Page 4 of Mr. Mistletoe
“Of course.”
She points at my sweatshirt. “Do you live in Starlight Bay?”
I nod. My dad was the high school basketball coach, and Ingrid and I wear Starlight Bay High sweatshirts to honor him. She’s so pregnant, hers barely stretches over her belly.
“My grandmother does a Christmas market there every year,” she says. “She makes candles.”
“Mistletoe Market,” I say.
“That’s the one. It’s coming up in a few weeks and she’s been burning the candle at both ends getting ready for it.” She grins at her own corny joke. “She loves that town.”
“Me too.”
It’s only been a few years since I moved back home, but it’s been the right thing for me. The right move.
“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” She stops suddenly in the middle of the aisle, and the crowd around us parts.
“Sure.” How can I say no to those big blue eyes?
“Can you take a picture of me and King Bee?”
A smile tugs at my lips. “You must be a big fan.”
“Not really,” she admits. “It’s for my social media. I’m a clothing designer, and it would be great for business.”
I’ve been burned by social media prying into my life, but who am I to tell someone else how to live?
“Did you make your jeans?” I ask. “They look really cool.”
A smile transforms her face, making her eyes sparkle like twin sapphires. “Thanks.”
She hands me her phone and poses beside the mascot dressed in a gold-and-purple Stingers bee suit. Her beauty is breathtaking. Her dark hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes would make anyone stop and stare.
“Want me to take one of you and your girlfriend?” A lady asks, holding out her hand for the phone.
I start to deny that she’s my girlfriend, but something stops me. Without meaning to, I find myself joining this gorgeous stranger in a photo.
We share a glance, smiling at each other instead of the camera.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says after the lady hands her back her phone.
I shrug. “I wanted to.”
She smiles up at me, and I’m reluctant to leave, but we’ve reached my section. And my pregnant sister is waiting for her nachos with extra cheese.
“This is me,” she says.
My heart swells. “Me too.” I hold out my arm in a chivalrous gesture. “After you.”
We walk down the steps together, side by side, as if we are the ones on a date. I stop at my row, once again stalling on saying goodbye to this ray of sunshine on my cloudy day. She stops too.
“Row G?” she asks, bending to check the placard.
Luck is on my side today. “We’re on the same row.”
I spot a few empty seats next to Ingrid and can only dare to hope. My sister waves at me, yelling something about cheese. But I barely hear her.
The woman is taking the seat next to mine, and I’m pretty sure this game just got a lot more interesting.
