Page 11 of Mr. Mistletoe
“Spilling the tea.” I slide into the chair and prop my elbows on the table between us. “It’s so embarrassing.”
She pats my arm. “Start at the beginning, dear. Spill every drop.”
I fill Gran in on the details of my date up until the moment I kissed the sexy stranger. Her eyes sparkle brighter and brighter as I get to the end. I would spare her the details, but she insists I tell everything, right down to the pillow softness of his lips and the hard muscles of his arms locked around me.
She leans back in her chair and fans her face. “Wow. That was some hot tea.”
I drop my head into my hands with a sigh. “Yep.”
“So, when are you gonna see him again?”
“Never.”
“You didn’t give him your digits?”
I lift a brow at her attempt to use slang. “He gave me his number.”
“So call him. What the heck are you waiting for?”
The image of him standing under the exit lights, gazing down at me fills my head. “He probably thinks I’m crazy, kissing a stranger like that.”
“Then, he’s crazy, too. Perfect match.”
I feel dreamy, imagining what a perfect match we could be. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to dream. I’ve been disappointed too many times to count. Starting with my first boyfriend in high school who cheated on me, all the way through a bunch of losers in college, to fizzled relationships in the past year. My love life has been nothing but one miss after another.
Is it better to have that one perfect moment of our kiss? Or experience another failure?
My mind drifts to the way Mr. Mistletoe’s jeans hugged his butt in all the right ways. “He is cute, though. And tall. At least six-foot-three.”
“And he made your toes curl.”
I twirl my ponytail around my fingers, fantasizing about how good we could be together.
“Oh, and he’s from Starlight Bay,” I say. “That cute little town in the mountains where you do the Christmas market.”
“Mistletoe Marketplace,” she says. “It’s my favorite event of the year.”
Regret burns like acid in my chest. “What if—”
“What if he was your soul mate?”
I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t believe in soul mates.”
“Well, maybe you should. He could be yours.”
I prop my chin in my hand, considering. We would definitely make cute, tall children together. Maybe I should call him.
“Call him,” Gran says as if she has a secret view of my mind.
“Now?”
“You’re not getting any younger. You’re gonna be thirty.”
“Not for a few years.”
“Time has a funny way of passing when you’re not paying attention.” She gets up and heads to the door of the studio.
I sit up straighter, watching her grab her purse. “Where are you going?”
