Page 30 of Mistletoe Kisses

“Bad luck at the holidays isn’t good.” I wet my lips.

Flames roared in his eyes as he leaned in, fully cupped my cheek, and pressed his lips gently against mine. My eyes fell closed as I savored the intimate contact with him, but I barely had time to register the warmth of his lips and the subtle scratch of his five o’clock shadow before he pulled back. My hand fell away from his shoulder.When had I grabbed his shoulder?

I nervously glanced at Warren and Reed, but they’d turned around and were rummaging through the stack of fanny packs.

The kiss might have been brief, but it had flipped my world upside down. And then he sent it spinning into the stratosphere when he leaned in and whispered, “Maybe there will be more mistletoe at the next stop?”

I tried to channel my inner Keaton with everything I had. I wanted Lucas to know I was into him. The worst thing I could imagine was that my shyness and anxiety would make me come off as apathetic or aloof.

“Then let’s go,” I said with a sleigh’s worth of confidence I didn’t feel.

Chapter12

Arlo

I pattedthe towel against my wet hair as I smiled at my newest purchase propped in front of the dolls on the dresser. As soon as I’d seen the print of a blustery day at the Oregon coast, I had to have it. It’d been an impulse buy, and I wasn’t sure how to get it home without damaging it, but I didn’t regret it.

An impulse buy to commemorate an impulsive trip to the coast for the day. After spending yesterday evening with Lucas and our mistletoe kiss, I’d woken with an urge to explore. I hadn’t had plans for the day, and I’d needed something to distract me before meeting Lucas. My time in Oregon was running out, so I’d decided to take advantage of the rental car and see the ocean for the first time.

Even in the steady rain and harsh wind, it had been gorgeous. I’d been absolutely spellbound by the rugged and majestic beauty of Oregon’s coastline. It was drastically different from what I’d expected the Pacific Ocean to look like. Though most of those assumptions probably came from movies set in Southern California.

Something about Oregon, the coast, even Dahlia Springs called to me. Settled me. Felt like home. Except my actual home was seventeen hundred miles away.

I scanned my clean and clean-adjacent clothes. It was slim pickings for a decent outfit this late in my vacation. I hadn’t exactly packed with plans to go on a date tonight or for dinner with my family tomorrow. Was going to see the lights with Lucas a date? A casual hangout with a new friend? I had no idea, but I shouldn’t waste time worrying about labeling the time I spent with Lucas when there were more urgent things to worry about.

I would forever be grateful to Lucas for not only spending time with me but helping me through a week that could’ve had me catatonic on my rented bed. Lucas had been there to talk me off the ledge, and honestly, he’d simply made my trip a hundred times better than it would’ve been if I hadn’t met him. Instead of hiding in my atrocious B&B room, he’d coaxed me into the light.

If it weren’t for Lucas, I wouldn’t have gotten the nerve to go into Tome Raiders to begin with. After the mortifying experience of hot saucing my penis, I’d wanted to burrow into a hole until my return flight. But Lucas had managed to make me laugh, and as soon as I’d laughed about it, it hadn’t feltquiteas unrecoverable of an event.

Because of his kind persistence, I’d met my family and other people in town and driven to the beach, where I’d walked barefoot on the sand and listened to the ocean’s roar while breathing in the salt air until it filled every nook and cranny of my body.

The clothes didn’t matter. I’d be wearing a coat to watch the lights anyway.

My phone buzzed on the bed, and I expected to see Keaton’s photo for a check-in. I hoped he was having a good time. Despite his rocky, er,snowystart, he seemed to be enjoying himself. I couldn’t wait to hear more details about how things were going with his Airbnb host.

When I flipped it over to see the screen, I was ready to gush all about the Oregon coast, but the screen readMominstead. I didn’t even have a photo attached to her contact because she didn’t look particularly happy in any digital picture I had of her.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Arlo. How are you?”

I braced myself, waiting for her to ask what the hell I was doing in Oregon. Logically, I knew she couldn’t tell where I was. I hadn’t been posting to social media, and Keaton was the only one with access to track my phone. Unfortunately, logic couldn’t penetrate the fortress of guilt I’d constructed around my secrets.

“I’m good. And you?” Our conversations often felt stilted. I loved my mom, but she was also a major trigger for my anxiety. I hadn’t realized that until my anxiety got bad enough a couple of years ago that I’d needed a therapist to help me work through a few things.

My relationship with her was like walking a tightrope while holding a balancing bar with weights on each side. One set of weights represented my appreciation for how much she’d sacrificed to ensure we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, and whatever I needed for school. The other side was the frustration that I hadn’t gotten the intangible support I’d needed.

“Doing fine. We haven’t talked this week, and I wanted to make sure everything is okay. Do you have rent money? Food? How is work?”

My stomach twisted into a tighter knot. I wanted to tell her I’d gotten laid off, but I couldn’t get the words out each time I tried. I knew she would insist on helping me with my bills, and I didn’t want to deal with pushing back on that. I knew she loved me more than anyone and would do anything for me. Why wasn’t that enough?

“Yeah, I’m set for food and everything. Thanks, Mom. Lots of different stuff going on this week. All good.” That wasn’ttechnicallya lie. Though the bile rising in my throat suggested otherwise. “How’s it going at this hospital? Detroit, right?”

Mom talked about interesting cases she’d had in the ER since we’d last talked. She was scheduled to be in Detroit for another few weeks before her traveling nurse job took her to Indiana for her next gig.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and immediately regretted it. The clock background was an intricate doily, and there was a doll head attached to the hour hand. While she talked, I sat still because if I moved and made an unfamiliar sound, she might ask where I was. Those were questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I had so many questions of my own. About my father, about why she hadn’t kept in contact with his family, about why she hadn’t told me I had a family I could reach out to if I wanted. Maybe she’d assumed I wasn’t interested since I’d never asked. But how could I have asked? Ever since I was young, I’d known it was a no-go subject. Or at least I’d felt that way since she’d never encouraged conversation about it and changed the subject if I tried to work up to it.

---