His Heart for Christmas (Love is Back in Mistwood Hollow #1)

Chapter 1 - Emma

I can’t believe I’m back in Mistwood Hollow! It’s like I never left. After four years away, everything still feels just the same. The fall festival décor is gone, and in its place, twinkling Christmas decorations are starting to go up along the familiar stretch of downtown.

Everyone knows everyone here, no exceptions. People wave and smile, not out of politeness, but because they actually know who they’re greeting. It’s that small-town warmth I’ve missed so much while I was at university, where friendliness always seemed to come with strings attached. I can’t help but smile as I drive slowly through town, stopping at every stop sign—because in Mistwood Hollow, there’s no need for traffic lights.

Grinning, I see the spot I used to sit with my friends outside the ice cream shop, no matter what time of year it was. The diner is right next door and I see Mr. Miller, the owner who never seems to age, hanging up a new sign with specials. Other shop owners are encouraging some of the neighborhood kids and teens to use window paints to prepare for Christmas displays.

I love Christmas, I love how it brings the people of Mistwood Hollow together. There’s something about the light dusting of snow, the red noses all around, and everyone bundled up and so willing to help each other that just makes my heart feel warmer.

After passing the town center, I get home and find my mom in the kitchen, as always, stirring something that smells like pure comfort. My dad’s already at work, of course, but the second Mom sees me, she drops everything to wrap me in one of her warm, tight hugs. Now it feels like home in every possible way.

Before I can even take off my jacket, she’s already catching me up on all the gossip I’ve missed—who’s dating who, whose kids are starting high school, and how Mrs. Harris’ famous apple pie didn’t win first place at the fair this year, which is apparently the scandal of the season. It’s like I never left, falling right back into the rhythm of this town where everyone’s business is public knowledge.

We talk and laugh for hours, not even noticing how much time has passed until my dad finally walks through the door, looking tired but happy to see me. He greets me with a smile that says “Welcome home,” and soon enough, we’re sitting around the table for dinner, the familiar clatter of dishes and silverware punctuating our conversations.

I share stories from university, making them laugh with the quirks of city life, and in between, I try to sort through what comes next for me. With a business degree in hand, I should be heading off to some big city or corporate office—but the thought of being anywhere larger than Mistwood Hollow feels wrong.

As I poke at my mashed potatoes, I wonder out loud, “What am I supposed to do with a degree when all I want is to stay here?” My parents exchange a glance, understanding exactly what I mean.

“Honey, you deserve to see the world. This is a town that most people leave the second they find something better,” my dad tsks. “You’re only twenty-two, you’ll realize it in a year or two.”

“This is also the kind of town where those same successful overworked women come back to and find love. You’ve seen the Halmark movies,” my mom argues.

My dad leans towards her, obvious love in his eyes, but he’s never been able to resist riling her up. “Oh, I know. And those movies are just a ploy to lure more people back to small towns.”

They keep going back and forth, but I know they’ll support whatever decision I make. They love me, trust my opinion, and trust my judgement.

As much as I want to stay up with them and start putting away their fall decorations, I’m exhausted. It’s been a long drive and all I can think about is curling up in my bed. After I get through a warm shower and bundle up in my comfortable pajama pants and long sleeved shirt, I look out my window, smiling at the streetlights of the town in the distance.

This is my home and there’s no way I’m going to give it up. I’ll make a life for myself here, love or no love because Mistwood Hollow has never steered me wrong.

***

In the morning, I get around like normal, choosing a burnt orange sweater dress that’s cozy, but doesn’t minimize my curves. I pair it with nude fleece lined leggings and brown knee high boots. After fluffing my wavy auburn hair, I put a white beanie on and apply some light lipstick and makeup.

Ater talking a bit with my mom, I decide I need to really walk through town. I need to dive into the twinkling Christmas lights being strung up, the festive wreathes, and everything else that makes me feel as warm and safe as I do when I drink a hot chocolate.

“I’m going into town. I want to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same,” I say.

“Oh, while you are there, take a look at the trees for me. We wanted to wait until you were here to get one, but it’s already the tenth, we need to hurry up” Mom asks.

She doesn’t have to ask twice and I have a feeling she knows why.

My long-standing crush on Josh Harris has always been a source of amusement for my parents. I get it—he’s nearly twenty years older than me. But I can’t help it. He’s gorgeous, tall, rugged, and while most people think he’s cold and distant, I see a different side. I’ve caught those rare moments when he smiles, and it’s like watching a transformation. His sharp jaw softens, his piercing blue eyes warm, and suddenly, he’s approachable in a way that makes my feelings for him grow even stronger.

A girl is only so strong and I’m not strong enough to ignore how attractive Josh is. His tousled short brown hair, the way some always sticks out from his baseball cap, his boots, his flannels, the fact that he’s pure man, down to his protective streak and his ability to toss trees around, just gets me going and has since I was a teenager.

I’ve dirty dreamed of him more times than I can count. Of course, now I feel naughty thinking about it. He was married and then widowed and I really thought... I shake my head and take a deep breath.

“Are you going, Emma?”

“Yeah, yes!” I say, holding up my car keys. “I’ll check out the trees.”

“Mmhmm. I’m sure that’s the only thing you’ll check out,” Mom teases.

“Isn’t Josh still ...” I almost say grieving , but it’s been six years since his loss.

His wife died unexpectedly and any time I talk to my mom, she says that Josh has been grumpier and gruffer, as if every bit of good in him, every bit of kindness and peace died with her. He huffs at anyone who tells him that dating is still an option. He doesn’t want to move on and ... that’s his choice. But things could change, right?

Shaking my head of the thought, I grab my jacket and get in the car. It’s a short trip to the tree farm. Josh never bothered with a snappy name. He stuck with Mistwood Hollow Tree Farm. There are a few people eagerly running through the pre-cut trees, the same rustic wooden sign with the name to welcome visitors.

The rows of evergreens – the uncut ones – stretch out in all directions. Even when I get out of my admittedly little car, I still feel small compared to some of the giants that lurk further in the distance. They’re all dusted with a light layer of snow, some glistening with ice. It’s magical.

To one side is the town I know so well, and in the other direction, this enchanting forest of evergreens. How could anyone not love a perfect small town like Mistwood Hollow?

I follow the trail through the trees, telling myself I’m going to focus on nothing but them, but the second I see Josh effortless lifting a tree onto someone’s car, I’m ensnared.

Other than his perfectly trimmed beard and a few lines around his face, he looks exactly the same. He’s still big enough to wrap around me, hell I bet his arms would overlap around my waist. And his rugged, big hands securing knots so the tree doesn’t move, make me wonder if he’s ever used knots for other things. He’s pushed up his flannel sleeves despite the chill, to show off his toned, taut forearms that shine with a light sheen of sweat.

He’s unbuttoned his shirt too, showing the black tank underneath and a light sprinkling of hair on his chest.

Jeeze. I feel like it’s midsummer when I stare at him. I want to take off my sweater, toss my hat, rip off my leggings ... or invite him to do it all instead. He looks even more rugged than I remember. He’s more commanding, with a sharpness about him. He leans down to talk to the woman in the car and I see how his neck flexes, his Adam’s apple moves and my mouth waters.

If I kissed his throat, would he thaw a bit for me? If I wrapped myself around him as his personal space heater, would he remember what it’s like to be warm, to feel relaxed, peaceful ... or would he just throw me down and use my –

My thoughts trip over themselves until it feels like they’re caught in a ten car pileup when Josh’s dark blue eyes meet mine. Time itself freezes under the weight of his glacial stare, but my entire body breaks out in humming heat that threads every half-lustful thought together into a fantasy that I know is staining my cheeks bright pink.

It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time, and when his jaw tightens and his gaze sweeps over me, Mom’s Halmark movie fantasy starts playing in my head.