Page 43 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“One. But I’m not sure he counts. Joey Saunders. College.We dated. Held hands. Did a little kissing—though your gran would want to give him pointers. And then one not-so-pretty anxiety attack later, he decided we were not right for each other.”

“Ouch, sorry.”

“Believe me. We weren’t right for each other.”

“What about since college? What about your relationships since Joey?”

I lick my lips and swallow past my dry throat, giving Noel’s head a pat. “There haven’t been any.”

“None? I don’t believe you,” he says. “You’re telling me?—”

“Bonnie?” A female voice breaks into whatever Elliot was about to say.

I peer up at my name, recognizing that tone. “Mrs. Jones. Hi.”

“I thought maybe that was you. But Noel gave you away.”

My pup lays at my feet; no one in the coffee shop has even noticed her. Service animals don’t need someone to admit or not admit them; if trained correctly, they’ll stick to their owner like glue and never cause a fuss.

“Of course she did.” A tittering laugh falls from my lips.

Brooke Jones’ eyes drop to my hand—for some reason, it’s still covering Elliot’s. “Who is this?”

“Oh.” I swallow and peer at Elliot. Are we acting for the world or just his family? I don’t remember anymore. “This is my…Elliot. It’s Elliot.”

Elliot gives the woman a small grin and wave.

“Right.” I shake my head. My mother would balk at my impoliteness. “Elliot, this is Brooke Jones.”

Brooke holds out a hand.

Elliot lifts his palm to hers, and with the movement, I stuff both my hands into my lap, wedging them between my thighs.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Elliot nods.

“You look familiar,” Brooke says. “Elliot what?”

And then, for some reason, I decide to offer up Elliot’s name—as if the man can’t do it himself. “Elliot Ee…” But with the rise of my nerves, Elliot’s name does not fall from my lips. Nope, instead, it falls directly out of my head. “I know it,” I say.

Brooke’s brows raise as if she’s waiting for me to prove as much.

“I do. I know it because we’re dating. I kissed him. And I know his last name,” I say like the blubbering idiot I am.

What is it about playing pretend that turns me into a loony person?

“Okay then,” Brooke says, her sweet feminine tone even higher than before.

“It’s Eaton,” Elliot finishes for me, and bless him, with his words, Brooke looks back at him. She’s no longer staring at me.

Brooke’s eyes narrow. “Wait. Eaton? I think you teach my daughter.”

Elliot’s head swivels from Brooke back to me. “Wait. Abigail Jones? Fourth grade, brown hair, red glasses?”

“Yes,” Brooke and I say together.

“What a fun surprise. I had no idea you were dating anyone, Bonnie. And Mr. Eaton of all people.” She smiles. “It is Eaton, right?” She winks at me and I’d like to crawl under this tiny coffee house table.

“Abigail’s the girl you’re helping?” Elliot says.

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