12 Days of Mistletoe

27. Bonnie

TWENTY-SEVEN

bonnie

Walking into the Linus Tree Farm Christmas shop is like Christmas on steroids. Decorated trees, garlands, ornaments, and a plethora of other red, green, silver, and gold things take up space. We each get a cup of our complimentary cider and walk about the room, taking it all in—the lights, the ornaments, the wreaths, the seven-foot Santa in the corner of the barn. If you aren’t feeling the Christmas spirit yet, this is the place to give it to you.

I warm my hands on my Styrofoam cup and let tangy apple cider wash over my tongue. My fingers still tingle, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold air or the foreign sensation of Elliot’s hand in mine all afternoon.

How can something feel so foreign and so familiar all at the same time?

Marlene has a small shopping basket draped over one arm and inside are wooden ornaments, one with each of her children’s and spouse’s names painted across the front.

I press my lips tight, smothering a chuckle when I hear her say, “Evie, if you could just choose your child’s name now, I could get their ornament too.”

“Mother,” Evelyn says, her tone more irritable than normal—at least the normal I know. “We don’t even know the gender.”

“That doesn’t matter. Choose one for each and I’ll buy both. You’re going to give me more than one grandchild,” Marlene says as if it’s a fact that Evelyn and Jackson have no say in. “I want to get the baby something here. We’re all getting something.”

“And what happens when we change our mind?” Evelyn sets a hand on her hip, stopping in the middle of rows and rows of what look to be homemade stockings. Do Autumn and her staff make these too? Does Meg’s best friend know how to do everything ?

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Once you choose, there won’t be any switching,” Marlene says. “I’d have the ornament.”

Evelyn groans, one hand on her still-flat stomach.

Elliot’s missing this crazy conversation all to see a train set with Parker and Jackson. I nibble on my bottom lip and peer down, a peacemaker falling right into my line of sight.

“What about this?” I hold up the little red stocking with the green cuff. Stitched in white cursive letters, it reads, Baby’s First Christmas.

“That works,” Evelyn says, looking at her mother. Marlene has to approve, too, or this genius, peacemaking, impromptu plan of mine isn’t going to work out.

Marlene’s cheeks swell and her brown curls bob as she brings her hands to her heart. “That’s perfect, Bonnie. For next year, of course. But I love it.”

I walk the three steps over to her basket and set the little stocking inside, my eyes catching on the top ornament of her stack. A wooden rocking horse carrying a Santa bag of gifts, and on its little saddle, in pretty, looped letters, is written my name, Bonnie .

My throat clenches and I don’t even know why. It’s just an ornament. It’s something my own mother would buy. And maybe that’s just it. I know how much Mom loves me and Meg.

I honestly thought no other parent could love their child quite the way that Mom loves us. And while different than Mom and much more eccentric, it’s clear that Marlene Eaton adores her children. She loves Elliot just as much as my mother loves me. They are her everything. And today, she included me in that.

My nose tingles with the ridiculous urge to shed a tear. Something I will not be doing.

“Bonnie. Hey, Bonnie.”

I peer up, thankful for the distraction. Elliot stands next to a display of glass Christmas trees.

I give Marlene a small smile, a silent excuse me, and walk over to him. “Hey,” I say, clearing away my aching throat. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling you over to check out these trees.” Elliot gives me a forced smile and flicks his gaze to the ceiling.

I look at the display, at the very top shelf and the green glass tree there. “What about them?” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be oohing and aahing over.

“I just thought maybe this spot could help us out,” he mutters, his tone low. “ Naturally .” Another upward eye flick.

“Um, Elliot, weirdo , I’m not following you.”

“Awww!” one of Elliot’s sister’s coos. Jocelyn isn’t far, but her voice is loud, and man does it carry. She might be sweet Marlene in the making. “You’re under the mistletoe! ”

“Ohhh.” My eyes travel up, up, up to that little interfering plant. “ Naturally . Gotcha.” Though even with May’s mistletoe lessons, this doesn’t exactly feel natural .

He nods, then darts a glance to his sister. His family stands in pairs: David and Jocelyn by the garland, Marlene and Evelyn still looking at stockings, and Jackson and Parker five yards away, each holding a train engine in their hands. But they all stop whatever it is they were doing and stare at the pair of us with Jocelyn’s declaration.

Oh, yeah. Super natural. This feels soooo natural.

My cheeks bloom with the unnaturalness of it all.

“Kiss her,” Parker says with a chuckle, and the woman, a stranger, next to him, eyeing the train in his hand, looks at us too.

“Kiss her,” Marlene says, clutching a baby stocking to her chest.

An old man, who is not a member of the Eaton family but who stands adjacent to Marlene, decides to add his two cents. “Come on, you idiot. Kiss her.”

A delirious laugh bubbles from my throat. “Yeah, Elliot,” I say, giving the same expression to Elliot’s name as the old man did with idiot . “Smart guy. You set this up.”

The Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. He’s nervous. And somehow—this always helps me. Elliot is anxious, so I don’t need to be.

“The audience is a little greater than I planned,” he says.

I peer up at him. We’ve grown closer together, like a magnetic forcefield in action. Elliot stands just an inch away, his fingers trail over my arm and down to my hands, leaving a burst of goosebumps as he entwines our fingers together. His grasp is warm and earnest, and sure, it’ s giving me a flip-flopping stomach, but it makes me feel a little safer in this situation too.

“Just a peck?” I suggest. “May isn’t here to critique us.”

Elliot’s eyes dart from me to his mother to the old man still waiting for a show. What is it with old people and kissing? Are they all critics? Or am I just lucky enough to have all the senior citizen kissing experts cross my path?

Marlene’s eyes narrow. I’m not sure what that narrow means. Does she suspect something? Sure, Marlene is a little bit unconventional—but I like her. I don’t want my name and that ornament in her basket to be something she hates one day. I don’t want this day to be a tainted memory.

Noel bobs her head into my knuckles grasped inside of Elliot’s grasp, bringing me back to life.

Somehow I’ll make things right with Elliot’s family when this is all over. But right now, right here, I have a job to do. I push up on my toes, throw my free arm around Elliot’s neck, and press my lips to his.

For Noel! For Marlene!

Wow , those are some bizarre reasons to kiss a guy.

And while, sure, I’m kissing Elliot for Marlene, because of May, and to save mine and Noel’s home. It’s a kiss on a mission, for sure. I feel the spark—it lights up in my lips and travels down to my hips. Who knew a kiss could light your hips on fire? But this one does just that. It blossoms into fireworks, and my gut, heart, and legs all get an up-close and personal show.

It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a guy. I mean, prior to all this Elliot kissing—but I’m pretty sure this feeling isn’t normal. Or maybe it is just the unnaturalness of it all.

Our peck is complete—and yet… Elliot flattens a hand to my lower back and hugs me close to his chest. He ’s suddenly all in. He isn’t ready to let go. And mostly, I feel like it would be extremely rude to stop him. Elliot’s lips form to mine, moving and exploring and telling me this is what a kiss should feel like.

“Slow starter, but he makes up for it with his form,” the old man standing near Marlene says. His words flitter into both of our ears. I know because we each freeze at the same moment.

I pull back just a smidgen, still wrapped up in Elliot Eaton’s arms. “Do you think that’s enough?” I say, secretly hoping that he’ll tell me no—May will somehow know and we have more convincing to do. Not enough.

Elliot blinks as if just waking up. But his eyes stay locked on me. “Um—probably.”

I give the smallest of nods. “You can probably let go of me now.”