“Don’t go getting any ideas in my head,” she finished, peering right back at him over the top of her own bifocals. “Have you noticed that we have this same conversation every year right around this time?”

“I suppose,” Roland admitted, sounding grumpy. But the effect was ruined when his blue eyes twinkled at her.

“And do you know why we have this conversation every year?”

“I suppose. But just because folks have fallen in love here at Christmastime in the past, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again this year.”

“Which is what you say every year. But you can’t deny that romance somehow always strikes our holiday guests. I’m not sure if it’s the snow, or the scent of pine from all the Christmas decorations, or something in the lodge itself.”

Roland turned toward her and drew her into his arms. Even after all these years, her heart still skipped a beat. His once thick dark hair was now mostly silver and mostly gone, and his ruddy skin bore the signs of his sixty-four years and hard work. But to her, he was still the handsomest man in the world. And the most wonderful. Not that there weren’t times she’d been tempted to thunk him upside his head with a skillet-he was a man after all and therefore frequently exasperating-but after forty years and five children together, she still loved waking up next to him every morning.

“Uh-oh,” Roland said, pulling her closer, until her reindeer-decorated red sweater bumped against his green flannel shirt. “You have that matchmaking gleam in your eye.”

“Hmmm. You seem to have a gleam in your eye as well.”

“Probably because I’m standing under the mistletoe with my best girl.”

“There’s no mistletoe right here…”

Her words trailed off when Roland pulled a twig of dark green leaves accented with small white berries from his pocket and waggled it over their heads.

“You were saying?” he murmured with a grin, lowering his head toward hers.