Page 54 of Mistletoe Face Off

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe seventy-five percent perfect?”

She giggles. “I’d go for at least eighty-five.”

“Deal.” I take her hand once more and lead her down the aisle through the seating and onto the stage, where a table with a crisp white tablecloth and silverware for two sits in the middle, surrounded by candles.

I pull her chair out for her and take a seat myself. “I sure hope you like grilled cheese,” I say, and her response tells me she doesn't think I'm teasing.

“That’s Macy’s second favorite, after mac and cheese.”

I nod at a server, hidden in the wings, who places silver domed plates in front of us. He pulls them off dramatically to reveal a dinner of steak with my favorite sauce, roasted potatoes, broccoli, and beans. “Actually, I figured you might appreciate an adult meal for a change.”

Her lips expand into a relieved smile. “Adult food sounds awesome.”

Another server pours out a couple of glasses of wine, and I raise mine in a toast.

“To not arguing,” I say.

“To not arguing,” she echoes and we clink our glasses before taking a sip.

We sit and eat our meal and discuss the art tour—and the fact I'm a total heathen when it comes to such things.

“Get me in an arena and I will tell you everything you could ever need to know about hockey.”

“Oh, I know you could.” She takes a bite of her perfectly-cooked medium rare steak. “This food is delicious.”

“It's from one of my favorite restaurants in the city, Jean Paul’s. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course I've heard of Jean Paul’s. It's famous. I've never been. It’s way too fancy and expensive for me.”

“I'll take you there.”

“I would love that.”

“It’s a date. Number two, in fact.”

We share a smile, and my desire to kiss this beautiful woman sitting opposite me, bathed in the soft light that makes her look even more incredible, is getting too hard to resist. But when I kiss Holly for the very first time I want it to be perfect—which rules out leaning over our half eaten meals.

“The Tiffany dome lights look so Christmassy,” she says.

I give them a cursory glance because I want to talk about something more important than whether a dome looks Christmassy.

I open my mouth to say what I want to say to her, when she beats me to it. “Harry, I need to thank you again for what you've done for Macy. Helping her get on the ice the way you did was amazing, and she's been buzzing about it ever since, telling everyone she's going to be a figure skater for real when she grows up.”

“I was happy to help her. She's a great kid.”

“She sure thinks you're awesome, both as Santa and as Harry.”

“Oh, yeah? What does her mom think of me?”

She casts her eyes down momentarily as pinkness rises in her cheeks. “She thinks he's pretty good, too,” she says.

I reach for her hand, marvelling once again at how small it is in mine, the skin soft against my calloused fingers. “Pretty good?” I lead.

She laughs. “You’re fishing for more, huh?”

“A lot more,” I tell her, my heart beginning to thud. “Holly, can I say something?”

“Of course,” she replies, and the breathlessness of her voice tells me she feels the strength of this thing between us, too.

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