Page 37 of The Holiday Games

“Now the hard part. Choosing the last snack,” Leo says, scanning the line of vendors with narrowed yes. “Brisket taco or smoked goose with orange sauce?”

“Taco every time,” I say. “Though eating goose is intriguing from a vengeance point of view. We had geese on my parents’ farm when I was a kid. They pooped under my tire swing and Francine liked to sneak up behind me and bite my butt while I was feeding the chickens before school.”

He winces. “Not cool, Francine. What was up with her?”

“Not sure,” I say. “She might have been jealous. She adored my mother and wasn’t too happy that I got to sleep inside the house with Cherry, while she had to stay out in the shed.”

“Your mom’s name is Cherry?”

“Yep. Cherry and Bart Cane, the cutest couple in Reindeer Corners.” I add with a wry smile, “And the most oblivious. They insist they didn’t realize they’d basically named me ‘Candy Cane’ until after they’d signed the birth certificate.”

He laughs. “No way.”

“Yes, way. I was named after my mother’s sister, Candace, who was lucky enough to have a different last name. But they’re both sweethearts, and great parents. Though they stress out about when I’m going to settle down more than I’d like.” I sigh as I realize… “They’re going to be upset about me calling it quits with Chris.”

“They honestly thought he was the guy for you?” Leo asks, a hint of judgment in his tone.

I shake my head. “No, but I think they were glad I seemed to be on the verge of starting a family. I’m not getting any younger, you know. Thirty-four is dangerously close to ‘geriatric pregnancy’ territory and Mom and Dad are desperate for grandkids.”

“What about you?” he asks. “Do you want kids?”

“I don’t know,” I say, my shoulders creeping closer to my ears. “I mean, I love the idea of being a mom, but only if I had a stellar dad in the picture. I don’t want to go it alone or with a man who doesn’t want kids as much as I do. My dad was always there for me, every bit as much as my mom. I want the same for my children. If I have them.”

Leo nods seriously. “That makes sense.”

Peeking at him from the corners of my eyes, I ask, “How about you?”

His lips hook up on one side. “I think that ship has sailed for me.”

I frown. “Why?”

“I’m old.”

“Forty isn’t old,” I scoff.

“If thirty-four is a geriatric pregnancy, forty isabsolutelya geriatric paternity. My sperm is probably all crooked and wrong.”

I laugh. “Crooked and wrong?”

“Mutated,” he says. “That’s the word I was looking for. I probably have geriatric mutant sperm.”

I hum beneath my breath. “I think you’d be fine. The rest of you seems to be holding up okay so far.”

“Yeah, well, I’m in the same boat you are. I’d only want kids if I had the right partner and so far, not so good, on that front.”

“Maybe your luck is turning around,” I hear myself whisper, even though I know it’s wrong.

I’m not the woman for Leo, but damn, do I want to be.

“Maybe it is,” he says, his face drifting closer to mine.

Closer, closer…until my breath locks in my chest and my lips tingle with anticipation and my heart is dancing along to the Jingle Bell Rock beat blaring over the speakers.

I’m positive he’s going to kiss me, but instead he pauses with his mouth just inches from mine and murmurs, “How about Iget you a taco, and I’ll feast upon wretched goose flesh in your honor?”

I sigh and nod, “Yes, please. And while you’re doing that, I’ll grab us both another mulled wine?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says.

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