn't alone, no matter how lonely she might feel. Whether she expected it or not, she pretty much had me as an adoptive son.

"Let me pay you a bit extra for your trouble," Mrs. Henson insisted. She turned around and went to grab her purse off of the kitchen table.

I gently held her hands back from her purse. "Really, Beth. Don't even think about it. It's not real work when I help you out."

She curled down the corner of her mouth, deepening her wrinkles. "Patrick...."

I chuckled. "I'm serious!"

She lightly smacked my arm. "At least let me bake you some of those Christmas cookies now that the stove is working. Let me at least use you to test it out."

"That sounds perfect," I told her.

She gave my arm a light squeeze before turning away and walking back toward the living room. I followed slowly behind her, suddenly feeling sorry that I was about to leave her alone again... except for Chester the crazy orange cat, anyway.

"Say, Beth, what are you doing tonight?" I asked her.

She slowed and twisted her neck back to face me. "Oh, I suppose I'll have some dinner with Chester and watch some more TV."

"You're not going to the Santa Claus Ball?"

She cocked her head slightly. "Is that tonight?"

I nodded.

"Well, I hadn't planned on going anyway. I don't think that's the kind of place for an old woman like me."

"Nonsense!" I said. "It's for the whole town–well, the whole county, really! And you're not that old! Going out will keep you young, I hear."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think I can handle it just yet, if I'm being honest. I wouldn't know who to talk to unless your aunt was there. And I'm not about to step on your toes and ruin your chances of meeting a younger, better-looking girl."

I gave her a stern look, but I didn't want to push her. "Well, you wouldn't be stepping on my toes unless you decided to dance with me, and in that case, it's more likely that I'd be stepping on yours. But if you're not comfortable yet, I understand."

She gave a soft, tired smile. "Thanks, hun."

I nodded and moved to step past her toward the door. Before I went out, I turned back. "Beth? Remember that there are a lot of events happening this season. I know it's hard with John gone and all, but I hope you don't keep yourself away. Please think about joining some of the festivities. And, hey, you can even be my date." I flashed a quick smile and a wink.

That got a genuine smile to come up on her face. "How could I say no to that?" she said with feigned flattery. "I'd be the most envied girl of them all."

"That's right," I told her.

Mrs. Henson glanced at the clock. "You better get out of here now," she said. "I'll get started on those cookies first thing tomorrow."

I smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

As I made my way back home, I let my thoughts drift back to the ball. My buddy Andrew had talked me into it. He was the kind to frequent any kind of community get-together so he could meet ladies. He was the suave type, a borderline playboy. But he at least had more respect for them than some other guys. I suspected this was because of his close relationship with his mom.

Regardless of Andrew's convincing, I was starting to look forward to this party. Of course, I was hesitant to get back into the dating scene, but he kept reminding me that tonight didn't have to be the start of anything other than me going back out into society.

It was ironic that going out into that society, at least in this case, required hiding behind a mask. It was only temporary, the mask thing, but I thought it was amusing.

After I finally returned to my end of town and cleaned up in the shower, I did my best to shape up my stubble and trim the bits of hair that tickled the tops of my ears. I slipped on the velvety red suit that Andrew had helped me pick out. It felt strange wearing a suit, and a bright-colored flashy one at that. But I had to admit that Andrew had impeccable taste and that I looked good.

On the other hand, I wasn't confident I could pull off the white beard and tiny rounded glasses. So I tugged on the beard and fixed the Santa hat securely to my head. I decided to save the glasses for once I arrived because seeing out of them was surprisingly tricky, and they'd be above my mask anyway.

Before stepping out of the house and pretty much jogging to my truck, I shot Andrew a message that I'd meet him in the library parking lot next to the auditorium. With the low rumble of my truck's engine coming to life, my nerves spiked. I was really doing this. I felt a little ridiculous and a little thrilled, a little anxious, and a little full of myself. It was hard telling how this night was going to go.

*Holly*

"I can't believe we showed up to this thing in a cookie on wheels," Gretchen said. She wasn't all for riding to her potential engagement in my parent's bakery van. It wasn't the most romantic car in the world, but it was the only option that would fit the three of us since mine was temporarily out of commission, Abigail drove a little 2013 Mazda Miata with only two seats, and Gretchen didn't want to take her car since she planned to leave with Joey for a midnight showing of A Christmas Story.

"Get over it, girl," Abigail told her with a tough love tone. "If you really love him, you won't care what kind of car you arrive at your engagement in."

Gretchen frowned with a little sad sigh. "Yeah, yeah. You might have a point."

We all stepped out of the car, helping each other fix our hair and masks.

I wrapped my arm around Gretchen's shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. "G, to be honest, you gotta let go. You've been so caught up in wondering if he's going to propose or not that you're not focusing on the moment. Your fixation is going to take away from simply having a good time."

Gretchen was silent for a moment, staring down at her shoes-well, my shoes.

Abigail came up to Gretchen's other side and hooked her finger under her chin. "Look up, G. You're already missing the party!"

Gretchen finally lifted her face to the auditorium where her eyes slowly drank in the wonder. I took the moment to study the decorations and the lights, too, as a feeling of awe from the magical scene filled my chest.

Along the way to the auditorium we'd seen everyone's regular home decorations and the lights strung across the storefronts, and that was all beautiful and wonderful, but the Santa Claus Ball was different. Though I'd seen this place decorated every year of my life I could remember– except last year- this year felt especially magical.

Over the man-made tunnel leading into the auditorium, beams of light flashed into the sky as if to say, "This is the epicenter of Christmas!" Out front, literal candy cane lanes guided people past decorations on the lawn. There was Santa's sleigh–a real, antique sleigh–painted a pristine crimson and trimmed with gold. The intricate swirl designs on the hood were stunning. In a small fenced-in field were nine real reindeer, each with beautiful Nordic harnesses. Each of the reindeer's harnesses depicted their names–Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and, of course, Rudolph. When I was a kid, I'd make my mom let me feed each one of them a little carrot or an apple slice out of my hand. The feeling of their slobbering, wet tongues were still fresh in my mind.

The freshly fallen snow was truly helping to set the mood, the lights hitting it casting a beautiful, clean glow. And even as we stepped inside the entryway, a slew of fake snow blanketed the sides of the walkway, and crystal snowflakes hung from the ceiling. The auditorium's stage was set up beautifully as a scene from A Christmas Carol, set with the enchanting warm glow of a hundred lightbulbs seemingly floating in the air, with a quartet of strings and an accordion playing music right in the middle of it. I'd always loved the book, and I was excited to see parts of it living right in front of me. The auditorium was beautiful, but that wasn't where the Santa Claus Ball shined. That happened right around the corner behind the stage in the ballroom.

Several other "Mr. and Mrs. Clauses" filed in or mingled by the entryway, talking about the lights or the music. I spotted one tall Santa Claus and wondered if he could be my match later tonight. It was getting more thrilling to think about as we neared the ballroom.

I squeezed my friends' hands as we stepped into the magical world that was Santa Claus' Ball. From the tall ceilings hung several golden chandeliers, and again the ceiling was adorned with the warm glow of lights. A magnificently tall Christmas tree stole my attention from the corner of the room. It was decorated with giant intricate Christmas balls, silver tinsel, and beautiful vintage ornaments. Red bows were tied here and there, and a giant crystal star shone at the top of the tree. There was a smattering of wrapped-up presents under the tree, prizes for drawings and games. Each window around the room was affixed with garland and little pinecones and ribbons. The tables surrounding the dance floor glowed with charming golden candelabras and classic Nordic tableware.

And in the middle of the space, where people would waltz the night away, was the dance floor. It was trimmed with a circle of freshly fallen fake snow, and hundreds of mistletoe branches hung from sparkling golden strings.

This was it. This was the year I'd step onto the dance floor and find a match. I'd dance and chat with the men in the dance circle for approximately thirty minutes before having to make a final decision. If my choice also chose me, we'd share a kiss at midnight under that mistletoe and remove our masks.

That was the tradition in Mistletoe Mountain. I thought it just came from the town founders' strong idealism that nobody should be alone on Christmas and Christmas was a time to find and share love, to kindle relationships, and to let magic happen. But I wasn't sure that was really the case, but it made sense to me. So, every Saturday after Thanksgiving for the last two hundred-odd years, we kicked off Christmas with the Santa Claus Ball, complete with games, dancing, plays, carriage rides, and the Mistletoe Mystery.

One beauty of this match-making phenomenon was that as part of the tradition, every person who attended the ball had to dress as Santa or Mrs. Claus, and possibly since this event started, people also had to wear masks–until midnight, that was. So as it was, we were all free to roam about and chat, but unless we recognized someone by their voice, we probably wouldn't know who we were talking to. This thought used to make me nervous, but now I thought it was a sweet sentiment–getting to know people, especially a potential love match, by conversation and chemistry alone.

As I thought about it, my tummy somersaulted with excitement.

When I was a young girl, I garnered an innocent admiration for this event called the Mistletoe Mystery. My mother had spoken of it so fondly and painted the beauty of it so vividly because of her experience with my father.

But that innocence waned for a while as I reached my teenage years. I thought it was weird that everyone was cool with kissing strangers. But then, this year, that original child-like awe crept back into my heart. Perhaps I truly had taken up my mother's hopeless romanticism.

"Wait!" Abigail shouted suddenly, stopping us all near an ice sculpture of a vintage Santa.

I flinched at the unexpected sound.

"Jeez, what was that for?" Gretchen whined. "You scared the gumdrops out of me!"

I smirked. When Gretchen wasn't being anxious or obsessive, she could be a little funny.

Abigail took a moment to shove her hand down into her purse, elbow deep, and dig around. I watched with curiosity while Gretchen looked on with vexation until Abigail finally revealed the treasure from the bottom of her purse.

She held out her hand, showing three vintage brooches. "I know we know who we are right now, but maybe this'll make it a bit easier to spot each other if and when we get separated."

Gretchen chose the white diamond broach, while I was more attracted to the emerald. It was set in a golden swirling diamond shape. That left Abigail with the red one.

"That's the one I wanted anyway," she said with a smug smile.

Shortly after our arrival, around eight o'clock, the party was already in full swing. Gretchen managed to find Joey in the chaos of Clauses, and we didn't see much of them. Abigail and I stuck together most of the time, visiting with small groups of men who approached us. Some tried to guess who we were, but we opted to play by the rules and not give in to their questioning.

It was a nice evening. The music swelled around us, the aroma of cinnamon and apples and popcorn filled our noses. I remained mesmerized by the lights, some of which were programmed to change and flash with the music.

I was tuning out a conversation between Abigail and a Santa when someone announced that those wanting to participate in the Mistletoe Mystery were to make their way to the dance floor, men on the north side and women on the south side. They reminded us we'd have thirty minutes of continuous dancing, switching every two minutes for the first twenty minutes, and then ten minutes at the end to find our chosen match before the kiss.

My stomach was fluttering wildly. I'd have my first kiss in years in only thirty minutes–if everything went as planned. But, what exactly was the plan? What if I really did meet someone great?

I didn't have time to think about it as I made my way to the dance floor with at least fifty other people. It was a bit overwhelming, but I was in it. I was–mostly–ready.

I tried to scan the crowd of Santa Clauses, and something in my mind made me let out a giggle. This was hilarious, going on speed dates with a bunch of people dressed as the same magical old dude.

My gaze was suddenly trapped by the observant watch of a slender, tall statured man in a velvety red suit. I thought I saw his fake white beard twitch. Was that a smile? My heart flitted in my chest. He was looking at me, right? Suddenly, I was overcome with nerves.

But I didn't have time to react because the DJ tapped on the microphone and began counting down from three. At the sharp ding of the bell, the dance floor was filled with urgency. The hurried clack of heels passed me as men and women sought out their first match straight across from them.

My first match met me and bowed slightly. "Good night," he said formally. "Or, ah, how is your night going?" he asked.

I looked him over. He wasn't the man who'd caught my attention before the bell rang. He was tall but skinnier. His fake beard was longer and his mask was matte satin.

"It's such a beautiful night," I said, returning his bow with a small nod.

He gestured at my hands and I lifted them up to meet him.

"I guess this is the part where we start dancing," I said awkwardly.

The man's hands were clammy and warm. I supposed I couldn't blame him. Mine probably were, too.

I tried to think of something to say, but my first match ended up being totally silent. After that, I didn't have much luck for the first few matches. The conversation was awkward or forced or nonexistent, and with one guy, I didn't have the chance to speak at all.

I was about to give up and accept that I wouldn't have the same luck as my mother when the bell dinged and everyone switched partners again. I felt the velvety finish of the suit in my hands first after automatically opening my arms to receive my next dance partner. I looked up to see the same creamy white mask embroidered with holly branches and golden swirls that I had been attracted to earlier. I let my hands settle on his sturdy arm while he clasped the other confidently.

"Ah," he said. "It's you."

He spoke with a relaxed, soothing baritone voice. I was a bit dazed by it, even though it barely cut through the chatter around us. Apparently, a lot of these people were better at having conversations than I was.

It must have been because my answer was too slow, but the velvet-suited man felt the need to clarify.

"I saw you earlier, laughing. I was just curious what it was about," he said.

I let him lead me in the dance and let myself focus on my response instead. I tried to relax under his watchful gaze.

"I was just wondering if anyone else thought it was a little silly that we're all dressed up like old people trying to get dates," I said.

The white mustache twitched again. Another smile? I wondered what it looked like... did he have dimples? Was it a toothy smile or closed-lipped?

"You're not into older men?" the velvet-suited man asked.

I had to smirk. "I'm into magical men."

The man snorted and tightened his grip on my hand. "That's a high bar, but I respect it."

I smiled again, and he studied my mouth, once again making me a bit self-conscious. I knew he wouldn't be able to see my whole face, as half of it was obstructed by my mask. I hid my face on his shoulder.

"You don't need to hide from me," he said. I could feel his hand move up slightly on my back.

"Don't you think that's a bit ironic?" I said. "We're all hiding."

"But not forever," he said. This man had a confident air about him that I really appreciated. "Just until midnight." I could hear a teasing lilt in his voice that made me want to smile again.

I decided to look up at him one more time.

"I hope I get to see you," he said.

My heart faltered. Did that mean...?

But before I let myself question it, the words were out. "I want to see you, too."

And before he could respond, the bell dinged, signaling our time to switch partners.

"Let's meet again," he said before letting go of me.

Before I knew it, I'd been swept up by another mystery man. I wondered how much longer we had. How would I find him again in this crowd of people?

Fortunately, we were notified of our last dance after one more switch. I tried not to be disrespectful of the man I was dancing with, but he caught me glancing around, and I wasn't very responsive to his attempts at starting a conversation.

"Did you already find the one?" he asked. He wasn't mad or sad. It was more of a simple statement.

I hesitated before realizing that I was being a little rude. "Sorry," I apologized automatically.

The guy shrugged. "I get it. I think I'm already in love with the girl I first danced with."

I smiled at this lighthearted honesty. "Really? Your connection was that strong?"

I could feel him radiating a grin in front of me. "Maybe so."

"I hope it works out for you," I told him sincerely.

The guy nodded his head in another direction and leaned in to whisper in my ear. "And for you, too. Seems like someone can't take their eyes off of you."

I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn't get a good look over the people between us. I was about to make another comment when the bell made its final ding. My current dance partner said, "Good luck," and slid off across the floor.

The circle of the dance floor was filled with urgency as people shouted nicknames or codewords or as they held up symbols with their hands so their other half could find them easily. I kicked myself for not having thought of something like that. I also kicked myself for not wearing my taller heels.

I wasn't sure how much time passed as people tried to find their chosen matches, but I was beginning to worry I wouldn't find the velvet-suited man in time, or worse yet, he could have chosen someone else....

Just then, a strong hand caught hold of my arm and gently turned me around. "There you are," he said.