Page 28 of Mr. Mistletoe
“What about me?” she asks, smiling knowingly.
“Family? School? Anything. Everything.”
“I have one brother,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Lucky I didn’t disown him after he set me up with Kyle.”
I grin. “Hey, I’m glad he set you up with that loser, or we wouldn’t have met.”
Her laugh is real—lights up the corners of her eyes. Hits me square in the chest.
The memory of our basketball-game kiss lingers, and judging by her gaze, it lingers for her too.
I lift my water glass in a toast. “To that loser who didn’t get your Diet Coke.”
She taps her glass to mine. “To Kyle.”
“What about school? Did you play a sport? Let me guess… basketball?”
She laughs so hard she nearly spits out water. “Not all tall people play basketball.”
“Volleyball?”
She shakes her head. “I told you, I’m a klutz with a capital K.”
“You can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me. I am.”
And I do. More than I should after knowing her so briefly.
The rest of the meal flows easily—soft laughter, stories, little pieces of ourselves we don’t usually share with strangers. By the end, Jess isn’t a stranger anymore.
When the bowls are scraped clean, I’m not ready to end this. “You know a dinner date isn’t complete without dessert.”
She grins. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
I grab my coat. “I know the perfect spot in town. Best molten mocha cake you’ve ever tasted.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had molten mocha cake.”
Feigning shock, I pull her from the chair. “Go get your coat. We’ll fix that.”
A cold knot tightens in my stomach as she hesitates. But then she smiles—a soft, warm thing that cracks open something inside me.
“Okay,” she says.
Relief floods me. While she’s upstairs, I step out to warm up the truck. Snow drifts lazily, porch lights casting a golden glow.
A sprig of mistletoe hangs above the door. Sam already hates me. One more strike won’t matter. I pluck it down, tucking it behind my back just as the door creaks open.
Jess steps out. Time freezes.
Hair down, glossy against her pale coat, she looks like she walked straight out of a Christmas movie—the kind where theguy loses his heart in the first scene and spends the rest of the movie chasing the perfect woman.
Mine. Just for tonight, let her be mine.
She approaches, boots crunching in the powdery snow. When she’s in front of me, I pull the mistletoe from behind my back and hold it over our heads.
“I thought maybe we could have a do-over,” I say, heart full of hope.
