Marry-Me Christmas. Shirley Jump

grip the icy roads, and let a mother and her three children cross the street. Sam recognized Linda Powell, and waved to her through the front window. The littlest Powell waved back, a small red mittened hand bringing a smile to Sam’s face. “Is the restaurant business really that competitive?”

      He snorted. “Are you kidding? In some cities, these places campaign all year to garner those ratings. They agonize over their menus, stress over the tiniest ingredients, sometimes shipping in a certain fish from one pocket of the world because the chef insists absolutely nothing else will do. Every detail is obsessed over, nitpicked at like it’s life and death. They’ll accept nothing less than the unqualified best. A bad review can close a place, a good review can skyrocket it to the top.”

      “But…that’s ridiculous.” She halted at a stop sign, waiting to make the right onto Maple Street. The Jeep’s wipers clicked back and forth, wiping snow off the frosty glass. “A review is simply one person’s opinion.”

      “Ah, but people like me are paid to be the experts.” Flynn put a hand on his chest, affecting a dramatic posture. “They live or die by our words.”

      They had reached Betsy’s Bed and Breakfast, where a small hand-painted sign out front announced the converted Victorian’s vacancies. Sam stopped in front of the quaint home and parked alongside the front walk. Betsy, a complete Christmas fanatic, had decked the entire porch in holiday flare, with a moving Santa, twinkling lights and even a lighted sleigh and reindeer on the roof.

      “And what about me?” Sam asked, turning to Flynn before he exited the Jeep. “What do you think will be my fate? Do you think I’ll skyrocket to the top?”

      Flynn studied her for a long time, his gaze unreadable in the darkening day, a storm in his blue eyes rivaling the one in the sky. “That, Miss Barnett, is still to be determined.”