An Ex for Christmas(17)

“It’s sooooo good to see you,” I enthuse, going in for one of my trademark hugs.

And now you’re like, What the heck is a trademark hug?

Just take my word for it, I’m a really good hugger. Not one of those people who clings too long, but I give a good squeeze, and I’m not afraid to put my whole body into it.

I note Joey’s look of surprise as I wrap my arms around him. After a second—a long second—his arms wrap around me, but . . . well, let’s just say he doesn’t have a trademark hug, because I’m underwhelmed.

And when I pull back, I can tell that he is, too.

I catch sight of Mark over Joey’s shoulder, talking to a cute blonde. He catches my eye for the briefest of moments, lifts his eyebrows as though to say, How’s it going?, then turns his attention back to blondie.

Joey shuffles his feet awkwardly. Sensing he’s about to polite-excuse his way right out of this conversation, I turn a big smile on him.

“So, what have you been up to? How are your parents?”

True story: I adored Joey’s parents back in the day. Perhaps even more than Joey, if I’m being super-honest. His mom always had something delicious on the stove, and his dad was short, sarcastic, but really sweet.

“They’re good, really good. They’re, uh . . .” He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Excited about their first grandbaby.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Sienna and George were expecting!” I say, referring to Joey’s older sister and her husband. I don’t know them well, but I see them at the restaurant on date nights quite a bit, and they always seem so happy. They’ll make fantastic parents.

Joey has a weird expression on his face. “No, ah . . . you remember Raina Joyner? A few years behind us in school? Like, six years? She went to Washington High?”

I blink. Ignoring, for a second, that if Raina is six years behind me in school, we didn’t attend high school at the same time, so um, no, doesn’t ring a bell.

Add in the fact that Joey and I went to Lincoln High, and that Washington High is thirty minutes away in another town . . .

“Hmm, I’m struggling to put a face with the name,” I say politely.

“Right. Anyway, she, uh . . . we, uh . . . we’re having a baby.”

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to understand what he’s so plainly telling me.

Joey Russo’s about to be a dad.

“I mean, my parents were kind of mad we weren’t married, but I’m getting to that. It’s why I’ve taken up a few extra shifts here at the tree farm . . .”

Oh, poor, poor Joey. He was always a sweet kid and a people-pleaser. It’s one of the reasons I broke up with him when we were seventeen. He always did whatever I wanted to do, and while it was kind of nice at first, it got old after a while.

And he’s doing it now, obviously sensing that I’m fishing for some sort of reunion and doing his best to tell me that he’s off the market.

I smile, and I’m about to give him an enthusiastic congratulations, all while mentally crossing him off my list.

Before I can speak, Mark appears at my side, dropping an arm over my shoulder. I’m instantly suspicious. Mark is 100 percent not a PDA type of guy, even in the casual friend kind of way. He endures my hugs, sometimes, but never in public. Every now and then he’ll let me link arms with him as a way to keep him nearby as I chat at him, but initiating . . .

Something’s up.

“Hey, Joe, how’s it going?” Mark asks, extending a hand to Joey, who tugs off his work glove.

The two men shake hands, and I don’t miss that Joey looks relieved to have a distraction from talking with me.

Note to self: don’t come on so strong.

“You get a tree?” Joey asks, his attention on Mark, who’s clearly a safer conversational target than his clingy ex.

“Just helping out Kelly here.”

“Ah. Need help loading it into your car?”

“Nope, all good.”

Joey looks disappointed to have his escape route thwarted.

“You sure you don’t want a tree for yourself?” he asks.

“Mark hates Christmas,” I inject, tired of being ignored.

Both men look at me. Mark frowns. “I do not.”

I look up at him. “Okay, you don’t hate it, but you don’t really get into it. You never get a tree, you won’t hang lights, you wouldn’t even let me put a wreath on your door last year.”

“Because it was white and had a pink bow.”

“It was flocked, and pink and white were very in that year.”

“I have the crew put a tree in the restaurant.”

“A fake one,” I argue. “It’s Christmas sacrilege.”

Joey is starting to back away slowly, but Mark pins him with a stare and makes his move.

He pulls something out of his pocket and dangles it in front of my forehead. “Hey, Joe, you guys sell this?”

“Ah, what’s that—mistletoe?”

I bite back a groan and Mark grins. “Yup.”

Joey shrugs, looking indifferent. “I think so. You ask the gift shop guys? I think it’s like three bucks, five if you want the one with the bow.”

Mark glances down at me and gives the mistletoe a wiggle. “What do you think, Kelly? Bow or no bow?”