12 Days of Mistletoe

45. Bonnie

FORTY-FIVE

bonnie

When May Elliot throws a party—the woman goes all out.

Elliot and I walk inside to trees, holly, lights, and music. May takes me in, like the fairy grandmother she is, with so much love and approval.

We take photos with the Eaton family, and then May insists on couples shots. I stand in Elliot’s arms, Noel at my side, and plaster on a smile. It would feel so real and so good—if I weren’t a fake girlfriend with a very real family watching the whole thing.

Half an hour into May’s family time, there’s a knock at the door. The first guest is early. Bill. Invited by May.

“You look like a movie star, Bon Bon.”

I kind of feel like a movie star in this dress and with Merlee’s magical hairdo. I wink at my friend. “You look like Sean Connery as 007,” I say, knowing Bill’s love for the actor.

My tall friend stands a little taller, hands in his pockets. “I really do, don’t I?”

Friends and extended family started arriving at seven on the dot, and I’m pretty sure they just keep coming. May’s house is full. Full of food and conversing, Christmas music, and ambiance. Dancing in her great room, where all her furniture has been cleared away. It’s a house party, and she’s using her entire house. It’s something out of a story.

I’m standing close to Elliot when a man enters the living room. He waves his hand wildly toward my “boyfriend,” and I glance back to Elliot.

“Q,” he says, smiling. “I have to introduce you or he’ll never leave us alone.”

I giggle. “Sure.” With Elliot’s hand in mine, we meet Quinten halfway into this crowded room.

The short, muscular man pushes his glasses up on the brim of his nose and points two finger guns in my direction. “Hottie with the dog.”

“Q,” Elliot groans. “This is Bonnie. Bonnie, this is my idiot friend, Quinten.”

Smiling, I remind myself not to bite my crimson-red lips—Merlee said I could eat with the lip stain, but I don’t want to ruin my look. I have never spent that much time in a beauty parlor before. “Nice to meet you.”

“How’s the pup?” Q says, brows bouncing.

I look down at Noel. “She’s great. Thanks.”

Quinten laughs, eyes dropping to Noel. “I didn’t know she was invited.”

I give a one-shoulder shrug. “She goes where I go.”

“Hey, I think it’s cool you pulled one over on my stickler friend,” Q says. “He needs to learn to lighten up sometimes.”

My hand in Elliot’s tightens. “He does love a good rule.”

“Okay, that’s it. You two need to be separated,” Elliot says, his hand slipping from mine and wrapping around my waist. He pulls me a little closer—I don’t mind. This is the part we’re playing. For one more night. “You,” he says, pointing to Q. “Go say hello to my gran. She’s in the dining area. And then, I thought you might want to know that Melanie Capryl is here. I don’t know where, so you’ll have to search.”

“The girl from last year? The one I never saw again? The number I never got?” With each question, Q’s grin grows wider.

“The very one,” Elliot tells him.

Quinten pumps a fist into the air. “Bonnie, it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you. I think my boy got attached. But I’ve got to run.”

“See you,” I say as Quinten slaps Elliot’s shoulder and takes off toward the dining room—a man on a mission.

“He was… fun ,” I say.

“He is. Most of the time.” Elliot pulls me tighter against him and presses a small, chaste, fake-boyfriendish kiss to my temple.

It’s sweet and loving and makes me feel warm all over. That is until— grrr .

“Is that your stomach again?” Elliot pulls back, his eyes dropping to my abdomen.

May’s spread of food at this party is nothing short of amazing. Though I haven’t eaten since we arrived. I’d cry if I got anything on this dress.

“Maybe,” I say with a small shrug.

“Okay, time to eat. I’m not letting you brush me off again.” His hand presses to the small of my back, sending a burst of tickles sprinkles over each of my limbs. “I promise you’ll be okay. And if you aren’t, Gran has an amazing dry cleaner. ”

I purse my lips, still unsure, still imagining all the things I could do to harm the most beautiful thing I will ever own.

“Elliot,” Marlene says on our way to the food. She waves a beckoning hand at her son. “Ren Arnold is here, from Illinois. Come say hello.”

Elliot leans close and I breathe him in like an intoxicating bottle of the finest Christmas tree wine. “Because I like you,” he says, his breath warming my cheek and shoulder, “I’m going to spare you a Ren Arnold introduction. You go find a nice, clean cucumber sandwich. No one was ever stained with a cucumber sandwich. And then we’ll dance.”

I might be starving, so much that a cucumber sandwich sounds as appetizing as a rib-eye steak at this point. I nod and grin my thanks, watching him go just across the room to where Marlene now stands with a very animated bald man. He’s got a lot to say and one killer combover. I smother a laugh as the man slaps Elliot on the back and bellows out his name.

“That smile could light up a Christmas tree,” says a man just three feet from me in this crowded dining room. The dining table and chairs are gone, and thin tables line the walls, tables with food galore. It’s a hungry woman’s dream and a red dress’s nightmare.

I peer up to the tall, thin stranger standing opposite me. “Oh, ah, hello.”

“Like I said, beautiful smile.”

I give one slightly uncomfortable nod and peer down at Noel. “Thanks.” Then, picking up my feet, I walk down the row of food, looking for those cucumber sandwiches Elliot promised would be here.

But the long-legged man follows. “I’m Wayne Lloyd.”

Noel stays close to my side. Man, I love that pup .

“And you are?” Wayne asks.

I clear my throat. I’m pretend . So, do I have to use my real name? I grind my teeth, remembering my manners. I am May’s guest, after all. “I’m Bonnie.”

“Bonnie…” he hums out, waiting for my last name. Which I just don’t feel like giving. Nope, I draw the line at the real first name. At least with men like Wayne Lloyd. Do I know what kind of man that is? I do not—but I get the feeling I don’t want to know.

“And this is Noel.” I peer down at my dog, thankful Noel is taller than most mini doodles, and Wayne hops to his left.

“Oh!” He laughs. “I didn’t see her there. Wow. She’s beautiful. And quiet.”

Okay. Maybe Wayne isn’t terrible. Noel is a beautiful dog. I reach down and pat my favorite girl on the head. Anyone who sees Noel and smiles can’t be all bad. Right?

“She’s a sweetheart.” While May said it wasn’t necessary and that she only needed her floral collar and mistletoe on, I still chose to put her in her service animal vest. Just in case any guests had issues. And of course, nothing gets past Wayne.

“She’s a service animal,” Wayne says. “Is she yours?”

“She is.”

“That’s nice.” He grins at me, not even seeming to think twice about Noel’s title as my service dog. Okay, I might need to give Wayne’s first impression a second chance. “I’ve never seen you at an Elliot party before.”

“That’s because I’ve never been,” I say, eyes on the prize. Cucumber sandwiches are officially in reach, and my stomach decides to growl with joy. I pile four little sandwiches onto a china plate and take one crazy delicious bite. Have cucumber sandwiches always been this good ?

“That explains a lot.” Wayne laughs and I peer up from my plate.

Noel whines at my feet, one small little whine. I brush her head with my hand and swallow. “Explains what?” I ask before taking another bite.

“Why we’ve never met.” Wayne picks up his own plate, eyeing my sandwiches. “My father works with Elliot’s. I’ve been coming to these parties my whole life. I would have remembered you, and I wouldn’t have let the opportunity to meet you slip by.”

“Interesting,” I say, though the only thing I’m really interested in is knowing if I need to take three more slices of cucumber heaven before Wayne fills his plate.

“Uh, hey. Hi.” Elliot comes up behind me, a hand on my back, peering at me before turning his glare on the man beside me. “Wayne,” he says, and sure his tone is off, but has he tasted these sandwiches? Did he know they’d be this good?

“E.J.” Wayne raises his brows.

I’ve never heard anyone else call Elliot that. I stuff another sandwich into my mouth and lift my head in interest.

“Are you guys friends?” I say around cucumber, white bread, and cream cheese.

Elliot takes one of the sandwiches from my plate, but he doesn’t eat it. I’ve finished two and I’m on to number three—thankfully there’s more on the platter or I would have to steal that one back from Elliot.

“Nope,” Elliot says. “Not friends.”

Wayne huffs. “We went to different schools. And played against each other in football. How many times did my team beat yours, E.J.? Oh, yeah. Every time.” Wayne chuckles, showing most of his teeth—it isn’t pretty.

“Sounds right,” Elliot says, giving the man a callous grin.

“This is Bonnie,” Wayne tells him, and I’d laugh except that my mouth is currently full of the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Noel nudges my calf with her head and I reach down to pet her again.

“I know who she is,” Elliot says, a bite in his voice. “I brought her.”

“You?” Wayne sounds as if he might laugh.

“Yes. Me .” Elliot’s jaw clenches.

“And you’re her…”

I peer at Elliot. Are we pretending for more than just the family? What does Elliot want this man to know? I’m not sure. When Elliot doesn’t answer, I offer, “Uh, we’re friends.” Friends who occasionally kiss—is that a thing? It feels like a weird fact to add, so I don’t mention the kissing.

Which only makes Wayne smile again, wide and unforgiving. It makes me wish I had mentioned the kissing. “Nice,” he says. “So, Bonnie, do you have New Year’s plans?”

I tilt my head and think. I don’t. And I won’t be making plans with this perfect stranger. Still, I kind of hoped I would have plans. Official, non-fake plans. “Umm…”

“She does,” Elliot says. “With me.” He tugs the plate and lone sandwich from my hand, passes it off to Wayne, and slips his hand into mine. “You can have high school, Wayne. I’ve moved on.” Then, turning to me, he adds, “I promised you a dance. Come No-No.”

He doesn’t need to tell her twice; I think Noel likes Wayne Lloyd as much as Elliot.

With one hand on my waist and the other in his, Elliot pulls me close, swaying on the dance floor.

“Umm, I take it you aren’t a big fan of Wayne,” I say, longing for my last sandwich.

“I’m done tabling.” Elliot’s hand splays on my back and pulls me toward him, and I forget all about my lost sandwich.

“Excuse me?” I swallow.

“Tabling. I am done. I’m over it. I like you, Bonnie.”

I press my lips together, realizing that with my deep new love for cucumber sandwiches, I have missed something important. It’s not that Elliot dislikes Wayne over high school drama—I think my not-so-real boyfriend, just got for real jealous.

“Aren’t we finished with fake after today?” I peer up at him.

“Could we possibly be done this second?” he says.

Sure, revisiting or tabling or whatever you want to call it seemed like the smart decision. However, I like Elliot. A lot. And tabling is exhausting.

“So, no more faking it?” I ask.

“No more. I’m going to kiss you because I want to. Not because my sweet, well-meaning gran says I have to follow the rules.”

My lips tickle with a grin. “I’d be totally okay if you kissed me because you want to.”

But he isn’t done. “I’m going to ask you out because I want to be with you. Not because my gran tells me to be with you.”

“I’m okay with that too.”

“Okay, then. What are you doing tomorrow? Because I’m not waiting another second.”

I smirk and trace my fingers over the skin at his collar. “Tomorrow is Christmas, Elliot.”

“Yep, it is, and I want to know what your plans are.”

I swallow and peer up at him. My heart lurches—with love. It’s too quick. I know it is. And yet, I’m pretty sure this is love. I have never felt about another human the way I feel about Elliot James Eaton. “Spending the day with you?” I ask.

“Perfect,” he says, leaning in until his nose brushes mine. We’ve stilled on this dance floor while the world spins around us. But I don’t dare move, because pretending is finished, and a very real Elliot is moving in.

His lips brush mine, soft and sweet, urgent and patient, before swallowing me whole. Pins and needles prick over my skin and butterflies erupt in my gut. Kissing Elliot without any pretenses hanging over our heads feels a whole lot like kissing him with May and Bill scrutinizing. Yep, I think maybe I’ve had the real Elliot all along.

Twelve days isn’t all that long, not even half a month. But yet, it’s plenty of time to fall in love with Elliot.