Page 162 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Feeling more than a little belligerent myself, I protest, “I thought you wanted me to be more assertive and go for what I want.” At her shrug, I add, “I wanted white wine.”

She sighs. “No one said you had to have good taste. So you didn’t use it?”

I glance around, scandalized that she’s talking about this—and so loudly—in a somewhat crowded restaurant. It’s called Dos Sombreros, but one of the sombreros that’s usually tackedto the wall has been replaced with a Santa hat and a string of fat bulbs wrapped around it, several of which are burnt out. No one’s paying us any attention, which is a relief, but it strikes me that nearly every single person has a colorful and/or frozen drink in front of them. Everyone but me, and I feel a surprising pang. Did I order the wine because I wanted it, or because Glenn once told me that red wine stains my teeth and I have a fear of spilling anything that won’t wash out on my clothes? Maybe it’s time for a little experimentation.

I push the wine aside and try to catch a waiter’s eye. Nicole sees what I’m doing and loudly calls out, “We need a little help over here.”

As the waiter hurries over, I shrink in my seat.

“Yes?” he says breathlessly, glancing at Nicole. She points to me, and his gaze moves across the table.

“Um. Can I try one margarita, please? Strawberry. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

“No problem at all, ma’am,” he says, sneaking a nervous glance back at Nicole, who snorts. “Right away.”

He hasn’t even properly retreated from the table before she says, “That’s something else we’ll need to work on. You don’t need to apologize for existing, Mary.”

I see nothing wrong with being polite to our server—in fact, she could certainly do with some etiquette lessons—yet she’s right in a larger sense. Idoapologize for existing, don’t I?

“How many times do you apologize in a given day?” she asks, giving me a scientist-peering-through-a-microscope look.

Too many to count.

“A few.”

“I was going to challenge you to kiss your kid’s buddy, but I think I’ve changed my mind. For now. The next time you feel compelled to apologize, I want you to think about it for a solid thirty seconds before you let the words leave your mouth.And don’t assume I don’t realize you didn’t finish your first two challenges.”

“What?” I object. “I did! I bought”—another look around—“it,” I add in a whisper, “and I swore too.”

She laughs so hard she almost loses a mouthful of her drink. “You swore in a text message, which doesn’t even begin to count, and you might have bought a vibrator, but it’s not meant to stay in your kitchen drawer. You can’t tell me you didn’t want to use it last night. My sources tell me your convict isveryboneable.”

Until now, I was pretty sure Tina was her super-secret source, given she had a front-row seat to my sit-down with Jace, but Tina doesn’t know Jace is a convict. Or if she does know, she didn’t hear it from me.

I say as much, and Nicole just smiles, playing with her nose ring. “Oh, sweet Mary. I know lots of things.”

It’s fully possible Molly spilled the beans to Tina, but I don’t doubt Nicole. Shedoesknow a lot of things. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and I kind of want to be like that too. Not like her, because she still sort of terrifies me, but I’d like to be as confident and capable in my personal life as I’ve always been in my professional life.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But I had other things on my mind. Just like I told you,” I add with a little pique. Because she clearly didn’t listen.

“Yes, and the underwear were a sensible purchase in ourgetting Mary laidplan, but—”

“Wait, you have agetting Mary laidplan?”

Her eyebrows quirk up. “Obviously. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

I don’t actually have any objection beyond that it’s embarrassing and I’m sick to heck—hell—of being embarrassed, so I just shrug, then smile up at the waiter as he sets a frozen red drink in front of me.

“Don’t apologize to him,” Nicole says under her breath, and as soon as he walks off, it’s my turn to roll my eyes at her.

She lights up. “I’ll bet it’s the first time you’ve ever done that.”

“No,” I retort, because obviously it’s not, but it has been a while. “And there’s nothing wrong with being nice to people. Maybe you could use lessons from me.”

“Maybe,” she says with a sly smile, “but I’m a shitty learner. Ask my high school algebra teacher. Try the drink.”

“Okay, pushy,” I say and take a tentative sip. It’s delicious, like a smoothie with a slight bite at the end. A little moan escapes me, and Nicole shakes her head a little.

“I think you might be the most sexually repressed person I’ve ever met.”

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