An Ex for Christmas(10)

I pat his arm. “Just bark. And I kicked him to the curb.”

He gives a terse nod. “All right. So, who is on the list? How many people we talking?”

“Seven.”

“And you’re going to believe a little old lady that one of them is your soulmate, or some shit like that?”

I study his profile. “Why are you so grumpy about this? You have Sheila. Why shouldn’t I have someone, too?”

Mark scratches his cheek. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to be happy. I just think if you were going to be happy with any of those guys, you would have been. You broke up with them for a reason.”

“Well, to be fair, three of the seven broke up with me.”

“Morons.”

I smile at his loyalty. “Totally. Which is why I need to figure out a way to show them what they’re missing. Is it true that guys think women in elf costumes are hot?”

He gives me an incredulous look. “What?”

“You know,” I say, gesturing at midthigh. “Striped socks? Short green skirt? Cute little hat?”

He shakes his head. “Times like this, I deserve an award for having a female best friend.”

“It’s not like I asked you to take me shopping for the outfit. I’m just saying if I volunteered to dress up like an elf at the annual Christmas parade, would that be hot?”

“Quit being weird.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Because it was a ridiculous question. Starbucks?”

I give him a suspicious look. “You think Starbucks is overrated.”

“I also think I can buy my way out of this conversation with a froufrou peppermint whatever.”

“You’re not wrong,” I concede, crunching on my candy cane. “No more elf talk in exchange for a peppermint mocha Frappuccino, extra sprinkles. But . . . I do want your help on how I should approach Jack.”

“Pass.”

“But he’s your friend.”

“Which is why I pass,” Mark says, pulling into the Starbucks parking lot. “I don’t want to get into the middle of you two. Again.”

A valid point. Jack Chance and I burned hot and heavy for about eight months in one of those volatile, fight-a-lot relationships that are as exhilarating as they are exhausting. Poor Mark had played mediator more times than I care to admit.

“Just tell me if he’s seeing anyone,” I plead. “One little answer, then I’ll leave you alone.”

In response, Mark climbs out of the truck and slams the door.

“Okay then,” I mutter.

I start to follow Mark into the coffee shop, but at the last minute I pull out my cellphone and send a quick text message. If Jack’s schedule at the sheriff’s office is anything like it used to be, he’ll be up early on weekends but off tonight.

Hey, it’s Kelly. (Just in case he deleted my phone number—like I said, things were messy there toward the end.) You free to catch up? Dinner tonight?

Must be a slow morning at the station, because his response is almost immediate: hey babe long time! dinner sounds good, where when?

I smile in triumph. How about Salt and Cedar, 7 pm?

perfect c u then.

I try not to cringe at the memory of how much his lack of punctuation and proper capitalization made me crazy.

I drop my phone back in my purse and scamper after Mark, to warn him that his two best friends will be dining at his restaurant tonight—together.

Oh, and I need to figure out how to convince him to hang some mistletoe . . .





December 16, Saturday Evening


“Damn, babe, you look goooooood.”

I glance up from the specials sheet and smile as my ex makes his way across the busy restaurant toward me.

Jack’s a little shorter than the average guy, but he makes up for it with a great smile and great shoulders—great shoulders that he takes care to show off with too-tight T-shirts.

Keep an open mind, Kelly, I remind myself. You liked him, remember? Once upon a time you loved him. Sort of.

I stand to give him a hug, letting it linger as I wait for a sense that he’s the one the lady was telling me about. He smells and feels familiar, but . . . have I missed this?

Hmm. Too soon to tell.

“You look great,” I say enthusiastically as we sit.

I’ve seen him around plenty since we broke up, but this is the first time I’ve bothered to look, and . . . well, the too-tight shirt says he’s been taking care of himself.

Which, okay, let’s be honest, is more than I can say. While I’d like to claim I handled every breakup by getting a “revenge body,” the truth is I’m more of an ice-cream-and-TV kind of breakup girl.

And considering I’ve had three breakups since Jack, I’m definitely trending toward curvy these days.

Although the way he’s checking me out says he doesn’t mind that at least some of the extra weight’s gone to my chest. Throw in a good push-up bra, and well . . . yeah, I know what I’m doing.

Jack’s mostly a gentleman, and drags his eyes back up to mine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a couple of my girlfriends come in the door and head to the bar. I feel a tiny stab of regret that I had to say no to the invitation to girls’ night. Ivy’s call didn’t come through until after I’d already confirmed with Jack. But truth? I’d rather be catching up with the girls than doing this awkward how-are-you with Jack.