Page 15 of Mr. Right Under the Mistletoe

Dinner went on for a solid hour, the majority of the conversation revolving around my team’s offensive strategy. Sydney held her own, offering some solid observations. I loved that she knew the game, the players, the ins and outs of the industry. It was one of the thousands of things I loved about her. Maybe it was the wine, but I hadn’t felt this happy, this relaxed, in a long while. Something about having her next to me felt so right.

Reaching under the table, I found her hand, laced our fingers together. She glanced over at me through her dark lashes, but didn’t pull away. I rubbed her thumb with mine, our intertwined hands resting lightly on her thigh.

Progress. She was definitely warming up to me.

“Dinner was fantastic, Mom. Let us clean up,” I said, already placing my silverware on my plate.

“I’ll get it, honey.”

“No way, Mom. We’ve got this,” Nate chimed in. “You, Dad, and Gran go put on a Christmas movie or something.”

Our parents and Gran moved into the den, leaving me, Nate, and Sydney to clean up. We worked together quickly, gathering up the dishes, glassware, and napkins. Sydney and I loaded them into the dishwasher, while Nate put away the leftovers.

“You guys want to go out? Or are you going to hang out with Mom and Dad?” Nate asked, shoving the last of the roast into the fridge.

“I think we’ll stay here. Jackson’s supposed to stop by and drop a sweater off for Sydney.”

“Ah, for the infamous Ugly Sweater party.” Nate waggled his brows.

“That sounds ominous,” Sydney joked, leaning back against the counter.

“It’s always a good time. But be forewarned—go easy on the punch and watch out for mistletoe. Mr. McGregor loves pointing out when people are under it and insisting you kiss, whether you’re a couple or not. It’s extremely awkward.”

Sydney pressed her lips together, looking straight at me from across the kitchen. “Yeah. That is awkward.”

Wiping my hand on a dishtowel, I averted my gaze from hers, my throat suddenly dry. Why’d Nate have to bring up Mr. McGregor’s mistletoe fetish?

“Alright, kids, I’m going to head out. I don’t really want to watch some sappy Christmas movie with the parents. Plus, I have to work tomorrow, unlike some people. See ya at the party. And watch out for mistletoe.” Nate winked at Sydney before heading to the den to say goodbye to our parents.

“Thin ice, Milton,” Sydney said in a low voice, moving across the kitchen to me. “First, the sweater, now a weird mistletoe thing.”

“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “He’s harmless; nothing to worry about. It’ll be fun and festive, promise.”

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