Page 34 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
He harrumphs. “This may come as a big surprise, but I’ve never given much thought to figgy pudding.”
“Then you’re in luck.” I puff out a laugh, trying not to sag under the weight of my guilt. “Because now’s your chance to weigh in.”
“Fine.” Three shrugs, tipping his chin. “Better than fruitcake, I guess. Worse than pie.”
“Obviouslyworse than pie,” I squawk, pausing the cart by the relish shelves. “Pie is practically top tier, coming in just below chocolate cake.”
“Disagree.” Three shakes his head. “Pie is superior to cake.”
“I see. So you’re okay being wrong.”
“Never.” His mouthtugs up at one corner, and a flicker of hope warms my chest. I want Three to be happier. But I also have to keep a tight rein on my emotions.
Focus on food, Sara.
Stomachs not hearts.
So I add a jar of olives to the cart, then collect a can of cranberry sauce, several gravy packets, and a jumbo container of mashed yams. When Three reaches out to straighten a display of stuffing boxes in danger of toppling, I ask him to grab us a box. He tosses one into the cart, and we push our way to the meat department.
The frozen turkeys on display are a little too big for two people. So while the ruddy-faced butcher tries to locate a smaller turkey in the back, I pepper Three with more Christmas-themed questions.
Distraction. Distraction. Distraction.
“Do you like marshmallows on your sweet potatoes?” I ask.
He scoffs. “Of course. I’m not a monster.”
“Whipped cream or ice cream?”
“Both.”
“Pumpkin pie or apple?”
“Neither,” he says. “Pecan.”
“Ah. Good choice. But not as good as chocolate cake.”
“Incorrect,” he says. “Chocolate cake is inferior to pie.”
“Objection, your honor.”
Three coughs out a laugh. A small one, but still. “Stop being a lawyer.”
“Too late,” I say. “And now I’m thinking we should hold our own trial.” I nod toward the bakery across the shop. “When the butcher comes back with our turkey, we can grab a pecan pie and chocolate cake and have a dessert competition after dinner. We’ll just have to swear to be impartial when we render our verdicts.” I turn to meet Three’s gaze again, and his eyes lock with mine.
“You don’t have to do this, Sara.”
I blink. “Do what?”
“Try to cheer me up.”
“What if I want to?”
“What if it’s not possible?”
I cross my arms. “I can be very persistent.”
“Yeah. I vaguely recall that about you.” His mouth curves up on one side, just enough to increase my pulse rate.
