Page 75 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“It’s supposed to be strawberry-blonde,” Elliot says.

“Nonsense. This is my exact auburn. You little sweetheart.” Her head tilts, looking at the canvas from a new angle. “Though, I’m not sure what this is all about.” She taps the semi-colon below my painted ear. “Some sort of code?” She looks at Elliot, waiting for confirmation.

He gives none—only a weak smile for Mrs. Beard and a quick, accusatory glance my way.

“But those lips.” She holds a hand to her heart. “You captured me perfectly, Elliot.” She leans in for yet another red-staining kiss.

“You should really keep this,” I tell her, tapping the canvas.

“Oh, can I?” She looks at Elliot, lashes batting and full lips pursed. “Were you planning to hang it in your bedroom?”

A sputtering cough chokes from Elliot’s mouth. “Um, nope. It’s all yours.” He rips the thing from my hands and shoves it out the window toward the joyful woman.

Elliot rolls up his window before Janice can think about kissing him a third time.

“That was pretty dirty, Bon Bon.”

“That was hilarious,” I say, not caring one bit that he’s teasing me with a nickname.

“I guess I should go help her with that tree,” he says, eyes roving over my face.

“Yeah. I guess I should go too. I’ve got Canine Compassion paperwork that refuses to read itself. Ready, Noel?” My pup perks up on the backseat, ready for our next adventureof snuggling on the couch and dozing off while reading through CC applications.

I’ve got one foot out of the car when Elliot has me turning back.

“If you can’t find me tomorrow, come looking for me in A1. Just in case I’m being held against my will.”

I clutch the painting I created of Elliot to my chest. “Noted.”

“Don’t I get to keep the painting of me?”

“This one?” I say, holding up the carefully crafted Elliot face. “It’s going in my bedroom, of course.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

bonnie

“That was flirty. Like extra flirty.”I pace my kitchen floor in fluffy socks, waiting for the microwave to ding and tell me that my cake in a mug is ready to be devoured. “Was ittooflirty?” I look at Noel, waiting for her sound advice. “I mean, he isn’treallymy boyfriend. Technically, friendship is a brand-new baby for the two of us.”

The microwave dings and I jolt my pacing to a halt.

“Ooo—sugar!” I am in need of sugar.

I swing the microwave door open and grab my mug. My extrahotmug with my bare hand. Just as quick, I drop the steaming thing to the ground. I bounce on my toes as chocolaty goodness and hot broken glass splatter from one end of my kitchen to the other.

“Crap,” I say, looking around at the mess I’ve made. “I needed that.” I sigh, nibble on my lip, and think… about Elliot. “Maybe I should tell him about this.” I shake my head and peer at Noel, who must think I’ve lost it. “I know,” I tell her. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I don’t know why I even said it. Clearly, he doesn’t need to know that I’ve broken myScooby Doomug and ruined my cake.” I swallow and peer down at the blister forming on my right index finger. With all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’ve hardly noticed the sting. “But should I tell him about this?”

Noel whines and bats at her eyes with her front paws. She thinks I’m being silly. And she’s probably right. What would I even say?Hey, Elliot, I blistered my finger, wanna see?

“Ouch!” Pain blooms in my finger once more. I flick on the cold water of my sink and stick my finger beneath the stream. Relief washes over my limb. I hang my head and breathe. It always comes back to breathing. The smallest situation can set off my anxiety. But breathing and Noel get me through. Noel is smart enough to stay away from my chocolate mess, though I know she’d like a bite.

I let my finger sit in the stream one minute longer and then I clean up the still-warm glass and chocolate cake from my tiled floor. I huff out a breath and sit right on the ground. I snag a few Cheetos from the counter and feed one to Noel and then myself.

It’s no sugary cake in a mug, but it’ll have to work.

My phone pings, and I glance up to the counter where it sits. Then, all at once, I am certain it’s Elliot. He’s messaging to see if he needs to come up here and doctor my finger. He heard the crash from below and he’s on his way up to save me, shirtless, because he just got out of the shower.

Whoa.

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