12 Days of Mistletoe

33. Bonnie

THIRTY-THREE

bonnie

The drive back to the Cherry Plum apartments is quiet. The kiss we didn’t share might be bringing out my OCD. It feels like unfinished business. It feels like something undone that needs completed. It feels like my body is buzzing with too much caffeine and it won’t stop until Elliot Eaton kisses me—soundly and preferably without an audience.

“Thanks for coming. I know my family can be overwhelming.” Elliot’s eyes are on the road. I wish he’d look at me, but then there’s ice and snow on the ground, and like the rule-loving man that he is, he’s paying attention to what he’s doing.

So, I watch him while he talks. I try to read each and every movement he makes. I must be calm enough because Noel snoozes in the back. “It was… fun ,” I say. Sure I had a small panic attack and kissed Elliot like a sumo wrestler going in for the pin in front of his dad—but let’s go with fun.

Still, that not-so-great kiss makes our almost-kiss an even greater loss .

Elliot laughs, and I get the smallest of glances from him. With it, my heart skips a beat. “It was a lot. Baking with my mother and sisters… it’s a lot. You’re a trooper.”

I swallow and peer down at my hands for a second. “I appreciate your help.” I can’t deny that my new friend—at least I think we’re friends—helped calm me today. His presence calmed my heart and set my nerves at ease. Again.

Not to mention—I’m going to make sure he holds up his end of the bargain. He can be the bad guy. Not me. They’re his family, they’ll forgive him. I can’t stand the thought of David, the girls, and even Marlene hating me until the end of time. I don’t want to be talked about like Jess— the wrong girl Elliot gave his heart to . Nope, I will be the one that got away. The one that Elliot was dumb enough to say goodbye to.

“You have a nice family, Elliot. They pretty much adore you.” I blink over at him, studying his reaction. “They worry about you too.”

He gives his head a small shake. “They might like you more than me.”

I snicker and nibble on my inner cheek. “They don’t. They’d never.” I swallow and finish what I’ve been thinking for more than a day now. “You are special.”

I watch his brows pull together at my words, but he doesn’t say anything. He obediently watches that road. And I appreciate it.

Quiet, Elliot turns into our building lot and finds a parking space up front. This is where we separate. My OCD—or maybe it’s my UKB (unfinished kissing business)—decided to sprout its ugly head today because it doesn’t like the idea of separation, not one bit .

Sitting back in his seat, a small sigh falls from Elliot’s chest. “I’ll walk you up.”

My insides stir and the over-caffeinated tingling in my lips intensifies. I don’t mind if Elliot Eaton wants to walk me to my door—though we both know this building inside and out.

I don’t bother putting the leash on Noel, and she sticks to my side as we walk through the building’s front doors.

“So,” I say once inside. “What’s on our May Elliot’s to-do list tomorrow?”

“Are you working?” He darts a glance my way.

“I’m walking dogs in the morning and putting in a few hours at Canine Compassion. But I can do that any time of day.” I hope I don’t sound too eager. An anxious, eager girl isn’t exactly attractive. Still, it’s a fair question. Thanks to Elliot’s grandmother, it’s reasonable to assume we’ll see each other tomorrow.

“She’d like to take Bill some of her hula girl gingerbread men. She said if we could join her, that would make her happy.”

We reach my door—it’s a short walk—and for the first time in three years, I’m wishing it were longer.

“Okay. Would two work?”

Elliot nods, hands in his pockets. “Two sounds good.”

We stand there a second longer and I try to think of something else to draw this conversation out.

He waits—for me, I realize. I need to unlock my door and let him go if I have nothing else to say.

I fumble with my keys, taking twice as long as normal to open up the front door. With the door open wide, Noel trots inside, finding her spot on the couch, and I turn to face Elliot. Time for goodbye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he says.

“Yeah.” I nibble on my unsatisfied bottom lip and give him one assured nod.

He turns, and there’s something about Elliot’s back—his warm coat, his dark hair, his long legs—something that my body can’t allow to leave.

It’s the UKB. It’s making me feel all crazy and do things I wouldn’t normally do.

I can’t watch him walk away. “Elliot!” I bellow—so much louder than intended.

He whirls, a startled expression on his face.

Darn . I was hoping for passion. He looks as though he may need to save me from a sudden intruder or something.

“Today,” I say, my words coming out heavy and breathless. “I was stupid.” I wobble my head in a shake and shift from one foot to the other, clutching my keys with both of my hands.

His brows knit, studying me, trying to follow my ramblings.

“I kissed you on the couch without any warning. I?—”

“Oh, it’s?—”

But I can’t let him finish. I can’t let him tell me it’s okay, not if I’m going to finish any business tonight. I move one step closer to him. “I smacked my face into yours like Hulk Hogan smacking his face into a wrestling mat.” I attempt a laugh, but it’s rocky. “It was clumsy,” I add, all while suppressing a nervous hiccup.

He’s watching me, brows lowered, not objecting or agreeing.

“I’m not great on the fly like that. It was lousy.” I laugh, humorless and breathless, and set my hands on my hips. I bring my eyes up to his, feeling as if I am bearing it all—in the hallway. “I might… need more practice.” My chest pounds with my thundering heart. Because this is more than putting myself out there. This is begging the man to kiss me.

And that confused look on his face gives me very little confidence.

“Okay…” He nods, but those brows are still cinched. “ More practice.”

“Yes.” The word comes out with all my breath. “More practice.”

He stares at me and I stare back, preparing to crawl into a hole and take my UKB with me.

“Um, like now?” he says, his brow, all at once, smoothing out its wrinkles.

I can be brave and nervous all at the same time. I know I can. My anxiety forces bravery from me all of the time. The difference is—right now, at this moment, I want to be brave. “Right now,” I confirm.

He drops his arms to his sides and strides to me in one quick motion—so much so he’s a blur. His arms thread around my back and he leans in until his cold nose brushes mine. My breath exhales with a tremor and my rib cage warms with his broad chest pressing against me. Ocean-blue eyes rove over my face just centimeters from his, his breath hot on my skin fills me with mint and sugar. And then, his lips claim me.

There is no need to explain myself more.

Practice makes perfect, and he’s on it.

I drop my keys into my pocket and wind my arms around his neck, lifting up on my toes. Elliot’s arms around me tighten as he holds me closer. Closer. He presses nearer until my backside hits the wall beside my opened apartment door. My lips move with his, the warmth of his body and breath washing over every inch of me.

My bottom lip is caught between his teeth when the door beside mine opens up and we freeze in place, wrapped up in one another. I am sandwiched between Elliot and this wall. Even my lip is his prisoner.

Mrs. Bell peers at us, just two feet away from her open apartment door. Her long floral nightdress is wrinkled, suggesting she got out of bed to investigate the commotion.

I drop my heels to the ground and my lip slides out from Elliot’s grasp. “Good evening, Mrs. Bell,” I say, my arms still around Elliot’s neck.

Her dim eyes flick up to Elliot’s face. He clears his throat and blinks down at her, still holding me tight against him. “Hi, there.”

She rolls her eyes at him good and dramatic, as if she were a fifteen-year-old girl rather than what she is—close to a century in years and experience. Surely Mrs. Bell has seen a man kiss a woman before. Surely, she’s been kissed. She balks once more before heading back inside her apartment.

“Um,” Elliot says. His hand presses to my back, no indication that he’s letting go any time soon. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah, probably,” I say.

His neck bobs in a swallow and slowly, he loosens his hold on me. His fingers brush over the skin on my wrist, and his eyes stay glued to my face for just a second longer.

And then, he goes, our night at an end.