Page 11 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

bonnie

“Ooo! She’s here! She came!”a slim, middle-aged brunette bellows in my direction.

Is she talking to me? Is she pointing at me?

And then?—

“Uh—honey!” E.J. Eaton, in a black suit and a red tie, looking stupidly cute appears in front of me. And he’s calling mehoney… Or maybe someone came in behind me.

“She’s a little shy. Give us one sec!” he says.

“Shy?” He will not call me shy when I’m slugging him in the gut.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to a far corner in the room, one far from the prying eyes of the people staring at us. The middle-aged woman looks as if she could devour me in one sitting and I’m instantly afraid.

“Excuse me,” I hiss. “Why are you touching me?” I yank my hand from his. The tingles spiking their way up into my elbow cease immediately.

He runs a hand through his russet hair, drawing my eyesthere. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. You sort of fell into a mess I created.”

“A mess? I was just grabbing Scrabble.” I point to the closet of games.

“Those games aren’t supposed to leave this room.”

“Holy crow,” I quietly moan. “You are such a rule follower! Can you mind your own business for once?”

He shuts his eyes as if he might be in pain, then opens up those baby blues and locks his gaze with mine. “Listen, I am going to offer you a deal. Okay?”

I blink. A what? I peer around him, breathing in his pine and musk. It makes me a little tipsy, and for one second I forget who I’m dealing with—dog-hating E.J. Eaton.

“E.J., in what world would I ever?—”

“Elliot. Call me Elliot.”

I pause—but only for a second. “Whatever name you might go by, why would I ever make adealwith you?”

He puffs out a cheek full of air. “Listen, if you take one photo with my family and pretend to be dating me, I’ll… I’ll pay your rent next month.”

Dating him? He’s kidding. He can’t be serious because—wait?—

“My rent?” Is this man for real? All to pretend we’ve been dating? How messed up is he?

This is wrong. And crazy. And yet?—

“Yes. Your entire rent for January. I will cover it one hundred percent.” He swallows, and those eyes are serious. He means it.

And all I can think about is little Abby Jones, low on Canine Compassion’s waiting list.

The dog that Abby is hoping to have our nonprofit purchase for her is almost exactly one monthof rent for me. Yes, she’s in line for the grant we offer, and she’ll get that pup eventually, but how long will she have to wait? Our nonprofit is small and serves only a couple kids a year. How long will it take before Abby can get her dog? How many years will she suffer more than needed, all because she doesn’t yet have her service dog?

IamAbby. Dizziness, sweating, heart-pounding pressure until I can hardly breathe—all over the unknown and what might be. This dog could change her life. Atten. Not twenty-three, like I was when I got Noel, butten.

I swallow. “Are you an honest man, Elliot Eaton?”

“You know I like to follow the rules.”

Oh, I do. He’s proved that time and time again in written form. “So, you aren’t going to make this deal and bow out on me?”

“You have my word. I’ll give you the cash directly after the photo is taken and my family has gone,” he whispers.

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