12 Days of Mistletoe

39. Bonnie

THIRTY-NINE

bonnie

My head races with all the reasons that this might be a bad idea. Because that’s what my head does.

Number one—Noel. I can’t risk losing our home for anything. If this went all wrong with Elliot, would we lose our place here?

Number two—the man paid me. He legit gave me money to pose in a Christmas card. If I start kissing him—okay, scratch that—if I kiss him without instructions from his gran to do so, what does that make me? And do I have to give the money back? Because I already spent it. Abby will get her dog.

Number three—Autumn had a point. A good one. Pretend for now until the deal is complete. Revisit all this when we aren’t including fake feelings. Because fake and false really just chalk up to confuse the heck out of Bonnie.

Number four—guys don’t tend to like me long. My appeal wears off quickly. It seems like a good idea for a minute, and then I’m the weird girl too attached to her dog.

Now, the fact is, my brain is great at giving me all these problematic, potential issues—but I’ve already admitted to liking him back. Elliot said he likes me. And it warmed my entire body hearing those words. He sounded so sincere and sweet and good—so, so good. Not to mention, I cuddled up right next to him. I had to be next to him in that moment despite the unknown consequences my actions would warrant.

So far, he has simply snuggled back. His fingers trace wherever he can find skin—my wrist, my arm, my shoulder, my neck—and I never ever want him to stop.

Multiple things could go wrong here—I know it. My brain has run through every scenario. And yet, sitting here next to him feels so right.

“Tell me about junior high,” he says, his lips moving at my hairline. “What did you envision and then live through?”

The story doesn’t give me panic attacks anymore. It’s not my favorite tale, unlike the peacock story. That one is always fun—now that it’s over and close to two decades later. The junior high story isn’t endearing, and it doesn’t make me appealing in any way.

“I’d like to know, if it’s okay,” Elliot says at my lack of an answer. “Does it still hurt to talk about?”

I swallow and muster my courage. “No. It’s just a dumb story.” I clear my throat because maybe it does hurt a little. Huffing out a breath and keeping my head on Elliot’s pectoral muscle, I make sure I can’t see his face. “My best friend in junior high was a girl named Alisa Monroe. We’d been friends since grade school, but in junior high, Alisa grew boobs and got her braces off and her hair had this glossy effect that mine has never ever experienced. I still have no idea how she accomplished that. ”

Elliot grunts out a quiet laugh beneath me. “Your hair is beautiful.”

“Only because you never saw Alisa’s.” I sigh, thankful he didn’t comment on my boobs growing in. My B-cup will never compare to Alisa’s voluptuous C. “All at once my best friend was pretty and popular. I swear it happened overnight. All while I’d stayed exactly the same. I experienced daydream after daydream and nightmare after nightmare of Alisa ditching me for a boy or the popular girls. I pictured her, in all her glory, forgetting all the fun we’d had together in elementary school and laughing at me, my dull hair, and my flat chest.”

He clears his throat. “It’s junior high. Nobody’s glorious in junior high.”

“Well, Alisa was. And that’s what I envisioned.”

“And it happened?” His arm around me tightens.

“All of it. She left me for the boys and the girls. When I worked up enough courage to ask if I could go to the movie with Alisa and her new friends, she pushed me down, right in the middle of the cafeteria. She dumped her mashed potatoes on my new V-neck sweater and laughed at me. It’s kind of every seventh-grade girl’s nightmare. She stood there in her short denim skirt and black high-top Converse, looked me up and down, and laughed. My nightmare had come to life. I felt so utterly alone. I had my first anxiety attack that day.” I swallow past the ache in my throat. “With many more to follow.”

“I’m sorry,” Elliot says, his lips pressing to my head.

I can’t remember the last time I told someone that story, let alone a guy. Because if the attachment to my dog doesn’t run them off, let’s share how Bonnie’s boobs didn’t come in until high school .

“Is this a weird way to start… something?” I have no idea what to call whatever this is between us. Our relationship is like a handmade Christmas cookie crafted by May Elliot herself.

“Very weird,” he says. “But I don’t mind. You?”

“I don’t know. That depends.”

“On?”

I keep my head on his chest and talk through my worry. “Normally people dating see each other for a while before they meet one another’s families. They usually like the other person before they kiss them. We’re going backward.”

“In a way.”

“So, are we going to just keep going backward?” I ask, peeking up at him.

“No.” He adjusts beneath me, locking his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I can’t make any promises.”

“That probably wouldn’t be wise.” I press my lips together.

“But I do like you, Bonnie.”

I nod and sit up to finally look at him. “It’s a little confusing, isn’t it? With all the kissing and the pretending.”

His brows cinch. “Maybe. But that’ll end.”

I nod, slow and strained—because that doesn’t offer much comfort. “I don’t want the fake to confuse or taint the real.” I swallow and lick my lips, trying to find the courage to mention Autumn’s idea— revisiting . Will that chase him off prematurely?

“Okay,” he says, speaking before I can. “What if we said these feelings, whatever this is, are tabled .”

“Tabled?” I nibble on my lip. I don’t know if I like that word. I suppose it’s the same as revisiting .

“Hear me out. We table it—to make it less confusing.”

“Like we’ll revisit this?”

“Exactly. We’ll go through Gran’s motions. And then, after Christmas?—”

“After The Twelve Days of Mistletoe.” I lift my brows. May’s title is a fun one.

He breathes out a quick laugh. “Yes, after that, we start new. Slow and fresh.” He cups my cheek, his thumb tracing below my left eye. “Because while this may be an odd way to start something, I like you, Bonnie Miller. I can’t deny it anymore.”

My heart lurches with his words and my insides warm at his touch. “Okay, so we’re going to table this, until later.”

“Until later,” he agrees.

My chest deflates with a breath and my eyes flutter closed.

Elliot still holds my face in his hands, and when I open my eyes and look at him, he’s peering down at me, like he’s studying me. “You’re courageous.”

I smirk. “Courageous?”

“Yes,” he says, and the word holds no humor. “And you make me feel things.” Elliot leans in, making me feel all sorts of things. His lips brush mine and my head goes foggy.

With a hand on his chest, I stop the man before I let him swallow me whole. “This doesn’t feel like tabling,” I whisper.

Elliot blinks, his head dipping and his lashes tickling the skin on my cheek. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”