Page 28 of Mistletoe Season
Her eyes sparkled. “That’s the most romantic thing I ever heard.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then whispered in his ear, “And mine is within yours.”
***
Christmas Eve
Emmy stood in front of her mirror in her bedroom, wondering if she should change her ugly Christmas sweater and put on her other ugly Christmas sweater. She glanced at her watch. Nope, there was no time—
The doorbell rang. She hurried out of her bedroom and opened the door. Kieran stood there, looking as fine as he did every day, whether he was dressed up like he had been at Maggie’s party or wearing his wool coat, jeans, and a pullover. They had spent a lot of time together the last few days, mostly at Carina and Sheryl’s insistence, confident they could handle the rest of the Christmas shoppers without her. Emmy had discovered Kieran’s keen business sense, and together they came up with a financial plan that would help her reach her goal of opening a café—if not next door to the antique shop, then somewhere else in Mistletoe.
“Hi,” she said, grinning. “I’ll just grab my purse and the presents, and we’ll go.” They were expected at Sheryl’s tonight for her annual ugly sweater Christmas Eve party.
Kieran opened his coat, revealing a hideous sweater that rivaled her own renowned collection. The Christmas tree in the center was fine, along with the tiny gifts at the bottom. But it was the green pompoms around the collar, the dancing Santas on the shoulders, and the red and green tinsel wrapped around each sleeve that got her laughing.
“What?” He flashed her a grin and turned around for full effect.
“You look like a flamenco dancer,” she said, still giggling.
“Too much?”
“You’re a shoo-in to win the coveted annual prize.”
“Which is?”
“A twenty-year-old loaf of fruitcake that’s been passed around Mistletoe at least fifty times.”
“One of Mom’s?”
Emmy grinned and nodded. “She’s a good sport about it, though. I don’t think anyone has the courage to open it, much less taste it.”
Kieran laughed. “You won’t find me volunteerin’, that’s for sure. Are you ready to go?”
“Aye,” she said, imitating his accent.
He pulled her into his arms. “I’ll have you speakin’ like an Irish lassie in no time.”
“And it won’t be long before you’ll be talking like a Missouri country boy again.”
“Fine by me.” He glanced up at the mistletoe. “Last time I was here, I really wanted to take advantage of that sprig o’ green above us.”
She gazed into his eyes. “What’s stopping you?”
His eyes danced as he leaned in to kiss her. “Merry Christmas, lass.”
And it was.
