Page 21 of Mishaps and Mistletoe

She shrugged. “What does what all mean?”

“Come on,” he deadpanned. “The guy who gave you your first kiss almost twenty-five years ago comes into town at Christmastime, and you don’t wonder what that means? This is like one of those Hallmark movies you and Courtney used to make Max and me watch every year.”

“I miss the valuable commentary you provided during the viewings.” Her sarcasm was as thick as the caramel drink she held in her hands. “This isn’t a Hallmark movie.” The stars in those movies never got breathless when they wrapped their legs around the love interest. Actually, those movies didn’t involve body wrapping of any kind. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and un-climb him like a tree. “This is merely a coincidence.”

“But you don’t believe in those.”

She fumbled with the wrapper on her to-go cup. “Maybe my beliefs are changing.” Or maybe the realization Kevin was the man she’d been seeing these past couple weeks had turned all her beliefs on their head.

“Then, are you changing your beliefs about dating too?”

Josie flashed back to Kevin’s kitchen, the two of them sitting together, the warmth of his hand as comforting as the blanket she’d carried everywhere the first four years of her life. The way he’d looked at her, his mocha eyes transforming from a weak tea to dark espresso. But what could she tell from a look, anyway?

And then she flashed back to her break-up with Scott.

“Nah. I’ve only gotten pickier with age. If I haven’t found ‘the one’ already, in my less-discerning age, what are the odds I’ll find him now? I don’t even know. I’m an event coordinator, Johnny, not a statistician.”

“And if you’ve already found him? Like twenty-five years ago?”

Josie cringed. “Well, that’s a depressing thought. What—I’ve made my way through all the eligible men most suitable for me, and now I’m taking a victory lap around the track? One last hurrah? No, thank you.” But the heat that crept up her neck when she thought of Kevin whispered,Yes, please. It really needed to shut up. “We’re just going to go to these events—asfriends—because that’s what we are. Tonight, we’re using my voucher for the Merry Massage and a Meal, where hopefully I can relax and let the stress of this conversation with you roll off my body.”

Johnny snickered. “Good luck with that when Kevin’s all oiled up and naked on a table next to you.”

Okay, now she really was choking on her coffee. Johnny stood and patted her back as, once again, they were the stars of a little drama calledThe Bold and the Klusty. “It’s not a couple’s massage. It would say so on the voucher. Look.” She pulled the paper from her purse like she was supplying damning evidence in a whodunit saga. “Twoindividualvouchers for twoindividualpatrons. Would I really invite a man I just met to something as intimate as a couple’s massage?”

“Well, you haven’t ‘just met’ him.”

“Order up for Johnny Depp,” the barista shouted as he placed a smoothie on the counter.

Johnny stood and pushed in his chair. “That’s me.”

“Of course, it is.”

“Enjoy your massage,” he said as he waved and pulled the seaweed-colored drink off the counter and walked out the door.Seaweed?No, that was a regular shade of green. She was so not thinking about a kiss from decades ago. Or one from last night. And she definitely wasn’t thinking about his muscular, oiled body. Nope. She was never thinking about seaweed again.

* * *

“Wouldyou like the seaweed wrap added to the massage?”

Well, so much for not thinking aboutthat.

“I think we’ll skip it,” Josie responded to the receptionist at the front desk of the spa. From the time Kevin picked her up at Mountain Brew, there’d been this awkwardness that filled the air between them like a dense fog. And it was all her fault. Actually, it was Johnny’s—he’d been the one to put her on edge with his mention of the couple’s massage. Why had she assumed it wasn’t one?

And that sort-of kiss last night?Ugh. She’d had the entire ride to bring up the elephant in the room, but she couldn’t work up the nerve.

“Here are your dressing room keys.” Kevin grabbed them and handed one to Josie. “You’re in room 3A, Mr. McCann. And Ms. Ward, you’ll be in 3B.”

Separate rooms? Sweet! Take that, Johnny and all your oily, naked ideas.

Josie’s shoulders returned to their correct anatomic height for the first time since she’d hopped into Kevin’s Jeep. The plinky-plonky music filling the waiting room was much more enjoyable than the pounding of her own head.

“Alright, then. Enjoy your Merry Massage, Jojo.” Kevin gave a small salute and disappeared behind the door. When Josie made it to her dressing room, a massive white robe greeted her from the hook on the wall. Though fluffy and inviting, it looked like three of her could fit inside. No biggie. She’d be taking it off once she entered the massage room, anyway. She slipped off her clothes, folded them, and neatly stacked them on the chair. Since neither of them thought to bring a pair of flip-flops from home, they’d stopped at the spa gift shop to get a couple pairs. But she must have handed the wrong ones to Kevin because the ones left in the bag looked proportional to the robe on the hook—three sizes too large.

She tied the massive robe around her—almost two times—and walked into the massage room. The smell of eucalyptus allowed some of the tension she’d been carrying to leave with her exhale. She took another cleansing breath, closing her eyes and letting her mind still. She tried to, anyway. In the only yoga class she’d ever gone to, the teacher mentioned a still mind being the key to relaxation. That’s all she really learned from that experience. Well, she also learned she could do an outstandingdownward facing Jojo, a downward facing dog for the uncoordinated. Which she was. That’s why she ended the class facedown with her arms and legs sprawled like a bug squished on the floor.

When Josie opened her eyes, she noticed something she hadn’t before. A flush of adrenaline pumped through her body, the likes of which she hadn’t felt since the yoga teacher told her maybe she should try to find another class to attend in the future. Her instincts told her to run, which would be a tall order in flip-flops large enough for Shaq to wear.

“There are two massage tables,” she whispered to herself. “Two,” she said again, as if she’d miscounted or hallucinated an additional table.

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