Page 5 of Mistletoe Missus
I had made up the entire situation in my mind, and the woman was simply a fragment of my overactive imagination—a character I envisioned to compensate for a broken heart and my biggest dream coming crashing down. But the angel glimmered up at me in my hand.
I gave myself a mental shake and walked away from the gift-wrapping station. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to make a wish,” I answered, lost in a trance.
THREE
Mistletoe Proposal
Tinsley
The daze led me toward the brightest tree in the park, and it was all decorated with festive ornaments—details I had chosen for the annual Christmas tree and worked tirelessly to execute for the crew to prepare. Each year had the same colors but always different decorations, even the star shining brilliantly from the top of the tree. Joyous, merry, and entertaining.
The mesmerizing haze the wise woman put me in turned into an act of desperation. A need for change. Being dumped and cheated on could make one do incredibly unthinkable things. Even believe in a miracle.
Besides, one simple wish wouldn’t do any harm. Would it?
I stood in front of an outstretched bare branch and I held my entire life in my hand. My fate rested on a fucking crystal ornament. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, but I closed my eyes and spoke from the heart.
“I wish for a marriage to my one true love.”
I hung the angel on the tree and watched it sway as I backed away from it. Tingles ran through me, my skin coated with goosebumps until utter stupidity set in. It was dumb to trust superstition, and I should stick with the reality that love wasn’tfor me. I couldn’t find my person, the one man who completed me. A solid relationship wasn’t in the cards for me and some stupid ornament from a woman who disappeared into thin air wouldn’t change that.
“Screw...” my ramblings cut short into a surprised yelp as I bumped into a solid form and spun around to find a man I recognized. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you... No, I mean... Not screw you, but it’syou.”
His chuckle was a low rumble, vibrating up his magnificent chest and escaping his perfectly featherlike lips. “Yeah. It’s me.”
My hands held his jacket. I was too shocked by his presence to move a muscle and fully hooked into his dominant appearance. A black overcoat laid over his broad shoulders, and I was certain he wore a suit underneath. His brown hair blew with a light breeze and waves tousled on his head. My fingers could dive right in and be washed away with the current, tangled in his strands like a fish trapped in seaweed.
I smiled awkwardly. “I should watch where I’m going.”
His grin was smoldering, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him, no matter how hard I tried. Those hazel hues swirled with wonder as he peered down at my lips, and I was stuck in his orbit. Completely one hundred percent lost in him as his mouth inched closer toward mine, and I realized we must be under the mistletoe. The same one I hung every year, and that we always met under, getting swept up in an earth-shattering kiss.
“Or maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Why?” I asked as his lips brushed mine.
“Because I like this...” he whispered as his breath mingled with mine. “Accidentally meeting you under the mistletoe.”
“Me too.” I sighed before his lips took mine.
Year after year, this man, an absolute stranger, met me in the same spot. Either a mishap, a stumble into his arms, or I’dturn around and find him. He wasalwaysthere. Certain, ready, and a damn good kisser. We’d lock lips and part ways. We never exchanged names and rarely spoke a word.
This person set my world on fire and melted the snow around us for an entire minute. Or maybe it was three? I always lost count when his tongue danced with mine and he kissed me like there was no one else around. Only us.
He brushed against my mouth ever so lightly until he picked up the pace and heat blasted through my body. The chill in the air held nothing over the flames he ignited inside of me. I sizzled, bent my right knee, lifted it backward, and automatically pointed the tip of my heel up. I melted in the palm of his hand. We shared a goddamn fairytale kiss every time.
I swore he groaned, and a flurry swirled in the pit of my belly while desire pooled between my thighs. He nipped at my bottom lip before he pulled back, and I breathed heavily, fully not ready to open my eyes. I hadn’t prepared myself to stare into the eyes of the man who had sucked me into his world for mere minutes and would only leave my life until the next holiday season. If only this could last longer, and he’d ask me to grab a cup of hot cocoa or even some Christmas crack. No, a gingerbread man. We could lock arms and bite the heads off each other’s gingerbread cookie, exchange more kisses and taste the cinnamon flavor on one another’s lips. This could lead to more communication and finding out his name and occupation. I bet he was a doctor, or hell, maybe he was a surgeon. I’d let him cut me open and—
“Can I ask you something?”
Still afraid to open my eyes, I whispered, “Sure, anything.”
He hasn’t left. This was the longest amount of time we’d been in each other’s presence in years. It was a record bound to go down in the history of our merry meetings under the mistletoe.
