MistleFoe by Cambria Hebert

‘Tis the season for twinkling lights, cookies, joy, and a little sprinkle of mom guilt on the side. Did I say little? I mean an entire sleigh full. Which is exactly why I’m on my way home to Winterbury for the holidays, something my parents have been pleading for since I left the small-town life for a view of the city nearly ten years ago.
It’s not that I don’t come home to visit. I do.
Just not at Christmas.
The last time I was there, I got wrapped up in the romantasy of the town’s mistletoe legend, and it ruined my entire life. Okay, maybe not my entire life, but it did turn my best friend into my biggest enemy.
And maybe gave me a raging case of mistletoe PTSD.
Don’t laugh. It’s a thing.
Which is exactly why I’m going to do everything possible to avoid the raising of the mistletoe, Archer Hodge, and his Christmas tree farm. I’m just going to help my father out with the family animal clinic and mind my own business.
So of course Archer walks right into the clinic and nearly runs me over with his clompy boots, pine-scented flannel, and trademark scowl. Turns out, even after ten years, he still plucks every last nerve in my body. It doesn’t matter that he looks better than I remember and he’s cradling a beautiful dog who steals my heart.
Archer is my sworn frenemy, and no amount of forced proximity, small-town tradition, or mistletoe magic will ever change that.