The Mistletoe Motive(20)

Eli grins. “I like my version better.” He turns back to Jonathan. “I showed her where the library was, we hit it off, and since her sophomore year, we’ve lived together.”

Jonathan blinks. “Lived together. You. Her.”

“With June, too,” Eli says blithely, “who was two years below me, one above Gabby. June and I had a pre-rec together, then June hit it off with Gabby when I introduced them while we were studying at the library. I’m the glue who made the three of us roommates, when they were still in undergrad and I stuck around for my master’s.”

Something shifts in Jonathan’s expression. “Ah. I see.”

Eli tips his head. “This probably sounds weird, but…you look familiar.”

Jonathan stares at him for a minute. “Yeah, come to think of it, you do, too.”

“No kids, right?”

“God, no,” Jonathan says. “Not yet, at least.”

I try and fail utterly to picture Jonathan possessing a single affectionate bone in his body. “You know children need things like warmth and smiles and conversation that exceeds bone-dry sarcasm, right, Frost?”

Jonathan gives me a withering glare.

“Maybe we go to the same gym?” Eli says warmly, trying to smooth things over.

Jonathan glances his way. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. I’m a member at the place down on…”

Leaving those two to their irritating little bonding session, I extract myself from Eli’s grip and head for the break room to hang up my coat. Their conversation continues without me, and by the time I come back, they look thick as thieves, unwrapping the holiday cookie plates that I ordered for story time since I was too exhausted to bake, bonding over sugar’s detrimental effect on the body.

I clear my throat loudly. Their eyes meet mine.

Tapping my wristwatch, I arch one eyebrow, a perfect imitation of Jonathan. His mouth quirks at the corner before he covers it with his hand and clears his throat. “It’s like looking in a mirror,” he says.

I stick out my tongue.

“Now that I don’t do.”

Ignoring Jonathan, I turn toward my former-best-friend-turned-traitor and tell him, “Thirty minutes until showtime, Elijah.”

My phone starts buzzing in my dress pocket as Eli and Jonathan go back to chitchatting. In fact, I realize belatedly it’s been buzzing for a while. Extracting it, I feel my shoulders lift toward my neck. Another message from a number I don’t recognize. But I know who it is.

Did you get the flowers?

I want to talk.

Please, Gabby. It’s been six months. Can’t you give me another chance?

“What is it?” Eli says, watching me white-knuckle my phone.

I shake my head, blocking the number, then slipping my phone back into my dress. “Nothing. Now you’ll excuse me. I need a word with Mr. Frost.”

Marching past Jonathan, I flick a finger toward the back room. Jonathan grumbles something under his breath, then follows me.

When I reach the archway leading to the kitchenette, I stop and spin, facing him. His eyes snap up from my ass. He has the grace to look a little abashed, and there’s a blush darkening his cheeks.

“You done?” I ask.

His eyes dart away. “I didn’t mean—” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “You have tinsel on your…”

“Ah.” I feel behind me and there it is, a nice strip of silver tinsel clinging to my butt. I yank it off and clear my throat, too. “Right. Well. Back to business. I need your help with story time and the book signing afterward.”

He arches an eyebrow and leans a shoulder against the archway, arms across his chest. “My help for an event that’s going to disproportionately boost your sales.” He clucks his tongue. “No dice, Di Natale.”

“Jonathan.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Please. I need someone to keep the mob in check. Parents can be entitled shitheads.”

He leans in and says, “I know. Which is why I don’t bother with them.”

A growl rolls out of me. “I promised Eli you’d make sure anyone who’s out of line gets the boot.”

“And that’s my fault?” Jonathan glances down and extracts his phone from his pocket as it makes a repeated ding.

“Jonathan, can’t that wait?”

“You’re quite the hypocrite, Gabriella, given you just checked your phone a moment ago.” He frowns at his screen, wiping his forehead with his free hand. I notice his face is damp, like he’s sweating. His hand is shaking a little.

For just a moment, my empathy wins out over my annoyance. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he snaps, pocketing his phone, then strolling past me toward his coat hook.

I gape as I spin and follow his path. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“Conversation’s over.” He unhooks his messenger bag, which holds the laptop he’s always tapping on whenever customers aren’t around. It has a screen shield so I can’t see shit. Trust me, I’ve tried. Bag on his shoulder, he storms into the bookkeeping room and shuts the door behind him with a thud.

Stunned, I clench my teeth and stare up at the ceiling. Irony of ironies, we were standing under mistletoe.

“Gabriella!” Eli calls.