Page 13 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“And you are Bonnie what?”

I am ready to spit out a lie—anything to not clue this lady in on who I am. It’s possible she wouldn’t remember me as a tenant. We’ve never met in person, we don’t see her in the building, and we don’t talk on the phone. But I do send her a rent check every month, signing my name, and because I’m me, I also send her a card with that check. Every month I send that woman a handwritten message along with my check. I always sign my full name. Mom taught usto be personable and grateful. Over the years, I’ve found that showing gratitude to others brings me peace.

“Miller,” Elliot says, while I hum out something unintelligible.

“I wondered.” May’s wrinkled face stretches into a grin. She stands from her seat to the side of the family and walks over to me. “Bonnie Miller. B4.”

Elliot looks from his grandmother to me, uncertainty in his eyes. Okay—so maybe he hasn’t told her yet. Maybe I can work that into this deal of his—no tattling on me to Grandma May.

May chuckles. “Darling girl,” she says before pulling me into a warm, grandmotherly embrace. “I look forward to your cards every month. And here you are with my Elliot. My favorite grandchild.”

“Hey,” one of the girls complains just behind us.

“Why did no one tell me? How long has this been going on?” May peers up at me. I’ve got to be five inches taller than the little woman.

“Mom?” Marlene says. “You know Bonnie?”

“I do. She’s been living in my building for three years, and for three years she has sent the sweetest cards thanking me for giving her such a lovely home.”

“You have?” Elliot says, looking down at me while May looks up. They’re like spotlights of adoring looks, and yet I’d like to run from the room. My pulse has picked up speed and I can feel the sweat pooling at my neck—the beginnings of an attack. I’d like to go back to bed, pretty please.

“Well, this is wonderful,” May says. “We’ve got Christmas plans and you are coming, my dear.”

“I am? Um, well, I probably have plans of my own. Don’t I?” I look at Elliot as if he can answer this question. I can’tafford to go to Hawaii, and Mom and Dad will be gone. The fact is, I have zero plans besides working, and at the moment I can’t come up with any fictional ones.

“Do you?” May says, her pretty blue eyes sparkling up at me.

“Well—” I can feel the wrinkles forming on my forehead, but I can’t smooth them out. I can’t stop my beating heart. I can’t even wipe at the sweat beneath my wool sweater. “I might. My sister will be in Hawaii. And my parents are going on vacation.” How are my family’s plans my plans? I think I contradicted myself all in one breath.

May laughs at my lame response. “Sounds to me like you’re free.”

SEVEN

elliot

Bonnie Miller isred-faced and breathing heavier than she should be.

“You okay?” I repeat, leaning toward her.

“I need water. This sweater is hot, that’s all.” She plucks at her shirt front, fanning herself.

“Sure,” I tell her. The common room has a kitchen just through the door at our right.

“Ooo, Bonnie! You can come to the Christmas party!” Jocelyn says.

“And our annual cutting of the tree,” Evelyn chimes.

“Yes,” Gran says as if her word is final. “Bonnie will come to everything.”

“Oh boy,” Bonnie grumbles, her shirt-fanning doubling its pace. “I’m coming with you.” She skips over to where I’m walking and slips her hand into mine. Her fingers tighten around me, like she might be intentionally trying to cause me pain. But rather than pain sensors going off inside my limbs, my stomach decides to set off fireworks with the feel of her. The touch of this strange, beautiful woman is doingstranger things to my insides. I’m not used to touching women I don’t know. It’s not who I am. None of what’s happening is me. And by the death grip Bonnie Miller has on my hand right this second, I’m guessing it’s out of character for her as well.

What can I say? I panicked when I saw thatElliotposter board. The thought of that card going out to every single human I know didn’t allow me to think sanely. It might as well have read, “Merry Christmas from pathetic Elliot Eaton and hisextraordinaryfamily.”

“You don’t have to come to any party or tree-cutting,” I say. “I’ll tell them you’re sick.”

“Sick until I die?” Her brows rise to the top of her head. “And your grandma? I like her. I don’t want her to think I’ve died. She’ll give away my apartment.” She pulls in a long breath, her chest expanding with air.

Gran is a likable gal. I get it. But she’s overthinking it all. I pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water. “Not dead, just?—”

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