Page 36 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

That thought, and all the thumping in my chest, makes me nervous though. And I open my mouth without thought. “When do you have time to work out?” I say because my brain is still circling the definition I am most certainly feeling beneath this sweater. My brain is in speed mode, and it’s left all of its play-it-cool filters behind.

“Excuse me?” Elliot asks, looking down at me, the right corner of his lips perking upward.

Apparently, that filter is indefinitely broken. I squeeze his arm. “You have muscles, Elliot. Like a lot of them. Ones you’ve been hiding behind long-sleeved shirts, suit coats, and holiday sweaters.”

“Oh. Um…” His brows cinch. “I have access to the high school weight room. I go in every morning before school starts.”

“Right.” I exhale, wishing there were fans in this room. “P.E. teacher.”

“Yep.” He peers at me. “And you’re a dog walker-slash activity coordinator-slash puppy photographer-slash nonprofit volunteer.”

I swallow. “Slash-Etsy shop owner.”

“You’re kidding,” he says.

I lift one shoulder. “I am kidding. But I’ve wanted to open a shop for a couple years now.”

“Right, in all your spare time.”

I laugh, reading his tone as joking, not judging. “Yeah. Well, it’s not that high on my priority list.”

“What would you sell?” he asks, lifting the glass pitcher of iced tea and pouring a red solo cup for May.

I lift the hot pot and pour a mug of the hot tea for Bill. He likes it with four sugars. He’s got a sweet tooth. I don’t care—I just know from all our time together.

“I make homemade treats for Noel. She really loves them. And they’re good for her.”

Elliot’s lips part into a crooked grin. “You are really into your dog, aren’t you?”

And now I do feel judged. Forget Elliot Eaton’s nice guy persona and hidden muscles—that’s the same thing I’ve heard from all the other uninterested men in my life. Not that I care if he’s interested or not. That lip gloss episode does not mean I care. This is fake. By definition, fake meanswe—yes, both of us—are not interested in the other. But I tell him he’s ripped and he tells me I’ve got a thing for my dog?

My fingers close around the handle of Bill’s mug. “You’re really into your grandma, aren’t you?” I snark back.

“Whoa.” A light chortle falls from his lips. “Bonnie. I wasn’t trying to?—”

He may be laughing, but my heart is pounding and Noel’s ears are perking. I’m not having an anxiety attack—just feeling a little too seen, a little too judged by someone I hardly know.

“Forget it, E.J. We don’t really know each other anyway.”

EIGHTEEN

elliot

Bonnie setsBill’s tea in front of him, gives her dog a pat, adjusts the pirate hat on her head and is off toward the front of the room where the bingo boards and call numbers are piled all before I can set Gran’s tea in front of her.

I feel an overwhelming need to apologize. Though I’m not sure what I did wrong. Did I say something untrue? Or offensive? The girl loves her dog—like, a lot. I don’t see how that’s rude.

Noel isn’t on a leash, and with Bonnie’s ascent to the head of the room, she trots after her. The pup stands next to her owner, her body right next to Bonnie’s leg, always keeping contact.

“Hey, everybody,” Bonnie says into a microphone. It isn’t that big of a room—but then this crowd does seem to have some hearing loss. “Make sure you have your pirate attire on. I’ll pass around the boards in one minute.” She’s cheery and sweet, and yet something is off in her tone. It’s me—I am causing that off-tone. If I can hear it—someone so new to Bonnie—don’t her friends inthe room hear it too?

I peer at the table next to me, where a man has just placed a plastic eye patch over his right glass lens—okay, maybe her friends are distracted.

“I better get one with a mermaid this time!” A gentleman holding a hook in his left hand hollers.

“You get what you get, Doug.” She gives him a wink, and I’m pretty sure Doug is getting a mermaid. She’s all talk. She might dress up like a mermaid for pirate bingo if Doug asked her to.

I peer over to Gran, who is sitting two inches closer to Bill and is now wearing a white feather boa. When did she put that on? Gran is not the boa type.

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