Page 3 of A Very Merry Matchup
His ridiculously wide shoulders shrug. “Then it sounds like you shouldn’t have any problem agreeing to my condition.” He holds out his hand for me to shake on it.
I stare at his hand. Why do I feel like there’s a catch? There can’t be a catch. I’m not interested in athletes. I’m not interested in datingat alluntil after I turn thirty in another couple years. I have a plan, and Beau Wall is not part of that plan.
But if this is what it takes for him to call Lucy and for me to get another matchmaking-success-story notch on my belt, which I’m not going to lie, has turned into one of my greatest joys in life, then fine.
I step forward and slide my hand into his, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. Lucy is going to love him. And soon, he’ll love Lucy.
I’ve been trying to find Lucy’s perfect match for years.I would’ve sworn her last boyfriend was the one, but now I can see that it’s Beau. How could he not be? He’s everything a girl could want.
I mean, everything a girllike Lucycould want. Obviously a girllike medoesn’t want Beau.
I realize we’re still holding hands when his right dimple deepens and he says, “You’re totally copping a feel of my hand veins right now, aren’t you?”
I drop his hand. Because I totally was.
CHAPTER ONE
I don’t have a cold.
I don’t feel unwell.
I’m feverish with Christmas cheer,
that’s me in a nutshell.
Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells...
THREE MONTHS LATER
Ivy
I started making up my own lyrics to “Jingle Bells” sixteen hours ago. The moment my throat felt a tickle. The minute my body rippled with a chill. The second I sneezed four times in a row.
No.I survived working thirteen weeks feeling like a zombie. I refuse to spend any part of this Christmas feeling sick. Because I’m not sick. Exhaustipated perhaps, but not sick.
I sneeze, spraying the steering wheel of my Honda Civicwith more exhaustipation as Mother Nature sprays its own form of sleety Christmas cheer on my windshield.
What day is this again? December twentieth? Pretty sure it’s the twentieth. And what day am I supposed to get down to Bugle, Tennessee? The twenty-third? I should be alive by then.
“You’ve got this,” I say in case my immune system needs a little encouragement to get through this final stretch on I-55 south. “Springfield exit is coming right up, girl.”
And if that’s not enough of a pep talk, I crank up Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” because that’s surely a boost to anyone’s immune system.
“There we go,” I say when Brenda sings about being jolly and boughs of holly through my car’s speakers. “That’s the spirit,” I mumble before taking another bite of the apple I’ve been crunching on to keep me awake when the pep talks to my immune system aren’t cutting it.
“Almost to Yesenia’s. You can make it.”
Less than two minutes later, I’m not sure I can make it. The spare bedroom in the apartment where my friend Yesenia lets me crash whenever I’m passing through central Illinois feels so far away. And I feel so... so...
A semi blasts its horn.
“Jolly!” I adjust the steering wheel so I’m back in the center of my lane, then slap my cheek a few times. “Jolly, jolly,jolly,” I murmur as the semi passes me on the left, kicking extra moisture onto my windshield.
And Iamjolly. My last contract finally ended. No more night shift. Hallelujah.
Ah, to get back to a regular sleep schedule. Ah, to not have to worry about patients until January. Ah, to enjoy the magic of Christmas with family for once.
Notmyfamily, of course. My family hasn’t shared a magical Christmas together since... well, ever. Which is one of the reasons Lucy demanded I spend Christmas with her family this year.Girl, I get that you’ve got this big life plan, but money isn’t everything. Take a break. Jingle some bells. Do a little fa-la-la-ing for once in your life.
