ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Tanya Michaels started telling stories almost as soon as she could talk…and started stealing her mom’s Harlequin romances less than a decade later. In 2003 Tanya was thrilled to have her first book, a romantic comedy, published by Harlequin Books. Since then, Tanya has written nearly twenty books and is a two-time recipient of the Booksellers’ Best Award as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion, National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award. Tanya lives in Georgia with her husband, two preschoolers and an unpredictable cat, but you can visit Tanya online at www.tanyamichaels.com.

      This book is dedicated to all of you

       wonderful readers who e-mailed to ask,

       “Will there be more Mistletoe stories?” Enjoy!

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter One

      It was a bad sign when you were feeling envious of the person in the casket.

      Chloe Malcolm winced at her own thoughts, which were highly inappropriate and completely out of character. Chloe was always appropriate; it was one of the things Aunt Jane had teased her about. Swallowing a knot of emotion, Chloe smiled at her aunt’s peaceful face. As far as Chloe knew, Jane Walters had never once in her sixty-three years worried about decorum. It was that free-spiritedness Chloe envied.

      Aunt Jane had appalled Chloe’s parents by nicknaming her niece “Wheezy,” making the childhood asthma Chloe later outgrew seem like more of an in-joke than a handicap. I’m going to miss you. Jane hadn’t spent much time here in Mistletoe—too busy running with the bulls in Pamplona or, more recently, hot-air ballooning over Flagstaff—but each of her visits had been memorable.

      “How are you holding up?”

      Chloe turned to see blond and beautiful Natalie Young, her best friend and manager of the town’s flower shop. “Okay. I know she wouldn’t have any regrets and wouldn’t want any of us moping. She was just so full of life that it’s hard to believe…”

      “Yeah. She was a force all her own.” Natalie grinned. “I’m amazed at some of the stories I’ve heard this afternoon, but I guess you grew up with them.”

      Not exactly. Chloe’s parents had loved Jane, but they hadn’t minded her keeping a geographical distance from their impressionable daughter and had deemed some of Jane’s exploits unfit for young ears.

      Back in the sixties, Aunt Jane had shocked her own parents and her older sister when she’d eloped with a local boy who’d left shortly after for Vietnam. When he’d come back, he’d been unable to assimilate to small-town Georgia life; he and Jane had restlessly roamed the country for the remainder of their marriage, part of which she’d spent dancing in a Vegas show and perfecting her blackjack skills. Chloe’s mother, Rose, had commented more than once that her younger sister had the devil’s own luck. She’d said it with neither jealousy nor censure, but worry. Fear that Jane’s exuberant, outrageous ways would catch up to her one day.

      But Chloe believed Jane left this world exactly as she would have wanted—after a day of parasailing in the Caribbean and a romantic evening with a forty-nine-year-old divorced tax attorney, she’d died of a blood clot in her sleep. Jane had dated a wide range of men in the past two decades, never lacking companionship. She’d aged beautifully, like Helen Mirren or Diane Keaton. Still, Chloe thought that what really attracted admirers was her aunt’s confidence and verve—two qualities Chloe lacked, except when it came to computers.

      During Chloe’s teen years, Jane had insisted her niece was simply a “late bloomer.” At twenty-seven, Chloe had resigned herself to the fact that she was as bloomed as she was going to get.

      Trying to push away vague pangs that she might have let her aunt down, Chloe redirected her attention to Natalie. “The arrangements are beautiful, by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”

      “Thanks.” The blonde pursed her lips. “You don’t think the flowers seem too formal? I filled people’s orders, but I feel like Jane would have preferred sunflowers or daisies. Something bright or funky. The remembrance wreath and spray of roses are a little at odds with…everything else.”

      “Like the music and the open bar? I thought Mama would have a conniption.”

      Jane’s