An Ex for Christmas(18)

He extends the mistletoe a bit farther, lifting it as high as he can so it’s more or less positioned between me and Joey.

I widen my eyes, trying to get him to do that silent best-friend-speak that we do. Sometimes.

“I already have mistletoe,” I say in a slightly menacing tone, reaching up and grabbing his wrist.

He’s stronger than me and holds firm, his arm barely moving even as I put my weight into it. “Oh, that’s right. Well, maybe I’ll get this one, then. Remind me how it works again . . . whoever’s on either side of the mistletoe, they make out, right?”

I give up on moving his arm and settle for wrapping an arm around his waist and using my thumb to try to dig for a vital organ.

He lowers the mistletoe and takes his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a few ones and handing them over to Joey. “I already paid for the tree, but this is for the mistletoe. Unless . . .”

Mark starts to lift his arm again, but I snatch his wrist. “Mark. Did you know Joey’s going to be a dad?”

Mark’s arm freezes, then he drops it back to his side. When I glance up at his profile, I’m pretty sure he’s trying to hold in a laugh. His shoulders shake, just a bit. Yep. Definitely.

He thinks this is funny.

My high school ex is slowly backing away. “I really should . . .”

He doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence before shoving the mistletoe money in his back pocket and heading over to a couple struggling to get a tree atop their Prius.

I shrug Mark’s arm off my shoulder and turn around to glare. “Happy now?”

He’s watching Joey’s retreating back with fake confusion. “Was he not the one?”

My eyes narrow. “Did you know?”

“Know what—that he hasn’t been pining over you all this time?”

“That he’s having a baby?”

“Nope. Sort of regretting I didn’t see your face when you found out, though. What are you thinking . . . stepmom?”

I jab a fist into his rib cage.

He grunts. “Why are you so violent these days?”

“Oh, I dunno.” I grab the mistletoe and hold it between us. “Really? Was this funny in your head?”

Mark looks at the mistletoe, then at me, raising his eyebrows in question.

I realize that the way I’ve dangled it, it seems as though I’m putting it between us, and hurriedly drop my arm. After the weirdness under the tree, the last thing I need to do is to let my brain even think about what it would be like to . . .

Yep, see, no. Not doing that.

“I felt bad about getting you all dirty when you were trying to woo your high school boy back. Thought I could help with the mistletoe, but since you won’t be needing it . . .” He holds out his hand for the bough of mistletoe. “Mine.”

“Seriously? We just established that you don’t like Christmas crap in your home.”

“Never said that. Just has to be the right crap.”

“You should have gotten the one with the bow,” I say, looking down. “Maybe I should get one. This is prettier than the one I bought at the grocery.”

“Yeah, that’s just what you need. A spare mistletoe,” he says, plucking the greenery out of my hand. “Come on, let’s get your dumb tree home.”

“Will you help me get it in the stand?” I ask, trotting after him toward his truck.

“Do you have a stand?” he asks, not turning around.

Whoops. Usually my Christmas tree enthusiasm goes into the one set up at my parents’ house, and I so don’t feel like trudging into their attic to find the ancient tree stand.

“Can we stop at Home Depot on the way back?” I ask.

Mark just shakes his head.

Despite his irritation with me, he goes around to the passenger side of the pickup and opens the door for me, even offering a hand to make it easier for me to hoist myself up into the high cab.

“Thanks.” My voice is just a tiny bit grumpy, because I’m cold and covered in mud, I’ve just realized I’ve lost a glove and don’t feel like searching for it, and my short list of exes just got even shorter.

He holds my hand a second longer than necessary, waiting for me to meet his eyes. “Even without the baby on the way, he was never going to be the one.”

“You don’t know that.”

Mark drops the mistletoe in my lap. “Don’t I?”

He slams the door before I can figure out what the heck that’s supposed to mean.





Kelly Byrne’s Ex List: Version Three


Jack Chance: Bad kisser.

Joey Russo: About to have a freaking kid.

Chad Morrister: Watch yourself. I’m about to show you that the ten-year age difference isn’t so bad anymore. . . .

Doug Porter

Stephen Hill

Adam Bartley

Colin Austin





December 17, Sunday Evening


“I miss you too, Mom, but I’m fine, I promise. Better than fine—I’m having the best Christmas break.”

I deliberately do not mention my current scene is borderline depressing. I mean, yeah, I’ve lit my gingerbread candle and made myself a peppermint martini, and I’ve got Christmas with the Rat Pack playing in the background.