Page 23 of Mr. Mistletoe
“The Mistletoe Market,” she says. “I’m taking over my grandmother’s booth this year.”
A memory flickers. “Candles, right?”
Her smile tells me I’ve scored points. But I want more than points.
“I was waiting for you to call,” I say quietly. “I thought you forgot about me.”
Her gaze catches mine, heat pulsing between us. “No. I didn’t forget.”
“Maybe I can get your number this time?” I pat my pockets, then remember—my phone’s in the truck with my jeans. “You got a pen and paper?”
She digs in her purse, finds a pen but no paper. “Give me your hand.”
Her fingers wrap around my wrist. She turns my palm up and scrawls her number in neat, looping digits.
She caps the pen with a satisfied smile. “You’d better call.”
I want to keep talking to her, but the kids are already shouting for Santa.
“Want to skate with Santa?” I ask, desperate to hold onto her just a little longer.
She laughs. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I tend to be a little clumsy.”
“You can’t bethatbad.” I grin. “Reminds me of a time a little girl skated right into Santa and plowed him over.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
I laugh at the memory. “The town’s still talking about it, decades later.”
She groans softly. “How embarrassing.”
We walk outside together, but I’m not ready to say goodbye. “I still remember the way her scarf got tangled around her skates.”
Jess stops abruptly beneath the arch leading to the rink, a cluster of evergreens and twinkle lights overhead.
She points up, grinning. “Seems like mistletoe has a way of finding us.”
I look up. There it is—a sprig of mistletoe, perfectly centered above our heads.
“Maybe,” I murmur, “it’s trying to tell us something.”
Her eyes flick to mine—uncertain, but not pulling away. The same look she wore the night I first kissed her. My pulse pounds. My hand twitches at my side, aching to touch her again.
I lean in, close enough that her breath brushes my lips. She doesn’t move back.
“Santa!” a high-pitched voice shrieks.
We jolt apart like guilty teenagers. A trio of kids barrels toward us, clutching skate rentals.
“We’re supposed to line up to skate with you!” one shouts, tugging my sleeve.
Jess presses her lips together, fighting a smile. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining.
I lean in just enough to brush my lips against her cheek. “Goodbye. For now.”
