Page 35 of The Kiss Class

It’s time to take drastic measures.

Setting down my green pen, I ask my sisters, “What made you pass on all the guys before your husbands came along?”

“Circumstances,” Anna says thoughtfully.

“Commitment issues,” Ilsa adds.

That doesn’t exactly help.

“What’s that?” Anna asks, pointing at the card I was supposed to be sending to Aunt Beth and Uncle Howard. I quickly snap it shut.

“Nothing.”

“Looked like a doodle.”

I frown. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The last time you doodled was when you still had a crush on Ricky.”

Definitely not true. “Ew. Gross. Don’t talk about him. Ricky ate ham directly out of a can.”

Ilsa sticks out her tongue. “He did?”

“Probably.”

Pierre must as well. It’s also likely that he has loads of earwax and doesn’t do his laundry as often as he should and drools when he sleeps and—and his ears are nicely sized to his head and I’d love to see him in socks and he smells so good he must do his laundry on the regular and his eyes are dreamy . . .despite the list of possible icks, I cannot get the guy out of my head or off my heart.

Calvin, Anna’s husband, appears in the doorway. “Mr. Badaszek is home. Says we’re going to get the tree.”

We weren’t able to the other day as planned because Cal had something with his family and then we had a couple of days of cold rain that I desperately wanted to be snow.

“You can call my father Tom,” Anna says, planting a kiss on her husband’s lips.

“I could, but old habits die hard. He’s always been Mr. Badaszek.”

“And you’ll always be Bannanna,” she replies in a tone that is best described asin love.

Everyone laughs as the couples march outside ahead of me. I can’t help but want a little bit of that. If Pierre and I actually had a fling in Los Angeles, what would it have been like? Would we have shared long brunches at outdoor bistros? Strolled hand in hand through Exposition Rose Garden? Talked well into the night under the stars?

When I go to the Christmas Market later, I’ll see if CandleGram sells an in-love scent. Maybe that’ll help me get my head on straight.

I freeze in the doorway.

“What?” my sisters ask at the same time as if detecting a disturbance in the “Triplet Force.”

“Nothing. I’m not in love.”

They exchange a quizzical look and get in Kangaroo Jack’s truck while I ride with Dadaszek.

As before, he’s playing Christmas classics which do little to blot out the thoughts I had prior to getting into the passenger seat—the ones that have a lot to do with the guy I’m supposed to hate. Okay, I only suggested that so I’d be less likely to fall . . . you can’t be in love with someone you hate.

“Glad you’re home, Badaszek,” my father says, backing out of the driveway.

“Me too, Dadaszek.”

“How are classes going, anyway? We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”

I all but aspirate my saliva. Does he mean Kiss Class? They’re not yet in session. Then I realize he’s asking about college which comes with its own set of problems I want to avoid.

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