Page 55 of My Favorite Holidate

Wilder and I crane our necks in sync.

Directly above us is a sprig of mistletoe. Who hung it? Did Wilder put this here when he and his daughter decorated? Or was this the party planner’s doing?

Who cares? It’s showtime.

The rest of the guests are cheering now, too, chanting,Kiss her. Including my ex.

I suppose it’s a good thing we practiced that kiss in his office. But as I wait to be kissed once more by my smart, powerful, fuckable billionaire fake boyfriend, the run-through seems superfluous. Because my desire is no lie.

18

A FOOT POPPER

Fable

This kiss needs to seem like our twentieth or fiftieth—not our second. I don’t want to mess this up.

But when Wilder meets my gaze, my worries disintegrate and something else takes over—an insistent need that climbs the stairs of my heart. The need to be kissed…by him.

There’s not a second to choreograph this moment. This is a one-take situation. His eyes pin mine as he whispers, just for me, “Practice makes perfect.”

My chest flutters. I answer him with a tilt of my chin, even as questions flicker through my head. Will he wrap an arm around my waist? Drop a peck on my lips? Cup a cheek? The answer comes a second later when he lifts his hands to hold my face in a firmer grasp than the one in his office, and I tremble at that first touch. Tender and caring. Possessive and in control.

Music floats by, and I faintly register “Have Yourself aMerry Little Christmas.” At the chorus, Wilder inches closer, and time slows. Anticipation wraps around me like a magic spell. Our audience fades into the distant background as Wilder’s breath coasts over my jaw. A sound escapes my lips—a hungry murmur that surprises me.

That delightshim,judging from the way his lips curve up. That little sign smooths out the last of my worries. I close my eyes, and his lips brush over mine. That scent of cedar is intoxicating. I melt like snow under the winter sun as Wilder kisses me under the mistletoe.

I don’t know how it happens or when, but my foot pops up like in every iconic kissing photo, like in every movie smooch.

Now I’m having my own kissing moment, and my body takes over as he leads me through our first kiss for an audience. But it’s not three seconds like the one in his office. It’s longer—maybe ten, possibly fifteen. I don’t even know. It’s just soft and yet passionate all at once.

My chest tingles. My belly swoops. There’s not even tongue, yet I’m dizzy everywhere. It’s the best fifteen seconds I’ve spent in ages, and I want it to become five minutes. Five hours.

When he breaks the kiss, I miss his lips terribly.

My breath hitches, and I nearly whimper.

Wilder’s eyes lock with mine. Heat flickers across those clever green irises. Something else too. Fondness? Affection? No, I’m not sure it’s either of those. It’s something I can’t quite name. Desire mixed with longing, maybe.

I swallow. Try to center myself. Shake off the fog of lust.

The room comes back into focus. The song winds down to the end.

My sister claps. “Now that’s a mistletoe kiss,” she declares, then turns her face to Leo’s and cups his cheek, tugging him close. “Makes me want one from you.”

Awareness of the audience snaps me out of the haze. So does Brady’s dude-bro chant as he eggs on his cousin. “Do it, do it, do it now, cuz.”

I cringe. He’s officially ruining my post-kiss bliss. I want to live in this bubble a little longer, especially now that the focus is on the bride and groom, as it should be.

Wilder and I back away from the mistletoe, heading into the kitchen, our staged kiss a mere party footnote.

But for me, it’s the whole story. I’m still breathless when I stop at the kitchen counter and lean a hip against it. Fiddling with the sleeves of my sweater, returning to the mistletoe question.

“I didn’t pick you as the mistletoe type," I say softly.

“I’m not,” he replies, moving closer.

“So it was the decorator?” I ask. It feels vitally important, somehow, to know who hung the mistletoe. The office kiss was a practice one. But this was for an audience. Did he want it? “Mac said you hired a party planner.”

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