12 Days of Mistletoe

32. Elliot

THIRTY-TWO

elliot

I am seriously contemplating kissing my fake girlfriend. Why not? I’ve kissed her before. Would it be that big of a deal? If I pressed my lips to Bonnie Faith Miller’s lips, who would know, who would care? Besides Bonnie, of course.

I lean in an inch, and she doesn’t go anywhere. She’s not running—it’s very encouraging.

Maybe she’s caught up in this game Gran has us playing, or maybe she’d like to kiss me too.

I’m not the kind of guy to kiss just anyone—and while she isn’t a stranger anymore, she isn’t my girlfriend either.

Strawberry-blonde hair falls over her shoulder in a side ponytail, and like her lips, those soft tendrils beg to be touched. I lift my hand to her neck, sliding my fingers up to the back of her head, my fingers slipping through the soft strands of hair there.

She breathes, and a foggy mist exhales from her lips—it’s cold out here and Bonnie’s coat is inside. I could warm her up—here and now .

I lean one more inch, and I swear her chin tips up to me. In this moment, I think she might want this kiss as much as I do.

The door behind us rumbles as it slides open. “Bonnie, dear? You’re going to catch your death of cold out here,” Gran says.

Bonnie’s shoulders straighten up and she faces forward, away from my incriminating lips and away from my hand holding her head. But it’s too late. Gran smiles after examining us.

I drop my hand into my lap and stifle a sigh.

“Are we practicing out here? Oh, good! We need all the practice we can get.” She waves a hand at us. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

I thought we were doing okay in the kissing department—and yet, with the reminder that I’ve kissed Bonnie a handful of times because of my grandmother , my confidence takes a dive.

I clear my throat and roll my tight shoulders. “We were just talking.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s disappointing.” Gran huffs. “Are we okay out here?” Gran’s gentle eyes fall to Bonnie.

She nods. “Yes, we’re okay,” Bonnie tells her.

“Then whenever you’re ready, dear, I’ve got the dough all rolled out.”

Bonnie’s throat bobs in a swallow. She gives me the smallest of glances before looking back to my grandmother. “Thank you, May. I’ll be right in.”

Gran shivers before stepping back inside and sliding the door shut.

Thanks, Gran.

Bonnie gets to her feet, and with her movement, Noel hops up. That pup doesn’t miss a beat. If Bonnie’s ready to go, so is she. She turns for the door then back to me, her body twitching like a switch that doesn’t know which way to turn.

“Uh—do we need to talk about that ?”

I shrug. “About what?” I say, letting her know it’s all water under the bridge. Gone—but I won’t forget. I’m trying to decide if I’m more upset that Gran stopped us or that I’ve lost my mind.

“Okay.” She twists for the door and then back to me once more. Indecisive and nervous once again. “Because if we do?—”

“We’re good.” I nod and squint and try my best to look nonchalant.

“Right. Good.” Her chest deflates with what I assume to be relief. “That was crazy, right?”

Crazy. Yep, what every guy wants to hear when he almost kisses a girl. Crazy.

She doesn’t go inside. She just keeps going. “Gran’s game is a little out of control. Did you know she was such a romantic?”

“Um—” No words come to my brain. I’m still mulling over crazy . After ten seconds of silence, of her waiting on me, I add, “No. Not really.” But maybe I didn’t realize what a romantic I am. I wasn’t before. Not really.

Her pretty brows pinch. “I feel like I should apologize to you.”

Okay—now we’re getting out of hand. I breathe out a laugh that is more than forced, but I’m hoping it sounds real. “That’s not necessary. You should probably get back to it before you miss seeing how Gran dresses her gingerbread men. It’s epic. ”

“Epic, really?” she says, finally a smile adorning her face.

“You can’t miss the making of the hula gingerbread girl.”

She licks her lips and my eyes draw there again—so not my fault. You’re killing me, Bonnie Miller.

“You’re right,” she says, tugging on the sliding door handle. “That sounds like something I shouldn’t miss.”

Me: I almost kissed Bonnie.

I text Q from the privacy of the bathroom while Bonnie delivers cookies to family friends down the block with my mother and sisters—not one soul she knows. Bless that woman. I also conveniently leave out the part where I’ve already kissed her half a dozen times to please my grandmother. Yeah—I do not need that kind of wrath from my friend.

Quinten: Whoa. This is a new development. Since when are you close enough to kiss the hottie rule breaker?

Quinten: I take it confronting her went well.

Me: I reminded her of the rules. That’s all.

Quinten: Back up. Confused. How did you almost kiss her?

Do I actually want my friend’s help? Because if I do, I may have to come clean. I’m not sure he’ll be that helpful anyway.

At the risk of sounding like one of those Christmas Hallmark specials that Q loathes, I write:

Me: It’s possible she’s been hanging out with me… and my family all week.

Quinten: You didn’t back up far enough. Keep going. Geez, you take one little Christmas break trip to Cabo and your best friend goes nutso.

I give him a not-so-Hallmark version of the story. Edited but true. Q comes home in three days, and if I don’t tell him something, he’ll hunt me down and confront Bonnie himself.

Me: She stumbled upon our Christmas card session. Turns out my gran knows her, loves her, and is okay with letting her keep the dog.

Quinten: Oh, the epic Eaton Christmas cards. Your mother’s visions come to life are my favorite. Can’t wait to get mine!

Crap. That’s right. I’ll have to come clean at some point. At least partly. Mom sends Q a card every year.

Quinten: Wait. Your grandma no longer cares about the dog?

Me: No. I’m pretty sure at this point she never did.

Quinten: I see.

Me: Really, because I don’t.

Quinten: Ol’ Gran was playing matchmaker .

Wait—was she? No. She’s been testing me, seeing how I’ll handle the tenants and?—

Quinten: And it’s working.

Me: What do you mean it’s working?

Quinten: If you’re trying to kiss the girl, it’s working. So, why couldn’t you seal the deal, man? Did she outright reject you? Or did you get cold feet? The girl is a fox and you’re, well, you.

Q sends a series of laughing emojis, having a good chuckle at my expense.

Me: She didn’t reject me. She didn’t get a chance to.

Quinten: But you think she would have?

Me: Honestly, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she thinks that the whole situation was crazy.

Quinten: You’ll never know unless you try and succeed. Or try and get rejected. Good luck, bruh. There’s a surfboard and a cute instructor calling my name, but keep me up to date.