Page 24 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
My eyebrow quirks. “History?”
“Oh, man.” He flashes me a look. “That is … that was … just such a horrible pun. Like practically criminal. You may be called upon to defend yourself in court someday.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s what I’m here for. Horrible puns, hot baths, and barely palatable breakfasts.”
“Well, your eggs are pretty good.” He tilts his head. “But I thought you were here because you almost killed me with a fire extinguisher.”
Ugh. My stomach lurches at the reminder that this whole situation is my fault, so I turn my head before Three can see my smile fade. “Do you want more eggs? Toast? Anything?”
“No thanks.” He wrinkles his nose. “Usually I inhale my food like I’m trying to set a world record, but I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Maybe that’s a side effect of the concussion. Or the meds.” I slip my phone from the pocket of my pajamas. “You want me to look up lack of appetite as a symptom?”
“No need.” He drops his fork onto the plate and pushes it away. “I’m sure I’ll be eating you out of house and home soon enough.”
I set my phone down on the island. “Well, hopefully you’ll get the all-clear at your checkup on Tuesday.”
“Yeah.” He balls his napkin up and tosses it on his plate. “And by then, the home evaluation will be done, and you can head back to the city for Christmas.” He stops short of noting that he’ll still be stuck here in Abieville while his entire family and most of his friends are gone for the holidays. But the truth hovers in the space between us.
“Well.” I avert my gaze, and slide off the stool. “If you’re not going to have more food, I guess I’ll just get the dishes then.”
I collect our plates, forks, and coffee cups, and stack everything in the sink so I can hand-wash them. Idon’t want anything in the dishwasher when the evaluator comes. My goal is perfection.
Minus the reindeer linens.
When I transfer the eggs into a storage container and wrap the toast up in foil, Three says, “You’re actually saving those eggs and toast?”
“Of course.” I shrug. “I don’t like to waste anything if I don’t have to.”
I’m just sticking the food into the fridge, when my phone buzzes behind me. But it’s on the island where I left it next to Three.
“Is that the evaluator texting?” I ask over my shoulder. “He’s supposed to send me a confirmation for our meeting.”
Three checks the screen. “Not the evaluator,” he says. “Unless he’s listed in your contacts as The Queen.”
The Queen?
I slam the refrigerator shut and whirl around.
“I totally forgot about my mom.”
Chapter Ten
Three
“Wait.” I guffaw. “Your mom’s The Queen?”
Sara flinches. “It’s just a joke,” she says. “Kind of.”
I press out a laugh, even though my last memory of Katherine Hathaway is anything but funny.
“I was supposed to update her after I’d had a look around yesterday,” Sara says. “She’s been waiting for an eye-witness report, but I got distracted by all the brownie-baking and concussion-inflicting.” Sara crosses the room, and I hand her the phone. She quickly scans the message and groans.
“Uh-oh.” I frown. “What does The Queen have to say?”
Sara proceeds to read the text out loud in a dead-on impression of her mom: “Sara Jane, did you get eaten by bears? You promised to text me, but I haven’t heard from you yet. Not following through on commitments isn’t the Hathaway way. Bear interference is the only logical explanation.”
“Oof.” I offer Sara a grimace of sympathy. “She tossed in some middle-name action there. Not a great start,Sara Jane. But at leastshe’s kidding around. That’s better than her being straight-up mad at you, right?”
