Page 66 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“We’re good.” I nod and squint and try my best to look nonchalant.

“Right. Good.” Her chest deflates with what I assume to be relief. “That was crazy, right?”

Crazy.Yep, what every guy wants to hear when he almost kisses a girl.Crazy.

She doesn’t go inside. She just keeps going. “Gran’s game is a little out of control. Did you know she was such a romantic?”

“Um—” No words come to my brain. I’m still mulling overcrazy. After ten seconds of silence, of her waiting on me, I add, “No. Not really.” But maybe I didn’t realize what a romantic I am. I wasn’t before. Not really.

Her pretty brows pinch. “I feel like I should apologize to you.”

Okay—now we’re getting out of hand. I breathe out a laugh that is more than forced, but I’m hoping it sounds real. “That’s not necessary. You should probably get back to it before you miss seeing how Gran dresses her gingerbread men. It’s epic.”

“Epic, really?” she says, finally a smile adorning her face.

“You can’t miss the making of the hula gingerbread girl.”

She licks her lips and my eyes draw there again—so not my fault. You’re killing me, Bonnie Miller.

“You’re right,” she says, tugging on the sliding door handle. “That sounds like something I shouldn’t miss.”

Me: I almost kissed Bonnie.

I text Q from the privacy of the bathroom while Bonnie delivers cookies to family friends down the block with my mother and sisters—not one soul she knows. Bless that woman. I also conveniently leave out the part where I’ve already kissed her half a dozen times to please my grandmother. Yeah—I do not need that kind of wrath from my friend.

Quinten: Whoa. This is a new development. Since when are you close enough to kiss the hottie rule breaker?

Quinten: I take it confronting her went well.

Me: I reminded her of the rules. That’s all.

Quinten: Back up. Confused. How did you almost kiss her?

Do I actually want my friend’s help? Because if I do, I may have to come clean. I’m not sure he’ll be that helpful anyway.

At the risk of sounding like one of those Christmas Hallmark specials that Q loathes, I write:

Me: It’s possible she’s been hanging out with me… and my family all week.

Quinten: You didn’t back up far enough. Keep going. Geez, you take one little Christmas break trip to Cabo and your best friend goes nutso.

I give him a not-so-Hallmark version of the story. Edited but true. Q comes home in three days, and if I don’t tell him something, he’ll hunt me down and confront Bonnie himself.

Me: She stumbled upon our Christmas card session. Turns out my gran knows her, loves her, and is okay with letting her keep the dog.

Quinten: Oh, the epic Eaton Christmas cards. Your mother’s visions come to life are my favorite. Can’t wait to get mine!

Crap. That’s right. I’ll have to come clean at some point. At least partly. Mom sends Q a card every year.

Quinten: Wait. Your grandma no longer cares about the dog?

Me: No. I’m pretty sure at this point she never did.

Quinten: I see.

Me: Really, because I don’t.

Quinten: Ol’ Gran was playing matchmaker.

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