An Ex for Christmas(42)

Even driving under the speed limit to be extra cautious, I still make it home in ten minutes.

Rigby’s there to greet me, and it makes me feel a little better. The Christmas music I put on helps, too. I opt for a Luther Vandross Christmas song. A little slower than my usual holiday choices, but it fits my current mood pretty well.

I turn on the tree, glaring at the top that still seems annoyingly empty.

I fill Rigby’s bowl with dog food. At least one of us should eat, and I still don’t have my appetite back. Although now it’s because my stomach’s more in knots about what Mark must be thinking right now.

I’m sure he’s confused as all heck.

Makes two of us.

I’m about to put on hot water for tea (yeah, right—I mean chocolate) when there’s an angry knock at the back door.

Rigby gives a warning bark, but it’s not terribly threatening given that his face is full of kibble.

I frown. Nobody ever comes to the back door. Well, except Mark, and he usually doesn’t knock.

Not usually. Today, apparently, is an exception.

“Um, hi?” I say, seeing him standing there.

He jabs an angry finger up at the mistletoe. “Take it down.”

“What?”

He reaches up and grabs the greenery, pulling it down with an angry swoop and tossing it over his shoulder into the snow. “That damn stuff is making you crazy. Get rid of it.”

I gape at him, then point. “Go get that!”

He crosses his arms. “No.”

“I like the mistletoe. I need it for—”

“Your idiotic list, I know. Tell me, you really think Colin or Alan—”

“Adam.”

“You really think either of them is going to show up on your door in the next three days before Christmas because some psycho ‘saw’ it?”

I cross my arms. “Yes.” Maybe.

He leans in. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah, shocking that you feel that way. You’ve hidden it so well.”

“I’ve put up with it well enough, but it’s got you acting nuts, and—”

“You’ve got me acting nuts,” I shout. “You’ve been weird, pushing me out even as you pull Erika in!”

“What does it matter, Kelly? What does it matter whether I hook up with my ex? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

I swallow, and there’s a lump. “So you are? Getting back together with her?”

He closes his eyes with a sigh, rubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t possibly think about what to do with that woman when I’m trying to deal with this one.” He opens his eyes and motions with his hand toward me as he says it.

“I’m not yours to deal with,” I say, pushing past him to get outside.

I’ve already taken off my boots, and the snow soaks through my socks immediately.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting my mistletoe,” I call over my shoulder, kicking my knees up high as I prance into the yard, so that my feet touch the freezing ground for as little time as possible.

I pull the green bundle out of the snow a second before I’m hoisted off my feet and dragged back into the house.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, depositing me into my kitchen, looking both furious and baffled.

I press one foot on top of the other, trying to warm them, as I find the tiny red loop that the mistletoe hangs by, and then hold the bundle out to him. “Put it back.”

He glares at the mistletoe. “No. Mistletoe makes you weird.”

“Not your problem,” I say, pointing up. “The nail’s still up there. You just have to loop this on there.”

“Fuck the mistletoe, Kelly!”

I gasp. “Take that back.”

“No. Go put on some dry socks.”

“No.”

We’re both breathing hard, and Mark looks . . . furious.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m a little bit furious myself. Furious at him, and Erika, and myself, and that crazy lady in the train station.

Furious that nothing is simple anymore, furious that my heart is pounding and aching and hopeful all at the same time.

I’m furious that I’m jealous, and that’s new to me, to be honest. Hell, I’m so jealous. Jealous that he kissed her for real when I got a brotherly kiss on the cheek, jealous that he sees her as a woman while he treats me like I’m nothing but the half-batty sister who believes in tea leaves and kinda sorta believes Hogwarts is real.

Most of all, I’m furious that I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel like this and it’s with the wrong guy, who I want so badly to be the right guy.

“Damn you, Kelly,” Mark says in a low voice, disrupting my thoughts. “Damn you.”

Mark steps toward me and sets his fingers beneath my chin, using his thumb to nudge my face up to his, much as he did last night beneath the mistletoe.

Except this time, when he lowers his face to mine, he kisses me for real.





December 20, Wednesday Evening


Mark’s mouth moves hungrily over mine, his hands sliding to my waist as he walks me backward a few steps, kicking the door shut with a decisive slam.

I should be freaked out—I know I should, but truthfully what’s freaking me out more isn’t how wrong this is but how absurdly right it feels. As though his mouth was made for mine, as though we should have been doing this a long time ago.