Page 22 of Inherited Holiday

I turned to leave. There was only so much bullshit I could take, and my cup had run over that day.

“Chill… I’m the last person to be giving you advice.”

“Obviously.” I halted my departure, shifting my eyes back to his. “Yet I’m still here.”

“Aw, hell… can’t take a joke now, Grinchy? Man up. Does she know how you feel?”

I shrugged. “We kissed a few times in high school, but it was mostly under mistletoes. It was kind of our thing…”

“You’re more pussy-whipped than I thought,” Dan remarked, annoying me further. “Don’t women have a sixth sense about this stuff? She can probably smell it on you, but if you don’t want to go the route of being honest with her, then I suggest you just go with it for her. You like her, show her. Simple as that.”

I inhaled a deep breath, contemplating what to say next. In the end, I decided to change the subject. “What about the town? I still don’t want it, and I have to do all these festivities beginning tomorrow. You should see the itinerary. It’s ridiculous. I’m going to have tinsel coming out of my ass by the time this is over.”

“When what’s over?”

“Christmas.”

He scoffed out, patting my back. “I hate to break it to you, Mr. Saint Clair, but there is no over for you. You own Mistletoe Town, remember? Get used to it.”

I thought about it for a second before I answered, “The only saving grace is that Noelle will be my babysitter.”

“Then I’d use it to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you want her to forgive you, then you need to show her that you’ve changed.”

“In what way?”

“In all of it.”

“But I haven’t.”

“Then you should.”

“That makes no sense.”

“How much do you want the girl? You ask a woman like her out for one reason and one reason only. Do I have to spell it out for you? Girls catch feelings quick, so I’d make sure you understand what you’re doing when it comes to her before you string her along.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means maybe you’re ready to settle down and have a girlfriend. Or maybe you’re just lonely.”

“I’m not lonely. There’s just something about her. There’s always been something about her.”

“Always?” he asked, glaring at me like a deer in headlights. “You mean you’ve been thinking about her all these years?”

“Maybe.”

“How often?”

“Often enough.”

“Why didn’t you call her?”

“What are you, Dr. Freud?”

“Well, Sigmund would tell you it stems back to your mother, and come to think of it, that makes sense.” He nodded. “You’re screwed.”

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