12 Days of Mistletoe

40. Elliot

FORTY

elliot

We’ve made it to day ten of Gran’s twelve days of mistletoe. Kissing Bonnie Miller is the easiest assignment anyone has ever given me. I’ll take that homework any day.

As Gran calls it, we’ve got another big performance today. At first, I thought she meant the Bozeman Symphony, the Christmas concert we’re headed to with Mom, Dad, and my sisters. But oh no—she meant Bonnie and me. We are the performance. She wants us to, and I quote, “sell it today.”

And while tabling our feelings during this time of pretend seemed like the grown-up, responsible thing to do, my feelings for Bonnie won’t pause while we wait for the holidays and this act to come to an end.

“Does Bonnie know what to wear?” Gran says, interrupting my thoughts. She sits in the passenger seat of my car, hands in her lap and a triumphant grin on her face.

“You told her smart casual, festive attire, remember? Bonnie and I both had to google it to know what you mean. But we figured it out. ”

“Well, you’re in a suit.”

“Red tie—that’s festive,” I complain.

“Yes, but a jacket?” Gran tsks at my perfectly nice jacket. “A sweater and tie would have been more smart casual, maybe the jacket without the tie. We’ll just have to see what she’s in. You don’t want to ruin it.”

I smirk. “I’m pretty sure I’m not going to ruin anything. And Bonnie’s a smart dresser.”

“She’s adorable!” Gran bites. “And you’re an idiot for not snatching her up before another man does so.”

“She isn’t up for auction, Gran.” And while I’m tempted to panic over the idea of another man swooping in while we table all things real, we only have a few days left.

“Yes, but I’ve been trying to set the two of you up for six months now and you, just like your grandfather, have been too hard-headed to see what’s right in front of you. Even after I helped you along and got you that first kiss along with all the others.” She huffs out a frustrated grunt.

“Wait. Step back. Is this why you made me come pick you up early? The reason I couldn’t bring Bonnie to pick you up. You’re ready to confess?” And what a confession. I never understood Gran’s reasoning—but a setup. Q had been right all along.

“Well, look who decided to start understanding the world of love.”

I scoff. “Gran. What’s with this mood?”

My blue-eyed, white-haired grandmother releases a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I invited Bill to the symphony today and he woke up with a head cold. It’s got me all sour.” She pats my leg. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t been completely ridiculous though. ”

“Me? You sent me to talk to Bonnie six months ago and you’re just now telling me why. But I’m the ridiculous one?”

“Yes, you are. You gave her those awful notes instead.” She shakes her head as if she’s never been so disappointed with me.

“So, this was a setup? The whole time. As in months ago?”

Her brows lift in answer.

“Because you like her,” I say.

“Yes, I like her,” Gran grumbles. “Any sane person with eyes and ears and a heart would like her.”

“And because you want me to like her.”

She rolls her pretty blue eyes and stares out the front window of my hatchback, crossing her arms and not bothering to glance my way. “You’re perfect for each other.”

“That’s nice of you to say. And I do like her.”

“You do?” Gran turns, faces me, and holds her hands together at her chest.

“I do. But we’re taking it slow.”

“What do you mean, slow? I carefully plotted and planned all this to throw slow out the window.”

“I like her. She likes me. But this is odd, Gran. Kissing a girl because my gran is manipulating the situation, well, it’s not exactly natural. We are tabling our feelings until after your Twelve Days of Mistletoe. The act only confuses things.”

Gran huffs again. “I don’t like that one bit. Nothing’s confusing. You like her. She likes you. What’s so confusing?” She purses her lips and mumbles beneath her breath, “ Children .”

“Trust me, it’s better this way. It’ll be less confusing for both of us. We won’t be wondering what’s a real emotion and what’s part of the act the whole time.”

“Trust me—I’ve lived a lot longer than you. You’re just wasting time!”

“Because you know,” I say, turning things around on her. “You’ve lived. And loved. And now you like Bill.”

Her cheeks flood with pink. “He’s very nice. What’s not to like?”

“You know, just like I need Gran approval, you need grandson approval, right?”

She smirks, the wrinkles around her lips creasing. “I most certainly do not. Besides, I’m an old woman.”

I pull into my parking space in front of the Cherry Plum apartments and shrug one shoulder. “Still a woman.”

“I’m getting in the back,” she says, avoiding the topic.

“Gran, there’s no need. Bonnie already said she’ll ride in the back.”

“She most certainly will not. Not on my watch. Tabling things my a— Oh! There she is!”

Gran tugs open her door and scurries into the back. I step out into the cold open air and start toward the sidewalk.

Bonnie, in her long red pantsuit, black heels, and winter coat, waves at me. “What is she doing?” She points to where my gran is scrambling into the back of my car.

“She insisted you sit up by me.” I reach her side and slip my hand into hers. I tangle our fingers together, my body boosting with a high that only comes after touching Bonnie.

“Is this a tabling handhold or something else?” she says, her blue eyes twinkling up at me.

“Definitely a tabling hold. You can’t tell the difference?”

She rocks her head from side to side. “It’s tricky.”

“They’re close,” I say with all the confidence in the world. “I know what you mean.”

She doesn’t pull away and I don’t let go. I know what we said. I know that we’re slowing things down, that we’re waiting, but I keep my hand in hers just the same. Because as Gran said, it’s show time. I’m allowed to touch her right now.

I walk her over to my hatchback and Gran sends me an approving nod as I help Bonnie into her seat.

The car is warm and snug compared to the frigid weather outside. The rose in Bonnie’s cheeks seems to ease with the warmer temperature of my vehicle.

“No Noel today?” Gran says.

“Oh, um, no. The symphony doesn’t allow even service dogs into the hall.” Bonnie looks a little anxious just saying the words. I already knew, and yet I want to do what I did yesterday—offer to stay home. Or call the hall and complain—is that even legal? Though she insisted that I not cause a fuss and that I not miss the family event because of her.

“Well, pish posh. Let’s sneak her in,” Gran says.

Bonnie chuckles. “Maybe Elliot will write them a polite but strongly worded note for me.”

“ Har har . You’re so funny.” I will never live down the notes I left Bonnie.

Gran giggles in the back. “She is funny.” She gives Bonnie a small pat on the shoulder. “Well, you just hold Elliot’s hand all day. He’s kind of like a big, playful puppy.”

Bonnie laughs. “You’re right, May. I’ll do that.”

I pull from the lot, loving the Bonnie-and-Gran banter. I play along. “I can’t decide if I’m being attacked or not. ”

“Let’s go with not ,” Bonnie says, slipping her hand back into mine. I had to let go of her to get inside the car. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to hold her again, at least not during the drive. But I am more than happy to drive left-handed.

The rest of my family is meeting us there. Without Noel, I decided that we’d drive separately, giving Bonnie a little break from the Eaton family and all their overbearing ways.

“How long has your family been going to this particular symphony?” Bonnie asks.

“Thirty-two years,” Gran says proudly. She loves the symphony.

“Wait. How old are you again?” Bonnie says to me.

“Twenty-eight.” A low chuckle fills my chest. “I’ve been going since I was twelve.” I give her a quick glance, then pull onto the highway.

“It’s my favorite Christmas tradition,” Gran says. “Next to our annual Christmas Eve party.”

“That’s right,” Bonnie says. “The last day of The Twelve Days of Mistletoe. Right?”

Gran sighs. “Right. How quick it’s gone.”

“Quick indeed,” Bonnie says, a small smirk on her lips as she peers over at me.

“The party is perfection,” Gran tells her. “You’ll need a dress?—”

“Oh,” Bonnie says, shifting in her seat.

“And Marlene will try to talk you into letting her do your hair, but I’d say do it yourself. You never know what kind of do that woman will come up with.”

“Noted,” she says, though the playfulness is lost from her tone.

“It’s not a big deal,” I tell her. “I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t even offer. ”

A breathy laugh falls from her lips. “I’m not worried about your mother, Elliot.”

But she’s worried about something.