Page 73 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

Twenty minutes later, I’m finished with my Elliot painting. He has big blue eyes that sparkle with shimmering paint I’ve added to his irises, short brown hair that’s as dark as coffee grounds, andnorosy cheeks. Though they should have a little pink in them. Yes, it looks like a second-grader painted it, but I’m still proud. If you put every person in this room in a lineup and showed this artwork to a stranger, I’m one hundred percent certain they’d pick out Elliot as the subject.

May and Bill share theirs with us—and while May’s is clearly better than mine or Bill’s, we are all very much amateurs, but you can still identify the subject of each canvas. I’m impressed with the details that each of us has put into making sure our work resembles our partner.

“Ready?” I beam at Elliot, who has yet to show me his or see mine.

“Um.” He wrinkles his nose and hisses through his teeth. “I’m thinking I might need another go. This one”—he clears his throat—“well, it just didn’t work out.”

I laugh. “Are you thinking I’m Picasso? I assure you, I am not.” I flip my painting around, hoping it’ll give Elliot a little more courage.

“Wow.” Elliot nods. “You even gave me a whistle around my neck.”

“Yeah—coach. Or P.E. instructor. What do kids call you?”

His brows lift. “Just Mr. Eaton. Though I did coach little league basketball last year. Those kids called me Coach.”

I smile. I can’t help it. I’m proud. “Now yours.” I nod toward his, its blank back still facing me.

“Well—”

“I don’t think you want to see it,” May says.

Which only makes me want to see it more than ever. “Come on, Elliot.” I push myself up from the table and walk around to where Elliot sits.

And there I am. In second-grade paint form. Blue eyes, with even a touch of green. Strawberry-blonde hair, a little more strawberry than blonde. Heart-shaped but normal-sized nose. A semi-colon tattoo just down from my funky right ear. And red lips the size of Texas. Like if Texas had a mouth, this would be it. Cheek to cheek, ear to ear, three-inch-tall lips that fill more than half my painted face.

“Whoa,” I say, unable to stop the laughter that bubbles out of me.

“I told you,” he says, nerves filling his voice. “It isn’t right yet.”

“Why so large, Elliot?” May shakes her head as if trulydisappointed. Yep, she hasn’t been this down on him since she learned his Scrabble score.

“I couldn’t get them right,” he says, attempting to defend himself.

Bill stands next to me and grunts as he stares at Elliot’s work. “One-thirty’s got one thing on the brain, that’s for sure.”

THIRTY-SIX

bonnie

I stare downat Elliot’s painted Bonnie with the T-Rex-sized mouth. I press my lips together, wishing I had some balm. Warm air blows out through the vent of Elliot’s hatchback, washing over me wherever my bare skin peeks out from my winter coat.

Elliot glances over to me from the driver’s seat. But when my eyes meet his, he quickly looks back at the road ahead. “Bonnie, I’m—I’m no artist, clearly.”

I smirk. “Neither am I.” Although, in my painting, Elliot’s lips are human size—as opposed to theJurassicmagnitude.

“I just couldn’t get them quite right, and I kept trying to, and they just kept getting bigger and bigger every time I tried to fix them.”

He’s stumbling, and I might be a dork or a sucker, but it’s cute. The fact that he tried so hard to get my lips right is endearing.

“Your tattoo is perfect.” He spares another glance in mydirection before turning into our building. “Don’t you think? You saw your tattoo, right?”

“Sure. I mean, except for the fact that it’s below my ear instead of behind it.”

“Behind it wouldn’t work; I wouldn’t get to paint it at all.”

I smirk. “Okay.” I draw out the word.

“What does it mean?” he says, peeking over at me again.

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