Page 28 of Mishaps and Mistletoe

Her lips parted, making Kevin think she was referring to something other than the people in the photo.

“I, uh, have your groceries.” The grogginess of his voice sounded like he’d just woken from a long nap.

“Yeah. Thanks. Here, let me take them from you.” His skin tingled as her fingertips brushed his hand. He told himself it was from the chilly air outside, but who was he kidding? Deep down, he knew better. And that scared him. It was officially time to commence Operation: Keep Some Distance From Josie Ward.

He followed her into the kitchen and ran into her from behind when she abruptly stopped… because she’d already reached the kitchen island. Had it not been for the refrigerator, stove, and other kitchen-y things, he would have thought they’d entered a slightly above-average-sized closet.

“So, the kitchen is a bit on the small side.” She twisted her lips as she put the groceries on the island. Samwise Gamgee’s kitchen was probably larger.

So much for the plan to keep my distance.

“Nah, this will be cozy.” Clearly, that was his body talking because his brain had agreed mere moments ago that getting closer to Josie—in any way—was a bad idea. The pounding in his chest, the clamminess of his hands, and somersaults of his stomach told him the rest of his body didn’t give two hoots.

“So, there’s an apron for you on the counter, and I have the recipe cards there too. I’ll start organizing the ingredients you brought, and we can get started.” She clicked a remote, and smooth, jazzy Christmas music filled the air.

He turned to the counter and took half a step. Maybe only a quarter of a step. Frankly, the apron was within reach without takinganysteps. As he unfolded it, he chuckled.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” she said over her shoulder. “I only have two, and I figured you wouldn’t want to wear this one.” She turned to face him and struck a pose, modeling her apron. It featured a depiction of what Mrs. Claus might look like if she was half her age, fit, and enjoyed wearing fur-lined red bikinis. Basically, what he imagined an adult Josie would look like on the beach—except he wasn’t sure about her swimwear preference. The Josie he remembered on the beach wore one-piece suits that covered much of her long, straight body. He didn’t want to imagine what Josie’s soft curves would look like in swimwear now. Except he couldn’t stop thinking about it every time he glimpsed the bikini-body apron.

He quickly tossed his apron over his head, his mind clinging to anything else it could. And more layers were definitely a great idea now that he was already sweating in this hobbit-hole kitchen.Not!

Josie’s cheeks reddened at the sight of him in his apron. “I think that one suits you.”

He hadn’t had a chance to see what was on it. For all he knew, he was sporting Santa in a Speedo.

“Who needs mistletoe with a face like this?” he read aloud.

Josie shrugged. “Youcertainly didn’t.” Her voice had a rasp that made the hairs on his arms stand at attention, while beads of sweat bubbled on his brow. She absently toyed with her necklace as her eyes transformed from twin sparkling peridot stones to two dark pools of green.

Ding!

“Oh, the oven is preheated already.”

Kevin tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. “The oven. Right.” Now, at least he had an explanation for his profuse sweating.

“Could you grab those recipe cards and read off the ingredients I need to put in the mixing bowl?”

He bumped his hip on the ledge of the countertop. Getting his bearings in this kitchen was impossible, and it had little to do with its diminutive size and everything to do with the woman on the other side of the kitchen.

She scooped measured cups of flour into the bowl with the utmost concentration. Sticking out her tongue as she measured should have given her a childlike quality, but the thoughts in Kevin’s head were anything but. She’d entranced him in just two weeks when they were kids, and here she was, doing it again.

“Kev.” She paused with a measuring cup over the opened bag of flour. “Can you read off the number of cups I need?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” He willed the tremble of his hand to calm, which only made it shake more. “Okay—three. Three cups of flour.”

“Perfect.” She dumped the flour into the bowl and pulled the sack of sugar closer. “Is the sugar next?”

Kevin looked at the handwritten index card. If he thought it was hot in the kitchen before, well, he was wrong. That was an arctic chill compared to how it currently felt. “So…” He squinted, twisting the card from side to side.

He closed his eyes and flashed back to the two of them on the beach, him telling her about how the only thing he’d ever wanted in life was a family and how much comfort he’d found in her stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. He rewound to a couple of weeks ago when she’d repeated the same soothing gesture when he’d spaced out at the coffeehouse. And now, in the middle of her kitchen, he imagined her doing it again.

Only, it was really happening.

“Kev. What’s going on?” Lost in the rhythmic stroking of her thumb across his hand, he took a deep breath.

Words are only words until you attach meaning to them.

He was still incredibly vulnerable, extraordinarily scared. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t ashamed.

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