Page 80 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
We enter the tunnel, which is basically a hallway someone has attacked with mistletoe and Christmas lights. The first kiss is awkward—a quick peck that barely qualifies.
"We can do better," she whispers.
"Much better," I agree, pulling her closer for the second one.
By the fifth mistletoe, we've forgotten about Malcolm. By the tenth, we've forgotten about the audience. By the fifteenth, Wren's lipstick is gone, and my ability to think has followed it.
"Two more," she breathes against my mouth.
"We could go back and start over," I suggest.
"That's cheating," she says, but she's smiling.
"It's practice," I correct.
The last kiss is different. Slower. Like we're both trying to memorize it.
When we emerge, the entire room is staring. Delia's actually stopped taking notes. Giuseppe's crying into his flask. Even Malcolm looks speechless.
"Nine point eight!" Teddy shouts, holding up a scorecard.
"Only nine point eight?" I protest.
"Deduction for excessive enthusiasm," Delia explains, though she's fighting a smile.
"How is enthusiasm a deduction?" Wren asks.
"When it threatens the structural integrity of the mistletoe," Delia says, pointing to where several bunches have somehow gotten tangled in my hair.
"Your turn, Malcolm," June announces with obvious glee.
Malcolm and Anastasia's journey through the tunnel is professionally adequate. Each kiss is exactly three seconds, perfectly positioned, and completely soulless.
"Four point two," Teddy announces.
"That's not fair!" Malcolm protests.
“Life’s not fair, Malcolm,” Delia scolds.
The evening continues with more competitive activities that make less sense as Giuseppe's mystery flask makes the rounds. There's ornament juggling where Malcolm drops three, cookie decorating, and something Delia calls "festive trust falls" that results in Teddy getting stuck in the gingerbread nativity scene.
"Joseph's down!" Finn shouts. "We need extraction!"
"This is why we have protocols!" Delia announces, consulting her binder.
As they work to free Teddy from the structurally unsound manger, I pull Wren onto the balcony that overlooks the town square.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"For what?" I ask.
"For making tonight bearable," she says. "For a few kisses that made me forget why I was mad at you."
"Only a few?" I ask. "Because I counted at a lot more if you include the dancing dips."
"Those don't count," she says.
"They all count," I correct. "Every single one counts."
