Way Past Mistletoe by Brooke St. James

The lights were strung, the mistletoe hung, and Christmas season was in full swing. Everywhere I looked, people were happy and making holiday plans. Not me. I dreaded going home. I had just lied to my mother and told her that I would be volunteering at a local charity so that I could avoid traveling home for Christmas.
It was just a temporary fix for a permanent problem. Once May arrived, I’d be forced to move back home for good. A few short months—that was all that separated me from the dreaded fate of going back to Louisiana to attend to my mother.
I desperately wanted to stay in Houston, but it would take a real Christmas miracle for that to happen. Ideally, that miracle would be handsome and charming.