Mistletoe and Mistakes: Chapter One


When I pull into the driveway, I cringe at the obscene amount of Christmas decorations littering my Grandmother’s porch. How the hell was an eighty-year-old woman nimble enough to string all those lights and garland herself? The small cabin bears a strong resemblance to those rustic homes adorning the holiday cover of Good Housekeeping or Farm Life. I shake my head and groan. I hate Christmas.

I turn off the car and groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Of all the years for Grams to beg me to come home, she chose the year from hell. Between the pandemic and the mess at Solus, this year should be cancelled completely. But when Grandma Ruth requests your presence, that’s the equivalent of God handing down a commandment. It’s strange it took her this long to ask.

The cold air bites my face and fingertips when I step out of the car’s warm haven. I grab the decorative paper bag sitting on the front seat and make a mental note to get my duffle from the trunk later.

“Andy, is that you?”

I spin around to find Grams waving from the front porch wearing a hideously festive apron. My gaze narrows. Is that…the Mandalorian on her apron? I almost laugh at the absurdity of seeing my grandmother wearing Star Wars anything, but I sober quickly when I remember she’s the one who introduced me to the original movies when I was a kid.

“Hey, Grams. Nice apron.” I wrap her in a warm hug and hold tight. The sweet, spicy bite of cinnamon and cloves lures me deeper into her embrace. She’s so soft and petite in my arms. I cling tighter knowing I’ve been remiss in visiting her. It’s been way too long.

Grams pulls away and her warm, knowing gaze skims across my face and down over my torso. “Look at you. Not the scrawny boy who rode dirt bikes past the sheriff’s house at midnight anymore are you?” I catch a glimpse of tears shining behind her glasses as she tuts and turns away. “Come inside before your catch your death.”

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t put it past fate after the year we’ve had,” I mutter under my breath as I follow her into the house.

The inside of her home looks as grotesquely over decorated as the outside. The small living room bears the marks of Grams’ overenthusiastic decorating. An overburdened tree stands sentinel in the corner of the room, years of Christmas ornaments hanging from the branches. Candles and glittering garland interwoven with holly clutter the mantel over the fireplace. A row of stockings hangs from hooks. I see a handmade stocking emblazoned with my name on the end.

“Did you decorate the house by yourself?” I weave through the living room following her into the kitchen.

“I did.” She glances up from the open oven with a tray of fresh cookies in her hand. “Do you like it?”

Guilt grips me with meaty fists at the thought of lying to my grandmother, but I smile. “Yeah, it looks good.”

She waves her hand. “You’re full of it. I saw the look of horror on your face when you got out of the car.” She sets the cookies on the stovetop and closes the oven before turning it off. “Never did get into the Christmas spirit, did you?”

I lean against the door frame and fold my arms across my chest. “Nothing gets by you, does it, Grams?”

“Never has, never will.” She winks.

Every surface in the kitchen is covered with cookies. Tupperware and tins stacked five high, full of delicious baked goods.

“Are you expecting to feed an army?” I gesture to the cookie hoard.

Grams laughs. “Not an army. Just the whole town. I’m taking them to the community center. They’re having a party tonight for the whole town.” She cocks her head and a silver curl escapes the bun holding the unruly curls. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Frustration sets in. I came to visit my grandmother, not the whole fricking town. “No, Grams, you forgot to mention that.”

She unties her apron and pulls it off revealing an ugly Christmas sweater bearing the face of The Child. “You don’t mind giving me a hand getting these into town, do you?”

“No, Grams.” I inhale sharply, resigned to the holiday torture I actively avoid. Seems only fitting as the crowning jewel to the year from hell.

“Load these up and we’ll head into town.”

What felt like twenty trips to my car later, every box, tub, and tin of cookies in the house is loaded in the trunk and overflowing into the backseat of my car.

“Grams! Are you ready to go?”

Grams appears from the bedroom down the hall with a glittering box in her hands. She thrusts it into my chest. “Here. Open it.”

I roll my eyes and take the box jammed into my ribcage. “Thanks.”

Inside the box is a sweater. I pull it out, bracing myself for some corny ugly Christmas sweater. Then I see what’s on it and grin.

“Kylo Ren?” I laugh and hold it up to get a better look.

“Of course.” Grams tosses the box aside and turns the sweater to hold it up to my chest. “I had to guess on the size, but I think I did well considering I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Did you make this?” I ask, eyeing her with newfound respect and a twinge of guilt at the truth in her observation.

“No. Martha down at the center made it.” She pulls at her own sweater. “I had her make this one for me.”

“‘This is the way,’” I mutter in a reverent tone.

“‘I have spoken,’” she replies in an equally reverent tone.

“I love it. Thank you, Grams.” I pull her into a hug.

She sniffs and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “Good. Now put it on. We need to get into town.”

“Wait. You want me to wear this tonight?”

“Well, of course. Why else would I give it to you before Christmas?” She tuts. “Go, hurry. We need to help set up.”

After I change into the warm sweater, we leave for town. Grams flips through the radio stations until she finds the local station playing Christmas music. I grit my teeth, but grant her this small concession. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the center. So, I bear the torture as we weave down the mountain with Grams singing along with the music.

By the time we reach our destination, my ears are bleeding and my head aches. All I want is a hot toddy and some time to myself. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with the whole town of Coppany and the misery that is the Christmas holiday.

Between songs, a weather alert comes on. “Snowstorm coming from the Great Lakes sweeping over northern Pennsylvania threatens at least a foot of snow. Possible freezing rain starting at midnight.”

“You sure about this party tonight?” I glance at Grams. “Sounds like a hell of a storm coming in. Maybe we should stay home.”

Grams waves her hand in dismissal. “Since when can weathermen predict the weather? We’ll be fine.”

We pull into the lot, and it’s already packed with cars and people milling around the building. It looks as festive as Grams’ house, and I wish I thought to pack my flask. It’s going to be a long evening.

My gaze drifts to the store bedside the center. An oversized tree blinks with bright lights and the sign above the store is trimmed in green, silver, and red garland. Buck Wild Beans.

“When did they put that in?” I ask Grams as we climb out of the car.

“Oh, almost ten years now.” Grams waves to a group of her friends gathered near the door of the center. “We go there twice a week for book club and bunco. They host all kinds of events in town. Good coffee too.” She smiles and turns to the older woman as she walks up. “Julia! So lovely to see you. Would you mind getting some help to carry these cookies in?”

“Right away, Ms. Ruth.” Julia rounds up a few people and I step aside as they swarm my car.

“Would you get me a cappuccino, dear?” Grams appears by my side and I jump at her question.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I leave Grams and the cookies in Julia’s capable hands and wander toward the front door of Buck Wild Beans. The logo of a buck drinking a cup of coffee makes me chuckle.

The bells above the door jingle when I open the front door. A familiar and intoxicating scent of coffee beans and fresh baked pastries lures me deeper into the shop. I admire the simple wood décor even though it looks like Santa’s elves vomited all over it. The soft strains of holiday music filter through the speakers and I ignore the persistent earworms trying to burrow into my head.

A dark haired woman appears behind the counter from the kitchen.

“Welcome to Buck Wild Beans! What can I get for you…” Her voice trails off when our eyes meet. Those lovely green eyes I spent years trying to forget widen in surprise before narrowing with unabashed suspicion.

“Vivian.” A name I haven’t spoken in twenty years ghosts over my tongue without a thought.

“Andrew.” Her chipper tone dissipates instantly, replaced with icy indifference. “What the hell are you doing here?”

It seems twenty years wasn’t long enough. “Grams wants a cappuccino.”

Without a word, Vivian turns to the espresso machine. I watch her work and my heart twists in my chest. I anticipated encountering a few ghosts from my past, but I wasn’t prepared for the jolt of regret and guilt driving knives into my heart at the sight of my sister’s best friend. The one I ruined and left behind without a second thought.

Shit. Could this holiday get any worse?

I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek into Mistletoe and Mistakes. Just a little author’s note, I pictured Sebastian Stan as Andrew as I wrote this story. 😉 If you love Andrew and Vivian, then you’ll love Ben and Penelope in A Lockdown Love Affair, which is only 99 cents for the whole month of December. ❤

Merry Christmas, darlings!

With Love,


If you want to read Mistletoe and Mistakes, pick up a copy from one of these retailers:


Barnes and Noble



My Strange Reading Habits

I love to read. More specifically, I love to read romance. If you’re here, then you understand why I love it with such desperation and devotion. Because you do too.

In a world of chaos and uncertainty, I can always count on a romance novel to give me one thing reality can never guarantee. A happy or at least emotionally satisfying ending. It also allows me to take the romance journey over and over. The meet-cute, the first kiss, the overcoming of conflict and obstacles in order to secure the relationship between the hero and heroine. These are the stories I long to lose myself in.


I have had many people scorn, ridicule, and outright shame me for my passion for romance. And honestly, I couldn’t care less about their opinions. I make it a rule never to shame or scorn someone for the books they read and enjoy. If that is how they choose to spend their time and energy, then more power to them. They know what they like.


To that same end, I know what I like. When I do get time to read, my genre of choice is always romance. People often assume that because I write historical romance, that it’s the only subgenre I enjoy. Well, they’re partially accurate.

I read quite a bit of historical romance. Most of the time, it’s because the premise of the story caught my attention. However, as I have been writing more historical, I find myself comparing my work to other authors. This can be both a blessing and a curse. So I limit my intake of historical romance if only to keep me honest and refrain from being discouraged. Because that happens too. Authors can often be their own worst critics.

Honestly, I find myself gravitating toward solid contemporary stories with unique premises or specific tropes. I have a soft spot for mistaken identity or hidden identity, forbidden romance, masked, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, close proximity romances, and retold fairy tales. In contemporary romance, some of these are a bit harder to come by. So I indulge by changing it up. My latest discovery is the technology mixup trope. It has become one of my new favorites.

You know what I mean. The stories where the hero and heroine meet because one sent a text to the wrong number and mistakenly initiated a conversation with a complete stranger, who ended up being the one. Or the stories like You’ve Got Mail, where they dislike each other in person but have a connection online.

Here are two I picked up last month. I’m still reading Wait with Me, but it’s really good so far. Accidental Tryst was fun and heartwarming.

I also love a good taboo romance or the popular boss/employee trope. Sometimes a dark romance is just what I need to get my brain moving again when I hit the brick wall of writer’s block.

Earlier this year, I picked up Midnight Hunter on a whim. I devoured it in hours. I wasn’t sure how the author would redeem the hero, but she did. And I loved this book.

Heartless is the third book of Winter Renshaw’s that I read. I loved all three of them. The other two were Absinthe (a forbidden romance) and Country Nights.

Mr. Rochester is a modern retelling of Jane Eyre by Marian Tee. I love her work. She writes engaging characters and stories with depth. Drawn was the first book I read by her, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I love strong heroines and heroes with a strong drive and a bit of a chip on their shoulders. I love heroes and heroines who are in their thirties and forties.

Often times, historical heroines are in their late teens or early twenties, per the norm for a woman of marriageable age prior to the twentieth century. I find it more difficult to relate to these heroines because of my age. Although I do enjoy writing them, after a while, I crave more connection with the heroine.

Historical adventures and romance can be fun, but the restrictions sometimes prove frustrating for the reader. Not to mention being an author of that era. I know I personally get overwhelmed by the amount of proper etiquette required for a specific era. Sometimes I need a change of pace in order to be able to connect with my own characters in a historical.

Strangely enough, I don’t gravitate toward romantic comedies when it comes to film. I still love a good romantic subplot, but I’m an action/adventure junkie through and through. Bonus points if there are natural or manmade disasters and giant creatures wreaking havoc on some major cities. I’m weird, I know.

But I also enjoy Korean TV Dramas and period films like Timothy Dalton’s Jane Eyre and all the Pride and Prejudice variations. Then, just to shake it up, I watch Star Trek: TNG, HBO’s Westworld, and Game of Thrones. So I have an eclectic taste, as you can tell.

I don’t fit a mold when it comes to my tastes in entertainment. Strong characters, solid stories, passion and adventure, and always a bit of romance. These are what draw me into a fictional world.

So I never rule out other types of fiction when it comes to reading, but I prefer romance. It’s that happily ever after/happily for now that seals the deal for me there. I love diving into a story knowing that at the end of it all, the hero and heroine will be together and ready to start a new life together.

Contemporary romance gives me a reprieve from the historical worlds I write in.

Contemporary romance suggestions

Feel free to post your contemporary romance suggestions in the comments. I’d love to hear from you. I think I’m going to go read a bit now. Thanks for stopping by. *blows kiss*

Until we meet again, may your bookshelves be full and your hearts even more so.

All my love,