A Cross-Country Christmas(28)

Will shook his head slightly back, hands up in surrender. “What? No, I wasn’t even thinking. . .” He paused again—“But now it’s the only thing I can think of, so. . .”

She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought the outfit up. I was merely admiring her for her fighting skills.”

“That is the biggest lie in the history of ever.” She buttered her toast. “And besides, I could wear a bikini to the Met Gala and I still wouldn’t be the kind of girl guys go for.”

“Because you’re intimidating.” He spoke around a mouthful of food, waving his fork in her general direction.

She laughed. “Because I’m...what? Ha! Hardly.”

He narrowed his gaze at her for a full three-count, then she finally made a face and looked away, unable to make sense of this conversation.

“Now, what are we going to do about your lack of Christmas cheer, Miss Scrooge?” He dragged a forkful of pancakes through the syrup and shoved another big bite in his mouth.

“I’m fine.”

“You literally hate Christmas,” he said. “That’s the opposite of fine. We need to fix that. It’s a moral imperative. And,” he gestured toward the window, “this seems like the perfect little town to do it.”

“Why do you care if I hate Christmas?” she asked. “It’s not like this is a new development. I’ve been hating Christmas my entire adult life and part of my childhood, and it never mattered before.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe because in my house, Christmas is a huge deal. Nobody decorates like my mom, and she goes all out on the homemade treats. She and my sisters spend whole weekends baking cookies and homemade cinnamon rolls. It’s the one time of year we’re all still together, no matter what. I think everyone should have that.”

She looked away. “Well, unfortunately, everyone doesn’t.”

“I know.” Those two words were so genuine they nearly undid her. Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked to keep them where they belonged.

Dot appeared at the end of their table again, that silly smile plastered on her face. “You two are just the cutest couple I have ever seen come through that door.”

Lauren started to respond, but Will cut her off with a charming little, “Why thank you, Dot, that sure is kind of you to say.” He flashed Lauren an amused smile.

The waitress rested a hand on Will’s shoulder and for a split second, Lauren was jealous. It was such an odd, knee-jerk emotion. She wanted that ease. She wanted that familiar touch with him. But this strong urge to know Will that well clashed with the equally strong urge to push him away.

Part of her wanted to never be hurt again, but part of her didn’t really care.

This crazy mix of emotions tumbling around inside her heart left her so out of sorts, there was no way to avoid being awkward while she processed it.

“You know, I don’t do this for every couple, but—” Dot fiddled with her nametag, and for a second, Lauren wondered if she was going to take it off and give it to Will as a memento. But it wasn’t the thin piece of plastic she was after, it was the little sprig of greenery behind it.

“You know what El Muérdago means, don’t you?” Dot asked with a knowing smile.

Lauren and Will snapped their heads at one another (Will holding in a laugh and Lauren with abject horror) as Dot held the little plant above their heads. “It means ‘mistletoe.’”

Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

Lauren felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Her eyes begged Will not to do this. Will’s eyes, however, remained playful and dancing and dared her not to run away.

“Oh, no, Dot, that’s okay—” Lauren laughed nervously. “He just ate a bunch of syrup, and it’s super sticky, and it wouldn’t make for a great. . .I mean, not that I don’t like syrup or anything, it’s just. . .” She trailed off, mumbling words even she didn’t understand.

“You know what, Dot.” Will placed one hand on the woman’s arm. “On any other day, with any other woman—” he glanced at Lauren, “—I would be all for it.”

Lauren’s heart sank, but she didn’t know exactly why. She didn’t want this, but hearing him say he didn’t want it either hurt. How much more of a loser could she be? Even now—years out of high school, moderately successful with a corrected overbite and contact lenses, she wasn’t anywhere close to turning his head.

But I don’t want to turn his head.

Right?

“Dot, the truth is, we aren’t a couple.”

Dot gasped, and brought her hand to her chest. “No!”

“It’s true,” he continued. Will then reached across the table and took Lauren’s hand. “But if the stars align and things work out, the first time I kiss this woman is going to be because I want to—not because some tradition told me I had to.”

Lauren froze in place, as if Will’s hand on hers shocked her body rigid.

Dot let out a squeal. “Well, that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”

Lauren’s throat went completely dry. Will’s hand and gaze still rested on hers, a knowing smile on his face. Was it flirting? Is this flirting? Is he just being nice? Lauren, having a near out-of-body experience, couldn’t tell.