Page 57 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

I honestly thought no other parent could love their child quite the way that Mom loves us. And while different than Mom and much more eccentric, it’s clear that Marlene Eaton adores her children. She loves Elliot just as much as my mother loves me. They are her everything. And today, she included me in that.

My nose tingles with the ridiculous urge to shed a tear. Something I will not be doing.

“Bonnie. Hey, Bonnie.”

I peer up, thankful for the distraction. Elliot stands next to a display of glass Christmas trees.

I give Marlene a small smile, a silent excuse me, and walk over to him. “Hey,” I say, clearing away my aching throat. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling you over to check out these trees.” Elliot gives me a forced smile and flicks his gaze to the ceiling.

I look at the display, at the very top shelf and the green glass tree there. “What about them?” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be oohing and aahing over.

“I just thought maybe this spot could help us out,” he mutters, his tone low. “Naturally.” Another upward eye flick.

“Um, Elliot,weirdo, I’m not following you.”

“Awww!” one of Elliot’s sister’s coos. Jocelyn isn’t far, but her voice is loud, and man does it carry. She might be sweet Marlene in the making. “You’re under the mistletoe!”

“Ohhh.” My eyes travel up, up, up to that little interfering plant. “Naturally. Gotcha.” Though even with May’s mistletoe lessons, this doesn’t exactly feelnatural.

He nods, then darts a glance to his sister. His family stands in pairs: David and Jocelyn by the garland, Marlene and Evelyn still looking at stockings, and Jackson and Parker five yards away, each holding a train engine in their hands. But they all stop whatever it is they were doing and stare at the pair of us with Jocelyn’s declaration.

Oh, yeah.Super natural.This feels soooo natural.

My cheeks bloom with theunnaturalnessof it all.

“Kiss her,” Parker says with a chuckle, and the woman, a stranger, next to him, eyeing the train in his hand, looks at us too.

“Kiss her,” Marlene says, clutching a baby stocking to her chest.

An old man, who is not a member of the Eaton family but who stands adjacent to Marlene, decides to add his two cents. “Come on, you idiot. Kiss her.”

A delirious laugh bubbles from my throat. “Yeah, Elliot,” I say, giving the same expression to Elliot’s name as the old man did withidiot. “Smart guy. You set this up.”

The Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. He’s nervous. And somehow—this always helps me. Elliot is anxious, so I don’t need to be.

“The audience is a little greater than I planned,” he says.

I peer up at him. We’ve grown closer together, like a magnetic forcefield in action. Elliot stands just an inch away, his fingers trail over my arm and down to my hands, leaving a burst of goosebumps as he entwines our fingers together. His grasp is warm and earnest, and sure, it’s giving me a flip-flopping stomach, but it makes me feel a little safer in this situation too.

“Just a peck?” I suggest. “May isn’t here to critique us.”

Elliot’s eyes dart from me to his mother to the old man still waiting for a show. What is it with old people and kissing? Are they all critics? Or am I just lucky enough to have all the senior citizen kissing experts cross my path?

Marlene’s eyes narrow. I’m not sure what that narrow means. Does she suspect something? Sure, Marlene is a little bit unconventional—but I like her. I don’t want my name and that ornament in her basket to be something she hates one day. I don’t want this day to be a tainted memory.

Noel bobs her head into my knuckles grasped inside of Elliot’s grasp, bringing me back to life.

Somehow I’ll make things right with Elliot’s family when this is all over. But right now, right here, I have a job to do. I push up on my toes, throw my free arm around Elliot’s neck, and press my lips to his.

For Noel! For Marlene!

Wow, those are some bizarre reasons to kiss a guy.

And while, sure, I’m kissing Elliot for Marlene, because of May, and to save mine and Noel’s home. It’s a kiss on a mission, for sure. I feel the spark—it lights up in my lips and travels down to my hips. Who knew a kiss could light your hips on fire? But this one does just that. It blossoms into fireworks, and my gut, heart, and legs all get an up-close and personal show.

It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a guy. I mean, prior to all this Elliot kissing—but I’m pretty sure this feeling isn’t normal. Or maybe it is just the unnaturalness of it all.

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