An Ex for Christmas(40)

I force a smile and turn toward the kitchen, relieved that my tears have retreated. “Cooking tonight.”

“Ah, well . . . good news for my belly, if not my eyes. Hey, Erika, can I get a Grey Goose martini with a twist?”

She lifts a hand in acknowledgment of the order and reaches for the vodka behind the bar, only to give it a quick shake and a frown.

“Hey, Hugh, it’ll be just a sec, ’k? I need to run downstairs for another bottle of Goose.”

She slips out from under the bar, and one of the servers comes in to take her place temporarily.

“Okay, darling, I haven’t seen nearly enough of you,” Hugh says, helping himself to a sip of my wine. “Tell me you’re going to the parade. Mom’s setting up an eggnog stand, and I promised to recruit customers. She figures if there’s enough demand, the sheriff will turn a blind eye to booze on the streets.”

“I’ll be there. Actually . . .” I lean forward and pause with fake drama. “I’ll be one of the stars.”

“Gingerbread Princess again?”

“Nah, I passed on my crown to Kayla Teek. I’m . . .” I do a drumroll with my fingers. “An elf.”

Hugh lifts his hand for a high five. “Hot.”

“Right!” I smack his palm with mine. “That’s what I tried to tell Mark. Guys like girls in elf costumes, don’t they?”

“I’m not one to know much about heterosexual preferences, but even I know women in tights is a good thing. Not as good as men in tights, but . . .” He gives a shrug and wink. “So, who are we impressing with our great butt in green tights?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. Who am I impressing? When I’d originally hatched my plan, I’d assumed that there’d still be some exes in the running. I’d figured that maybe I’d have found The One, and that me looking adorable would result in a winter’s-night kiss in front of the whole town . . .

Now when I picture how it’ll go down, the only face I can see is . . .

“Hey, there he is,” Hugh says, nudging my knee with his and nodding toward the back archway that leads to the kitchen.

I glance up to see Mark coming through the doorway.

At the exact same moment Erika comes bounding up the stairs from the storage room to the left, vodka in hand.

She rams into his side, and they both stumble back slightly, although Mark reaches out a hand to steady her.

He says something that makes her laugh, and Mark smiles back. A real smile, the kind that lights up his whole face and isn’t all that common.

My stomach knots with . . .

Jealousy.

Yup, there it is. I’m jealous.

Not as jealous as I’m about to be, though. Remember how just a few seconds ago I was all “Oh, Hugh’s so great”?

That was before he cups his hands over his mouth and calls out “Mistletoe!” to Erika and Mark.

They give a startled look in our direction. Mark’s eyes lock on mine for a fraction of a second before glancing upward.

Erika looks my way, too. Then at Mark, then at the mistletoe. The tables nearby start chanting “Kiss . . . kiss . . .” as do a handful of people at the bar.

Hugh gives me a quick elbow jab in the ribs as though we’re in on this together, and I somehow manage a smile so wooden it feels like my face is splintering.

Mark doesn’t do mistletoe, I remind myself. Or at least he reins it in with a puny kiss on the cheek, as I learned last night.

He’ll give Erika that same indifferent peck, and then—

Erika’s free hand slips around Mark’s neck, and she brings her mouth up to his.

I feel something awful rush through me, my whole body going hot and then tingly, not at all in a pleasant way.

Push her away, push her away . . .

For a moment Mark doesn’t move, and then he rests his hand lightly on Erika’s back, letting the kiss linger.

I want to die.

The crowd whoops, and they break apart. Erika gives a joking curtsey, and everyone laughs.

Everyone but me. And Mark, although he doesn’t look the least bit bothered by the fact that he’s just kissed his ex-girlfriend full on the mouth.

I can’t do this. The two glasses of wine have made me weird, and I need to . . .

I need to get out of here.

“You know what?” I tell Hugh with a sheepish laugh. “I’ve got this annoying headache that just will not quit. Want to finish the wine for me while Erika makes your martini?”

If she can stop kissing her ex long enough to be bothered.

“Oh! Sure,” Hugh says, his blue eyes concerned as he turns to me. “You good to drive?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even touched that one,” I say, nodding at my full glass and fishing some money out of my wallet. “Tell Erika to keep the change, ’k?”

“Sure. Are you—”

I pretend I don’t register that he’s still talking, and lift my hand in farewell.

A half dozen people stop me on the way out to wish me a merry Christmas and ask me how I am and blah blah blah, but finally, finally I make it outside, and the frigid air is exactly what I need to clear my head.

Okay, so I’m jealous. We’ve established that. What we haven’t established is why. We haven’t established that because I don’t know.