An Ex for Christmas(6)

Now if I could just talk him into putting up a few thousand Christmas lights . . .

I open Mark’s back door and walk in without knocking (this is Haven, we’re not big on locks). It’s four on a Friday, which means he’ll be down at his restaurant prepping for a busy weekend night serving up the best food in town. I could be biased about that, but I don’t think so. Cedar and Salt opened a year and a half ago, and it’s been practically impossible to get a table ever since.

I softly hum “Let It Snow” as I call for Rigby. Usually my dog greets me at the front door, and I frown at the lack of sloppy canine kisses.

A moment later I walk in on another kind of kissing entirely.

“Oh God!” I slap my hands over my eyes and pivot on my heel to give them privacy. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, and I’m leaving, like, right now . . .”

I hear a muttered curse (Mark), then an embarrassed giggle (Sheila).

“It’s all right, Kelly. I was just leaving.”

“No, you weren’t,” I tell Mark’s girlfriend without turning around, hands still over my eyes. “I know what I saw, and that was not leaving.”

“I was just saying goodbye. Really,” Sheila says.

“Really?” I ask curiously, shifting my fingers to the side, to stare at the wall. “Because it looked like—”

I hear a growl from Mark and wisely shut my mouth. Something hits the back of my knees, buckling me forward slightly, and I grin, bending down to greet Rigby.

“There’s my good boy!”

The black, wriggling cocker spaniel jumps excitedly around my feet, making excited noises around the enormous bone in his mouth. A big bone.

“Well, no wonder you didn’t come say hi,” I say, rubbing his silky ears. “Looks like Santa came early for you, huh?”

He rolls onto his back so I can pat his belly, all without losing the bone.

“See ya, Kelly.”

I glance up to see Mark’s girlfriend shrugging into her puffy coat.

“No!” I stand. “You stay, I’ll leave.”

“Yes, that,” Mark says from behind me.

Both us girls ignore him. Rigby trots over to Sheila, ramming his bone against her knee in farewell.

She gives his head a tentative pat. Sheila’s not really a dog person, but I give her credit for trying, for Mark’s benefit. “No, I really was leaving,” she says. “I’ve got to get to the airport anyway.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mark said you were going back to visit your dad’s side of the family for the holidays. Atlanta?”

“Yup. Good memory.” She gently eases Rigby’s paw off her coat.

“Oh, how fun! You need a ride to the airport?” I ask.

Okay, yeah. Yeah, it’s overkill, considering Sheila and I don’t know each other that well. It’s just that I know from experience that the dating world can be tricky when your best friend’s a member of the opposite sex, so I try really hard not to make any of Mark’s girlfriends feel threatened.

And I like Sheila. I mean, I have doubts about her and Mark making it for the long haul, but only because she’s a Scorpio, and it’s just not an ideal love match for Mark’s Virgo. I mean, she’s not his worst possible match—that would be my own Gemini. It’s just . . . well, whatever, that’s for them to figure out. Or so Mark tells me.

“I’m good. Thanks, though,” she says with an amused smile. “Have a good Christmas.”

“You too!” I say. Sheila heads back to Mark, probably for a last goodbye kiss, and I bend down again, partially to give Rigby more attention, partially to give them a bit of privacy.

A minute later I hear Mark’s front door close, and I stand up, braced for my best friend’s irritation because I totally deserve it.

He pulls a beer out of the fridge, holding it up over his broad shoulder in silent offering.

“No thanks.” I plop onto a barstool at his kitchen island.

He pops the top off, tosses it in the trash, and turns to face me.

I give him a wide smile. “I should have knocked.”

Mark shrugs and takes a sip of beer. “Probably.”

“In my defense, it’s Friday afternoon. I thought you’d be at the restaurant.”

“In my defense . . . my house.”

I purse my lips. “A solid point.”

“I thought so.” He takes another sip of beer. “What are you doing here so early?”

Usually I don’t get back to Haven until late on Friday night, and Mark and I have fallen into a routine of catching up over grilled cheese at midnight after he’s turned over the restaurant to the closing staff and headed home to feed himself instead of the entire town.

“Last day of school before break. Kids went home at noon.”

“Ah. Right. No wonder you’re in such a good mood.”

I am in a good mood, and his comment’s just reminded me why.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me at the train station,” I say, leaning forward excitedly.

“Hmm?” he asks, less excitedly.

“Okay, if I tell you, you have to not roll your eyes and tell me I’m a crackpot. Promise?”

“No.”

That’s about what I was expecting.