Page 62 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Gran!” Elliot and I spout at the exact same time. I’ve never called the woman Gran before. It came out automatically, loud and alarmed.

May’s bottom lip protrudes in a pout. “Fine.Nextto him, while holding hands. But I will have to require two more kisses today if there’s no lap-sittingandno baking.”

I squeeze Elliot’s fingers around mine until I am sure a bruise is forming over his tan skin.

“Gran, that’s too much. Bonnie has been very agreeable. You need to give her this.”

I ease out a breath beside my very wise fake boyfriend. At least we’re on the same side.

“Goodness sake,” she says. “I’ve been wanting to share my secret gingerbread recipe with Bonnie. I know you like gingerbread, dear.”

I pull my brows together and pause my ascent up Marlene’s decorated walk. I ignore the four-foot-tall nutcracker staring at me and think about what May has said. “I do. How do you know that?”

“You told her,” Elliot says. “Uh, you know, in one of the cards you sent her.”

“You read them?” I say, unable to stop the warmth blooming into my cheeks. I have sent May a card almost every month since the day I moved in. They’re dumb “dad” joke cards. And then I rambled inside each and every one. I didn’t exactly think they’d be something anyone else would ever see. I thought they’d all be at the dump by now. I swallow and attempt to reign in my embarrassment. “How did that happen?”

Elliot runs a finger beneath his collar,stretching it out a little and drawing my eyes to his neck—tan and smooth, and sort of kissable. Is that a thing? Kissable necks? It is. I’m sure of it. And I’m simply making an observation about Elliot’s.

“Gran shared them with me.”

My brows knit and I force my eyes back to May. “You kept them?”

Her lips curve up in a sweet, kindly grin, and for an instant, I understand why Elliot gives in to her. “Of course I kept them. They came from a friend.” She pulls a breath in through her nose. “Or at least, they felt like they did. We became friends long before we met, didn’t we?”

My eyes sting with unshed tears, and I let go of Elliot to pull May in for a hug. “We did,” I tell her. I’ll sit on the man’s lap all day if that’s what she wants me to do. “Thank you, May. I like Billings. But I’m far from my family and I miss them. Thank you for being a friend and for allowing me to keep Noel.” My anxious chest calms with the kindness she’s shown me. And because I need to, because I should, I add, “And I’m sorry I kept her from you.”

“Oh, she’s a lovely pup. I don’t mind her one bit. And yet—she only stays if you stick to my grandson like the Christmas star zip-tied to the top of my tree for the next eight days.”

THIRTY-ONE

bonnie

So,it turns out watching football with the men when all the women are in the kitchen baking isn’t that much fun either. I can hear the girls…

What are they saying about me? Bonnie, the non-baker. Do I care? I’m not sure. It’s the unknown, and my anxiety thinks I might care—a lot.

I’ve kept my hand inside Elliot’s, as instructed by May. But my palm is growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. And I’m so distracted deciding if I care or not what the women are saying to pay any attention to this game.

All at once, as if my body has its own agenda, I leap to my feet, startling Noel and Elliot at the same time. “I think I’m going to head into the kitchen. Learn about gingerbread… or something.”

“Oh, okay.” Elliot peers at me, his brows cinched. “You’re sure?”

I nibble on the loose skin of my bottom lip and stare at Elliot for three seconds too long. Yep, this isn’t awkward atall. But if I kiss him goodbye now, I won’t have to later, right?

A voice deep inside tells me that I don’t actually mind kissing Elliot. I could kiss him now and later and not complain about it.

I mentally tell that voice to zip it. It knows nothing.

Sure, I’m the tiniest bit attracted to my fake boyfriend. So what?

Another two seconds pass, and I can feel Elliot’s father and his brother-in-law’s eyes all burning a hole into the back of my head. I’m up, I’m announced, but I’m not out of the room yet.

Nope. I’m standing here like some sort of Christmas zombie staring at its lunch.

Elliot’s dark brows pull together just a smidgen, and then I play my part. I thrust my face down to his, wrap my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. It’s rough. It’s all pressure and no passion. It fulfills my daily quota though—right?

I pull back and avoid all eye contact. “Okay. Byeee.” And then I’m gone.

---