Page 32 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"Romance is about perception, not reality," I inform him.
"That explains a lot about romance," he mutters.
"Moving on. Our first date was—" I check my notes.
"We haven't had a first date," he interrupts.
"I know that. But they don't know that. So, our first date was at Giuseppe's." I say.
"Did we like what we ate?" he asks.
"Does it matter?"
"Delia will ask. She probably has the entire Giuseppe's entire menu memorized," he points out.
He's right. This is exhausting. “And I didn’t think any of this matters, but apparently…”
"Okay. The special. We always say the special. Nobody remembers what the special actually was," I decide.
"Smart," he approves. "What about our first kiss?"
"The one at Giuseppe's today?" I ask, my face heating up at the memory.
"That was our first public kiss. When was our first private kiss?" he clarifies.
"Oh. Um." I hadn't thought about this. "Under the mistletoe? It's seasonal."
"Which mistletoe? This town has mistletoe everywhere. It's like a mistletoe infestation," he observes.
"The one at... the shop?" I suggest.
"Your shop has seventeen mistletoe bunches. I counted," he says.
"Why did you count my mistletoe?" I ask.
"I was calculating the fire hazard risk," he explains.
"That's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said about mistletoe," I tell him.
"Would you prefer I say I was overwhelmed by their beauty and had to number them like stars in the sky?" he offers in a lofty, fake voice.
"That's worse. Much worse," I laugh.
"I'm not good at romantic," he admits.
"You said that at Giuseppe's. Right before you kissed me and made my knees stop working," I say without thinking.
Silence fills the room. Even the candles seem to flicker more quietly.
"Your knees stopped working?" he asks softly.
"Temporarily. I got better," I babble. "Fully functional knees now. See?" I stand up and immediately knock over the apple juice.
"Very functional," he agrees, helping me mop up the spill with paper towels I thankfully overstocked.
"We should practice," I announce desperately.
"Practice what?" he asks.
