Page 80 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Yeah, when I was flirting with him.”

“Yep—say yes. Go with that,” Autumn tells me.

“He’ll think I’m crazy and have no idea how to flirt like a human.”

“Sweetie,” Autumn says, “You are a little crazy. We all are. It’s okay. Just agree with him. Move past your four invitations.”

“Fine. But I’m not asking the two of you for help again!”

I type into the box, my fingers trembling.

Me: Yep. Gotcha.

Elliot: Are you serious about that cake in a mug? I’ve always wanted to try one.

I write back without any advice from my helpers.

Me: Serious as a heart attack.

Huh. Maybe I should have gotten advice. I hit send a little too quick on that one. Yes—I am a crazy girl who occasionally talks like her eighty-four-year-old friend Bill. He’s the only person I know who uses that phrase.

And yet… three elliptic bubbles later:

Elliot: On my way.

THIRTY-EIGHT

elliot

Sure,I was utterly confused by Bonnie’s text, but one thing she made clear: she wants me to come up. She wants to hang out.

And I want that more than I should admit. Playing it cool in that text was an Olympic gold performance. She’s in this for her dog, her mental health, and… possibly a kiss to her blistered finger?

That was a joke. Right? I’m not sure I get it. But I’m sure it was a joke, a reference to the giant lips I gave her in that painting. I need to remember to simmer if I want to keep Bonnie as a friend. And I do.

I’m lucky she’s forgiven me for almost evicting her—not that Gran ever would have let that happen, I’m realizing now.

Sure, I’m feeling things that I shouldn’t be. And yes, that kiss in her hall felt a whole lot different than the friend zone. But friendship is good too. I can be a friend. I repeat this mantra to myself all the way up to Bonnie’s apartment. I will not flirt or hope, and I certainly won’t kiss her again—Iwill be afriend. We’ll talk. We’ll eat. And if I get to be around her, I’ll consider myself a lucky man.

I stand in front of her door, trace the B and 4 with my eyes, and then I knock. I know this door well—I taped enough friendly reminders to it, anyway. There’s a tapping, almost like she’s jogging, and then a pause before Bonnie opens up. She’s in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, one that hides her small form. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and her pointer finger is wrapped in a bandage.

“Hey,” she says, breathless, as if she just ran here from Great Falls.

Noel is beside her and jumps up onto my thighs, her furry paws stretched out, telling me hello.

“Hi, there.” I pet the top of Noel’s head, scratching behind her left ear—right where she likes it. My pulse runs quick at the sight of Bonnie’s oversized sweatshirt slipping off the edge of her right shoulder. There’s a scar there—that I shouldn’t be able to see, but I’m studying that shoulder like a paleontologist studies fossils. Studying in afriendlyway, of course.

If that scar were on her head, I’d call her the next Harry Potter. But the jagged mark is on her shoulder, making me wonder just how she got it.

If I ask, I’ll be giving myfriendlyeyes away. So, I blink and turn back to her bandaged finger. It wasn’t like that earlier today.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, this?” She backs up, letting me inside. “Um, just a little burn.”

“Wait, you do have a blisteron your finger?”

Her eyes skirt mine, though I’m not sure why—that is what she said. “I do.”

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