An Ex for Christmas(13)

“So, my mistletoe test with Jack.”

He closes his eyes. “Nope.”

“It was . . . well, it was conclusive, but not in the good way.”

He sighs in resignation and opens his eyes. “Meaning?”

There’s a plate of half-eaten toast on the table, and I pull it toward me, helping myself to a corner of buttered sourdough. “Eh. Well, we kissed . . . and . . .” I take a bite of the bread. “What are those little chickens you serve at the restaurant sometimes? But they’re not called chickens.”

“Cornish game hens?”

“Right. Those.” I point the toast at him. “Anyway, the second Jack put his hands on my waist, all I could think was that his hands felt like Cornish game hens. Like ham hands, except . . . little chicken hands.”

“You’ve decided he wasn’t the one because his hands are like Cornish game hens.”

“Yup.”

For a second Mark only stares at me. Then he rubs his temples. “How is it we’ve been friends for a decade, and you can still surprise me?”

“Best friends,” I specify.

He merely shakes his head.

I drop the toast back on the plate, because I’ve suddenly lost my appetite as I remember why I came over in the first place. “I need to talk to you about something. Your love life. Not mine.”

“What about it?”

I swallow. “Well, you know how you refuse to get on Facebook, because you think it’s poser nonsense?”

“Not my precise words, but yeah.”

“Well, I’m still on Facebook, and I’m friends with Sheila because, well, I wanted her to like me, and . . . Sheila’s hooking up with her old boyfriend,” I say in a rush. “In Atlanta.”

I blow out a breath and wait to see on a scale of 1 to 10 how crushed he looks and how quickly I need to force him into a hug.

His only response is a slight smile. “Why are all the women in my life hooking up with exes?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. “That’s a remarkably calm response. Did you miss the unspoken part where she’s cheating on you?”

Mark picks up his glasses and puts them back on, attention already going back to his computer. “Sheila and I broke up.”

I gasp. “You did not. When?”

He doesn’t reply, and I reach across the table to shut the laptop. “When?”

“Friday afternoon.”

“But I saw you guys on Friday afternoon . . . I walked in on you guys . . .”

“Saying goodbye.”

“You were not. You were kissing.”

“A goodbye kiss.”

“No, it was not. . . . Was it?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Not as perceptive as you think, huh?”

“I am too perceptive. I know when each and every one of my students is lying to me.”

“Fine, I stand corrected. You’re excellent at reading eight-year-olds. Not so good with anyone over the age of twenty.”

I purse my lips. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you break up?”

He runs a hand through his rumpled hair. “If I tell you it’s because she’s a Capricorn and I’m a Virgo, will you drop it?”

“No. One, because you don’t even believe in that stuff, and second, because Sheila’s a Scorpio.”

There’s a long moment of quiet, interrupted only by the squeak of Rigby’s toy.

“It just wasn’t working out. We don’t have to make a big deal about it.”

“But you broke up during Christmas.” Understanding dawns. “Oh man. That’s why you’ve been so pissy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Will you please leave me to do my work?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

I pick up the piece of toast again. “Can I use your truck this afternoon?”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to look up.

“Why, are you using it?”

“No, but last time you used it, you scraped half the paint off.”

“An exaggeration. And Mrs. Cleary even said that wasn’t my fault, and she paid for all of it.”

“What do you need it for?”

“I don’t have a Christmas tree yet.”

He groans. “So, you want to not only borrow my truck, but fill it with pine needles.”

“It’s a truck. It’s supposed to have a messy destiny.”

“Uh-huh. And let me guess. You weren’t planning to go to one of the dozen tree stands around town, were you? You were going to go cut your own down.”

“Of course.” I sip my coffee. I’m trying to learn to drink it black to cut calories, and it’s awful.

“And how exactly were you going to chop down the tree and get it into the truck by yourself?”

I grin. “I wasn’t.”

Mark sighs. “I’m going with you, aren’t I?”

“Yup.”

“And that was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

He sighs. “Fine. Let me finish my work.”

“No problem,” I say, sitting back and propping my sock-covered feet on one of the other chairs.