Page 47 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

My cheeks were on fire then, but I tried to shrug it off. “Classy, a sex joke about ice cream.”

“Who said anything about a sex joke?” he asked, his voice faux innocent. “Are you thinking about sex, Mariana?” His eyes widened comically.

I shook my head, unable to fight a smile. “You’re teasing me, I know. Ha-ha, it’s so fun to make the buttoned-up Mariana squirm.”

He shrugged, looking into my eyes. “Well, it is.”

When I finally dragged my eyes away from his, I scanned the room. We’d entered from the garage into the kitchen. It was kind of an old-fashioned kitchen but relatively tidy. I brought some bags over to the fridge and freezer to begin putting things away.

“I’ll give you the grand tour once we get this stuff unloaded,” he said. “Let me just go check to make sure the house is in decent shape before I show it off.”

He ran off then, and I let out a long exhalation.

Taking a break from freezer loading, I just leaned back against the counter and closed my eyes.

I could do this.

But …

I didn’t know what I was doing here.

I didn’t know whathethought we were doing.

We never really talked about what happened, the kiss a week ago …

But we don’t like each other, and we’re both resentful. That hasn’t changed, has it? It couldn’t have changed … the past can’t be changed.

Could I do this?

I jumped when he suddenly returned, more quickly than I’d thought. “That was quick.”

“Just had to hide one embarrassing thing,” he said with a mysterious smile.

Who was this man who kept smiling at me?

He needed to stop it.

It was one thing if I had to spend time with him, but he couldn’t keep smiling at me like that. I wouldn’t survive it …

“Maybe I’ll make you tell me. Got some eggnog? Spiked?”

Wait, what? Drinking was a terrible, terrible idea. Why the hell had I just said that? I clamped my hand over my mouth. “Uh, just kidding. I … have to drive home, of course.”

A wistful smile quickly flashed over his face, and he ran his hands through his dark hair. “No eggnog. No booze at all actually. I don’t drink much anymore.”

I peered at his face, which was suddenly serious. “Oh, OK, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No worries. I don’t mind if people drink around me. I have a little occasionally. I just don’t keep it in the house.” He paused then, leaning back against the counter next to me. “My parents … well, you know they died in an accident, right? Alcohol was involved. They were drinking, and so was the other driver. And Mom had a problem with—” He stopped then, dragging his hand over his jaw. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Sorry about the Debbie downer.”

My voice was gentle when I responded, “It’s OK. I’d like to hear more sometime if you want to talk about it. And no apologies needed, Terry. At least not aboutthat.”

His head swiveled in my direction, and he raised an eyebrow. “Right, because I’ve got so many other things to apologize for.”

I nodded, my eyebrows raised as if to say, “Of course you do.”

He looked at me silently for a long, long moment. Finally, he announced, “Well, let’s start the taste test!”

“What?” I frowned. “Surely it’s not cold enough yet.” I refused to sayhard.

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