12 Days of Mistletoe

31. Bonnie

THIRTY-ONE

bonnie

So, it turns out watching football with the men when all the women are in the kitchen baking isn’t that much fun either. I can hear the girls…

What are they saying about me? Bonnie, the non-baker. Do I care? I’m not sure. It’s the unknown, and my anxiety thinks I might care—a lot.

I’ve kept my hand inside Elliot’s, as instructed by May. But my palm is growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. And I’m so distracted deciding if I care or not what the women are saying to pay any attention to this game.

All at once, as if my body has its own agenda, I leap to my feet, startling Noel and Elliot at the same time. “I think I’m going to head into the kitchen. Learn about gingerbread… or something.”

“Oh, okay.” Elliot peers at me, his brows cinched. “You’re sure?”

I nibble on the loose skin of my bottom lip and stare at Elliot for three seconds too long. Yep, this isn’t awkward at all. But if I kiss him goodbye now, I won’t have to later, right?

A voice deep inside tells me that I don’t actually mind kissing Elliot. I could kiss him now and later and not complain about it.

I mentally tell that voice to zip it. It knows nothing.

Sure, I’m the tiniest bit attracted to my fake boyfriend. So what?

Another two seconds pass, and I can feel Elliot’s father and his brother-in-law’s eyes all burning a hole into the back of my head. I’m up, I’m announced, but I’m not out of the room yet.

Nope. I’m standing here like some sort of Christmas zombie staring at its lunch.

Elliot’s dark brows pull together just a smidgen, and then I play my part. I thrust my face down to his, wrap my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. It’s rough. It’s all pressure and no passion. It fulfills my daily quota though—right?

I pull back and avoid all eye contact. “Okay. Byeee.” And then I’m gone.

I hear a low chortle on my way through the kitchen door, and Parker says, “She might like you a little, Elliot.”

“Bonnie!” Marlene yips. She runs her hands down the front of her red Christmas apron with ruffled edges, making me feel like I’m in a Leave It to Beaver episode. And then I see her daughters—in matching aprons. Oh wow.

“Well, hello there. What are you up to, dear?” May says, her apron green-and-white checkered.

“I—” I draw out, eyeing her as if maybe she has the answer to that question. “I just gave Elliot a kiss—a big one— and now I’m here to learn how to bake gingerbread.” It’s a statement, so why does it sound so much like a question?

Evelyn coughs out a laugh behind me.

May leans close and pats my back. “This isn’t an episode of The Bachelor , dear. You don’t have to make a scene every time you kiss him.”

“Don’t I?” I whisper back, my heart running like a freight train.

May scrunches her nose. “Now.” She sets her floured hands on the kitchen island. “Gingerbread. Let’s get started.”

I have declined my matching red ruffly apron, and I’ve got my hands elbow-deep in a bowl of brown spiced dough when Jocelyn sidles up next to me.

“So,” she says, “what are your intentions with our brother?”

I do my best not to cough all over the dough May’s got me mixing. Why I can’t use a mixer or at least a wooden spoon I don’t know, but I’ve been told that no metal or wood shall touch the dough. It will be mixed with my carefully washed hands or nothing at all.

“Wait!” Evelyn says. “Intention talk? Don’t start without me.” She picks up the bowl of her sugar cookie mix and brings it to our side of this long island.

May and Marlene are still arguing about which brand of butter is best. They don’t stop to join us. Between their brand battles and the Michael Bublé Christmas album playing over three different portable speakers, I think they’ve missed Jocelyn’s question altogether.

I swallow, heart thumping, and peek up from my bowl. “Um.” My brows knit. “Well… it’s only been three months.” Is that right? Three months, or is it four? I’m forgetting the sc ript. I am like an actor on stage who has forgotten which play they are in.

“Yes, and?” Jocelyn says, her brown hair bobbing at her shoulders.

“You know about Jess, right?” Evelyn says.

I do. At least, I know what Elliot’s told me. “Yeah,” I say. “Elliot mentioned her.”

“He’ll tell you it was mutual. But he was pretty shaken by their breakup.”

“He was?” I pick dough off my fingers and rifle through my brain, remembering all he said. He did say it was mutual. That neither of them really wanted it to go further. And yet, her engagement rocked him a little.

“Oh, yeah. He never felt good enough for that girl and then she tells him she’ll never get married. It’s just not for her.” Evelyn nods to Jocelyn, and like a magic act, Jocelyn keeps going for her sister.

“Yep. Then just a couple months later, she’s engaged.”

“I’d bet money she was cheating on him,” Evelyn says.

My heart rate spikes and Noel bumps my thigh with her head.

What are these women going to think of me when I’m suddenly gone? What will Elliot tell them? It’s the unknown, and it never settles well with me.

“What kind of woman does that?” Jocelyn says.

“We don’t have to worry about anything like that with Bonnie.” Evelyn winks at me, then turns back to her mixing bowl.

All at once, Noel’s paws are on the counter, her nose nudging my side where my anxiety meds sit snug in my pocket. She’s pretty sure I need one. And she might be right. I’m about to hyperventilate .

“Oh goodness,” Marlene yelps, and cookie dough flies in the air with the flick of her big wooden spoon. She’s no longer looking at May, but right at me. And Noel. “Your dog. I almost forgot about her.”

My chest heaves, though I try to push down my panic. “Sorry,” I say, stepping away from the counter, my hands covered in dough. “I—um… whew . It’s hot in here. Noel and I need a little air. We’ll be back.”

With my hands still covered in goo, I march to the dining area in this large space and step out the sliding glass door to Marlene and David’s backyard. A brisk breeze smacks me in the face, but I don’t care. I am overheating, breathless, and in need of the cold wake-up call.

“Breathe,” I tell myself. In for five, out for seven. I plunk down onto the porch step, feeling the tactile, cold porch beneath me. I pull in a breath of chilly air, filling my lungs and paying attention to the sharpness. Noel moves in between my legs, not even distracted by the sugary goodness on my fingers. With her nose, she nudges my pocket once more.

“I’m okay,” I tell her, pulling in another breath. “All right, good girl? I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

I lean down and rest my head against hers, breathing and counting, but my heart doesn’t feel like slowing down.

I’m slightly aware of the rumble of the sliding door behind us. But I’m too busy breathing and ignoring anything that may stress me out any further. And a motherly chat from Marlene would stress this girl out.

“Bonnie?” Elliot’s quiet voice sounds from behind me. “Are you okay?”

I don’t look back. I keep my head to Noel’s. I breathe. I count. And after another minute, I’m able to answer him. “I’m okay.”

“Can I sit?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Breathe.

Elliot settles in next to me, the warmth of his body feeling like a space heater out here. “Did someone upset you because?—”

“No.” I lift my head and peer over at him, a chill running down my spine. I am suddenly very aware of how cold it is outside, how cold I am. “They’ve been kind.”

Noel yips out a small bark and nudges her nose between me and Elliot, nudging my thigh once more.

A low, rumbling breath falls from Elliot’s lips. “What’s that about?”

I swallow and remind myself that my weaknesses do not make me weak. “She wants me to take my meds.”

“Is it time?” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “I can grab you a glass of water.”

“No, it’s not about the time. It’s my anxiety medication. She can tell when I need help calming down.”

He’s halfway to his feet. “Let me grab?—”

But I reach for his hand and tug him back down. He grunts as his bottom hits the top stair once more.

“I’ll be okay,” I say. I don’t want him to leave. Strangely, in a small way, Elliot has the same effect on me as Noel. He’s a calming presence. “Stay,” I tell him.

“Sure. Whatever you want,” he says.

I breathe again and tell myself for the sake of this act May has us doing that I’m going to touch him. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if his family was watching us through a window. With that desperate thought motivating my next movements, I lay my head on Elliot’s shoulder and breathe.

Breathing is key.

I can do this. And everyone is different. I am someone who would rather control a smaller attack with breathing and Noel. I’ll take my meds if I need to, but not before I’ve exhausted other options.

His warm hand skids over my thigh. He reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine—crusty dough and all. He doesn’t seem to mind, and I’m happy to let him take hold of me. I breathe in again, counting my breaths, closing my eyes, and letting the cold December air fill my lungs and caress my skin.

“Can I ask what happened?”

It’s an old story, really, and I shouldn’t care if he knows. I tell myself not to care. “I don’t want to disappoint them. I’m going to.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that.” My anxiety is always connected to the unknown, to what I can’t control. I can control if I kiss Elliot or not, if I save my home and keep Noel—as abnormal as the situation may be—but I can’t control what his family will think of me when all of this is over.

“No,” he says, his fingers squeezing mine tight. “Remember the story? I’m telling them that you were perfect, because let’s face it, you have been. But I, being the idiot I am, wasn’t feeling it. So, like a dummy, I broke up with you.”

“Shattered my heart,” I say, clutching his fingers back and going along with his impromptu tale.

“Yes. It’s true. You were the victim. I was the villain.”

I lick my lips, then lift my head to peer up at him. He’s no villain. But he’s giving me a story instead of that scary blank page. “Okay,” I say.

Elliot’s eyes fall to my mouth. I don’t imagine it. I don’t dream up that look on his face.

No one is here. No one is watching. But his eyes find my lips, and it’s as if I have no option—my eyes drop to his.

We’re five days into this twelve-day game May has us playing. At this point, I am well acquainted with Elliot James Eaton’s lips. And yet, they make my stomach flip-flop as if tempting me for the very first time.