Page 4 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Youarealive!” squeaks a woman with a high-pitched voice. Let’s call her Little Blur. She’s a brunette I think, based on myfuzzy view. I shake my head to clear the fog, but that only makes the dizziness worse.
“People who are un-alive can’t sit up,” I mumble.
“Zombies sit up,” she blurts. “I mean … not to argue with you. But.”
I wince again. “I’m not a zombie.”
“Are you sure?” A snort comes out of the extra-large blur with the extra-deep voice. “By the end of last night’s poker game, you looked a lot like the undead.”
I shift my crossed eyes over to the bulky shape. Even with my vision blurred, I recognize that voice. Ford.
Right.
NowI remember where I am.
My cousin and I had been out for an early evening jog around the lake with Kenny Monroe.
The medium blur.
“I get up at the crack of dawn to teach high school kids all week,” I grumble. “Of course I’m tired by Friday night. Plus winning all your money is exhausting.” I make a half-hearted effort to stand, but Ford lays a hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“Stay down until we get you checked out,” he commands.
Running a hand around my scalp, I assess the surface damage myself. From what I can gather by feel alone, I’ve got a goose egg on my forehead big enough for its own zip code. There’s also a gash at the base of my skull I probably got on my way down.
That’s where the blood’s coming from.
The midsized blur—Kenny—bends down to examine my lumpy head.
“Hey, Ken,” I groan pressing my eyes shut again, fighting a thick wave of nausea. To keep from puking, I dip my head, chin to collarbone.
“Looks like you got nailed pretty good,” Kenny says. He’s a paramedic. Ends up on calls with Ford all the time. “You probably got a concussion.”
“I didn’tgetanything.” I lift my chin. “Somebodygaveit tome.” From off to the side, a voice yelps. This is the woman. The one who beaned me.
Little blur.
Before landing the blow to my head, she whirled around so quickly, I didn’t even get a look at her. I just went down. Now I swallow hard. Open one eye. Settle my gaze on the petite brunette. Then I almost hurl for real. Because I’m the guy who once convinced Sara Hathaway I wanted to end things between us. That my feelings were never as deep as hers.
Lies.
It was for her own good, though. At least that’s what I told myself ten years ago, and I still stand by the decision. But what on earth isshedoing back in Abieville now?
In this exact house?
“You hit me,” I groan, gulping down a swell of acid in my throat. If Sara remembers the last time we were together, she probably thinks she had a pretty good reason to deck me.
“I did.” Her cheeks flush pink now, like the cotton candy we used to get at the 4th of July carnival. When she starts chewing her lip, I swear I can taste the sugar mixed with her cherry Chapstick.
Ford huffs out a breath, leans against the counter. “Good thing you’ve got such a thick skull. And a little blood never killed anyone.” My cousin’s one of only two people who knows what really went down with Sara and me. The other one’s my sister. I tell Nella everything, too.
Well.Almosteverything.
“I could’ve killed you,” Sara blurts. “What were you thinking, breaking into a house without knocking?” There’s a thread of panic in her question, and she pushes a strand of long black hair behind her ear. Then she blinks at me. Lake-dark eyes. Enormous lashes. She’s even more beautiful than she was a decade ago. When I open my mouth to speak, no words come.
So Ford answers for me.
“Kenny, Three, and I were jogging alongthe lake,” he says. “We thought we smelled smoke. Then we heard the detectors go off. Three’s way faster than us, so he sprinted ahead.”
