Page 48 of Mistletoe Face Off

“Didn't you learn your lesson the first time around?” Mom asks as I pull open the door to my apartment to see her bundled up against the cold winter’s night.

“And hello to you too, Mom,” I reply with a smile.

Her taut features soften as she collects me in a hug and I breathe in her familiar perfume. “I'm just worried about you, sweetie. I don't want you to go through all that heartache again.”

“You and me both,” I reply as I close the door behind her.

She throws her eyes over me. “Is that what you're wearing?”

Self-consciously, I glance down at my black, V-neck shift dress. I've always felt good in this dress. I think I look sexy but elegant, with the dress falling just above my knees, the V lowenough to give only a hint of cleavage and nothing more. “No, Mom. This is what I've been wearing to clean the oven.”

“Don't you get sassy with me, Holly Coleman.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“It’s black.”

“Correct.”

“Are you trying to tell him going on a date with him is like going to a funeral? Because that’s what that dress says to me.”

“Black is classic, and besides, I don’t have time to change. Harry’s due here any minute.”

“What's he like? I saw him on The YouTube doing that fancy skating in his Santa suit.”

I smile at my mom’s way of referring to YouTube as “The YouTube.” Mom and technology aren't good friends, which is just as well with all the furor around Harry and my alleged hatred for one another right now.

“I thought he was a hockey player, not a figure skater,” she says.

“He is, but he learned figure skating when he was younger, too.”

“So, he’s multi-talented.”

“He's also a really nice guy, and he even helped Macy onto the ice the other day.”

Mom’s eyes grow huge. “You introduced him to my granddaughter already?”

“She was there when we met, and isn't the point that she got on the ice a little bit more important than your being judgmental over me introducing my daughter to the one guy I've gone on a date with since my marriage fell apart?”

She hands me her coat and scarf. “I told you, sweetie, I'm only trying to protect you. Now, where is my little Macy Bug?”

“She's coloring in her room,” I tell her and my mom bustles down the hall where I hear Macy excitedly calling out, “Granny!”

At least one of us is pleased to see my mom. Actually, that's a little harsh. Mom may like to share her opinions on my life choices—and my wardrobe—but she's always been there for me when I’ve needed her, particularly when Phil walked out on us all those years ago. She might not be perfect, but she’s all I've got.

The intercom buzzes and immediately, my heart rate kicks up.

With my nerves bouncing around, I press the button. “Hello?”

“It's me, Harry,” a disembodied voice says over the crackly connection.

I give him the apartment number and say, “Come right up.” I press the button and then scurry down the hallway to Macy's room.

“Mommy, you look pretty,” she says, a new tiara on her head and plastic Cinderella shoes on her feet. “Just like me. Granny made me a princess.”

“Mom, I told you not to bring gifts.”

“Can't a granny spoil her only granddaughter every now and then?”

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