Can’t Fight the Mistletoe

12

This really is a nonsensical design.

“I remember seeing one when I reorganized. Hang on.”

Alessia disappears around the corner of the L-shaped space and returns a minute later with a black, flat-bottomed canvas tool bag. It’s perfectly organized, of course. I’d expect nothing less of her. Peering inside, I grab the easily accessible Phillips head screwdriver, and in minutes I’ve undone the two screws on the doorknob faceplate.

Less than a minute after, we’re free.

Pride and satisfaction surge through me as I suck in a breath of fresh hallway air. I have an overwhelming urge to beat my chest like the alpha gorilla warding off the wimpy betas.

I’m the man.

“Yes, babe. You’re the man.” She pats my chest, grinning while shaking her head.

Oops. With a kiss to my cheek, she dodges past me through the door and down the hall toward the restrooms.

“I’ll thank you better in a minute!” she yells.

I stare after her, all that testosterone going to waste in her absence.

One of the male residents catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. Shaking his head as he shuffles away, chuckling, I hear him mutter, “Sap.”

My cheeks and neck heat, but my embarrassment is short-lived. I may be a sap, but at least I’m her sap. And that’s enough.

Alessia

I think I’m in love with Danger Stevens.

How is that possible? It hasn’t been long enough.

Okay, so he’s been part of my life for years, but I didn’t love the guy at twelve. Or seventeen. Or any of the other years I wavered in my loathing to crush on him.

Now, though, I’m helpless. He’s so stinking lovable.

I wish I could describe the way Dan looked when he removed the lock on the storage room door. Honestly, I half expected him to crow Peter Pan style. Or pump his arms and preen like the villains in every Rocky movie.

He’s such a dork.

Then, so am I.

We’re a couple of weirdos who, surprisingly, go together like Klara and Alfred in The Shop Around the Corner (a timeless classic far superior to its badly dated nineties re-envisioning). Lots of contention in the beginning, but once we had time to get to know each other… ah, chemistry.

Pressing the final piece of tape on the last package I had left to wrap this morning before needing to leave for the airport, I recline against my couch with a sigh and survey my work. I hope everyone is satisfied with my selections. Gift giving is the hardest love language to speak, at least for me. It doesn’t help that I overthink it and psych myself out, which leads to procrastinating and suddenly having dozens of brilliant ideas that require more time than I have left. Inevitably, I wind up with hurried purchases which aren’t horrible, just not as perfect as I wanted.

Oh well. Nothing I can do now. Christmas is this weekend.

Today I’m going to enjoy visiting with my sister and get her settled, then tomorrow is already booked up with final wedding details. Thank goodness Silas and Peggy opted to forego a rehearsal in lieu of spending more time with her kids and grandkids before the wedding. I’m looking forward to a few peaceful nights with my sister. And Dan if I can swing it.

Unless he wants to be with his own family, of course.

Will I be invited?

Is it too early in our relationship to do major holidays together?

Stop, brain.

I don’t have the time or energy for another anxiety spiral.

Audrey hops over to sniff at my fingers, shoving her head under my relaxed palm. She’s so cute, begging for pets. Happy to oblige, I relish the softness of her fur as I scratch her favorite spot between her ears right above her closed eyes. I run my hands down the length of her ears, and immediately feel more centered and relaxed.

The alarm on my phone startles us both. Time to pick up Paige.

Before she hops away, I scoop up my rabbit and take her outside to her hutch. “Come on, sweet girl.”

A cold breeze whips through my sweatshirt and leggings. Brr. I add another few handfuls of bedding and hay before refilling her food and petting her one more time.

“It’s supposed to fall below thirty tonight, so I’ll bring you inside when I get home,” I coo.

She thumps and dives into her burrow. I secure her hutch and cover it with an old moving blanket, lock up the house, and drive toward the airport.

Paige’s flight is late. I circle the loop around the Albuquerque International Sunport three times before she texts to say she’s at the curbside pickup lane. I spot her between numbered poles four and five and exhale. The tension that threatens to overwhelm me anytime I get near the airport (it’s so confusing!) loosens further when there’s ample room to pull close to the curb.

I climb out though I’m not supposed to, and security’s probably going to yell at me to move in the next forty-five seconds, but I haven’t seen my sister in six months. She’s getting a hug. End of story.

Paige squeals after hoisting her carryon into my popped trunk and throws her arms around me. The scent of her signature vanilla sugar body spray is like getting hugged by a cookie. A tall, gorgeous, red-headed cookie.

She lets go first, holding me away from her while she studies my face as if she expects me to have changed drastically since July. I take a second to catalog any change in her, but she’s as beautiful and effervescent as always.

Her eyes are an earthy brown-green framed by long, fake eyelashes I would blind myself attempting to apply—the same color as her mother’s. She gets her height from her mother too. The only features we both inherited from Dad are our oval face shape, high cheekbones, and prominent Italian noses. We’ll never be accused of being twins, but anyone who spends more than ten minutes with us can tell we’re sisters.

“It’s so good to see you!” she says.

I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue. She does the same, and now we both have the giggles.

“Move along!” The neon-vested airport security guy prods.

Still laughing, we climb into our seats and peel away from the curb. Having her next to me does my heart good. I’ve missed her.

“How was your flight?” I ask, and she launches into a story about a man giving her the heebie-jeebies when she got on the plane, inviting her to sit next to him. Luckily, a much cuter guy without any freaky vibes had a vacant seat next to him farther down the plane.

“So, when Zane asked for my number after we landed—” She sees my raised eyebrow and grins. “Don’t worry, I gave him my @s instead. If he asks me out while I’m here...” She shrugs.

“Seriously, Paige? He could be a total creeper. Or married!”

“I checked. No indentation or tan line on his finger. Besides, it’s only a date.”

Paige and I have very different views on dating. As in, I rarely do, and she’s always on the lookout for her next Mr. Right. Don’t get me wrong, Paige is an intelligent young woman of faith with morals and impeccable standards, she just inherited Dad’s natural charm and has no qualms with employing it at will.

You’d think it would bother me, but Paige’s motivation is so counter to Dad’s, they’re barely in the same sphere.

“So…” she drags the syllable. “Tell me about Mr. Warning Label.”

My mind scatters in a dozen different directions, each one of them flushing my face a new shade.

“Oh my gosh, you’re blushing! What have you been keeping from me?”

I fill her in on the latest developments. We haven’t had much time to talk, aside from random texts, since Dan and I went to Santa Fe. Her sighs, squeals, and awws at the right moments validate my feelings. Sometimes I get too in-my-own-head, and getting her perspective always helps me sort things out.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me about any of this! I thought being sisters meant something.” She crosses her arms and gives me a totally fake pout.

I take my eyes off the road long enough to show her how ridiculous I find her antics.

Paige breaks into a mischievous smile. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, girlie. You’re the one keeping secrets.”

“I wasn’t keeping secrets. You were wrapping up fall term and I’ve been busy at work! And, you know, getting stuck in closets with my boyfriend.” Yes, I’m smiling too.

Paige sighs dreamily. “Stuck in a closet. Awesome trope.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I shake my head, suppressing a smile.

“After all these years of waffling, detailing the reasons why Danger Stevens is the literal worst, you need to tell me some amazing bits to offset the bad.”

“Fair enough,” I concede, taking the interstate exit toward my house. I tell her about him putting lights on my house the other day. She beams, having listened to me whine about wanting them but never doing it myself year after year.

“Then, yesterday morning, Ms. Peggy was showing me her wedding dress. Side note—she made it herself with help from her daughter. Did I tell you she was a seamstress? Anyway, I went by the storage room afterward to clean up the mistletoe, but when I got there, the lock had been changed! I stopped by Maintenance to thank Luis, and he denied knowing anything about it.”

“Oh, now that is sweet. So, Dan installed a new lock for you?”

“Yep, and it’s a regular one-sided lock now. He made copies of the keys for the staff who might need one, too.”

“Wow. The man’s quite an overachiever.”

“I know, right? Who needs grand gestures when you have acts of service?”

Paige scoffs. “Oh, no. I still want grand gestures. All of them. The grander, the better. Though, there is something to be said for the little things.”

We reach our house, and I’m contemplating her words on the way inside. She begs off to take a quick shower before we head to dinner together as I weigh what she said about grand gestures.

I think she’s wrong. If not objectively wrong, I feel wrong applying them to me. When I think about what drew me to Dan these past several weeks, I can’t choose one big thing that changed my perception and helped me see him. It was several seemingly insignificant things added up to make me feel loved and want to love in return.

I’ve read about love languages. The concept of filling someone’s tank is sensible. To me, a love tank isn’t so different from the way our bodies need the right foods to be fueled. Yeah, you can eat a huge meal all at once and stuff yourself silly. But the best for a body is usually smaller, balanced, nutrient-dense meals.

I think love should be like that—showing the people you love how you feel, what they mean to you, in a myriad of ways, not a one-time over-the-top gesture.

But what do I know? I’ve never had much in the way of relationships outside of my dysfunctional family.

Paige is a sucker for romantic comedies and romance novels. She dates. Which makes her closer to expert than I’ll ever be.

Except I can’t deny the way Dan makes me feel. The peace I have when I’m with him that I don’t around other people. The way his heated looks say I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. The way he accepts me and my internal freakouts and monologues, puts up with my moodiness, and jumps in to help when he knows I’d never ask.

Personal gestures, individually tailored to me.

Maybe it’s not love—yet—but it feels like we’re on our way.

A loud bang followed by a pained moan yanks me out of my head and into the present.

“Paige?” I traipse down the hall to the spare bathroom and knock on the door. “Everything okay?”

She flings the door open, steam pluming past her into the hall. Clutching her towel tightly around herself, she grabs my arm and guides me to a seat on the closed toilet.

“You need to be sitting for this.”

Uh oh. Her face is pale, and moisture gathers along her lower lashes. She sits on the edge of the tub and swallows before meeting my worried gaze.

“What’s wrong, Paige? Just say it.”

“Remember how I was concerned why Dad would want us both to come see him for Christmas?”

I think back to our conversation over Thanksgiving weekend and nod.

“Dad left a voicemail while I was in the shower. He knows we’re spending the holiday together and said he needs to talk to us about something. Says it’s important.” She looks ready to burst into tears. “What if—” she sniffles, reaching for a tissue from the box on the edge of the sink. “What if it’s bad? What if he’s, like, dying?”

My mind spins, collecting and rejecting possibilities.

I can’t stand to wait around until the fear of the unknown feeds off both of our corpses.

Yes, I know I watch too many movies. Judge me when I’m not worried about my dad, m’kay?

Ten seconds later, I get Dad on the line. I ask a few questions, then hang up.

“Paige, breathe. He says it’s not life-threatening, but he’s glad we’re both here because he’s flying in tomorrow at noon.”

She blinks at me, her face a wash of confusion, and then lets loose the kind of belly laugh that only comes from relief.

“We’re spending Christmas with Dad after all!”

I don’t think it’s funny in the least.

Dan

It’s Christmas Eve, and I can’t wait to surprise Alessia.

I’ve got a secret I’ve been keeping from her for weeks.

At first, I was doing it to get a rise out of her. Full disclosure, it wasn’t even me in the beginning. I kind of took over the role once I discovered how badly it irritated her. Thought it would be funny to mystify her, keep her guessing who the culprit was.

Of course, this was before we got distracted with her extensive activities calendar and crossing off wedding to-dos between dates and kissing sessions. I mean, how’s a guy supposed to sneak around pulling pranks when he’s spending all his time with the woman he’s intent on pranking?

Don’t worry, it’s a good prank.

Well, I hope she’ll see it that way eventually.

We had a delightful time with it in the storage room, after all. You have no idea how difficult it was not to spill the beans and confess right then and there. It would’ve been so simple.

Alessia, I’m the mistletoe mischief maker.

I’ve even got alliteration going for me.

Gauging by her reaction in the closet, I can’t imagine she’ll be too upset. She might be on board with my original plan to honor tradition beneath all those symbolic plastic sprigs.

I’m grinning like an idiot as I glance around the hallways furtively. Empty. Excellent. From my coat pocket, I retrieve an industrial stapler, flick the pin to open it flat, and staple the endpiece to the top of the doorframe between her office and the storage room. She’s taken this one down the most often, so I get an extra rush of glee each time I put it back up. This time I added a festive red ribbon.

The prank was getting expensive, so I was happy to find she’d saved them for me. When I replaced the faulty lock on the closet, I stuffed my pockets and have been stealthily adhering them to every empty doorway since.

Childish? Probably.

Worth it? Absolutely.

A throat clears as I reach into my pocket for the last sprig, this one for the doorway between Pam’s desk and the common area. It’s the riskiest one so far, but I have it on good authority Alessia is busy with Silas and Peggy in the pool house, running through their ceremony one last time.

Dropping the stapler and mistletoe into my coat pockets, I clasp both hands behind my back and am tempted to whistle like the conspicuous doofus I am. Stealth has never been my forte.

The newcomer leans against the wall opposite me, smiling with a look of interest. She’s tall and redheaded with hazel eyes brimming with mischief. I might’ve been intrigued were I not already head over heels for a certain average-height raven-haired beauty. (I read that in my Garrett Wilson novel last night and thought it an apt description for my Alley Cat.)

“Hi,” she says in a husky tone.

“Hi,” I reply hesitantly with a glance toward the lobby.

Alessia’s spent too many years thinking I’m a skirt-chasing flirt. I’m not about to put myself in a position to prove her fears correct. No way.

“You’re Danger Stevens.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Something in the shape of her face is familiar, but I’ve never met this woman before. I’d remember.

“I am.”

Her eyes glimmer with mirth. Wow. She’s gorgeous and knows it. It’s in the purse of her lips, the way she’s fighting a smile full of secrets. I’m growing more uncomfortable by the second. Until she extends her hand.

“I’m Paige.”

My shoulders relax, and I allow myself to return her smile, albeit mine’s more polite than anything else. She’s got a decent handshake. Firm and self-assured.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Als.”

“Als? Interesting. I call her Les.”

I shrug. “Als. Alley Cat. Sometimes Kitty.”

“And she let you live? Wow, she really does like you now.”

A laugh shoots past my lips.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Paige smirks, nodding toward the offshoot hallways of the main building, each head jamb bearing a sprig of mistletoe. “Hedging your bets?”

“Not anymore,” I grin. “Now it’s just fun messing with her.”

She laughs, throwing her head back similar to Alessia when she’s really letting go. I see their familial resemblance now. It’s faint, but apparent in the nose and cheekbones. I’m cataloguing mannerisms too.

“Can I help?” she asks.

“I suppose.” I dig in my pockets and extract the final sprig and the stapler, handing both to her.

“You be lookout,” she whispers, craning her neck toward each hallway.

Chuckling, I accept my duty and stay close in case I need to tug her out of sight. She’s only an inch or so shorter than me, so with minimal effort she fastens the mistletoe in place and snaps the stapler closed with a smirk. Loads of mischief in those eyes.

Affection rises within me, much the way I feel when Tory gets an eerily similar glint—a look that’s gotten me into more trouble than I can list. Heaven forbid the pair of them ever meets.

“Oh! Look,” says an older woman I’ve never seen before. “You’re under the mistletoe!”

My shoulders droop. Some lookout I am. How do I get us out of the precise situation I’d hoped to avoid?

Paige tugs at my coat pocket. I note the weight of the stapler as it drops inside. With a sly head nod of acknowledgment, I smile at the newcomer then look up.

“Huh. What do you know.” I pretend to study the greenery as if I’m only now noticing it.

“You know what happens now!” The lady clasps her hands as if she’s personally responsible for her perceived budding romance. “Go on, it’s tradition.”

“Oh,” Paige says, shaking her head. “No. This is my brother.”

The stranger gives her a skeptical look. “I didn’t make the rules.”

Paige’s concerned gaze meets mine. I shrug, hoping if I comply the woman will leave, and we can find Alessia before she discovers what I’ve been up to.

“Cheek?” I ask, unwilling to make Paige uncomfortable no matter what tradition dictates.

At her nod, I lean in and press my lips to the edge of her cheek. It’s over in a split second, but that fraction of time is precisely the moment Alessia enters.

“Really?” She says flatly, as if she’s disappointed, yet expected something like this would happen.

“It’s not how it looks,” I insist, raising my hands as if the motion proves I wasn’t touching anyone inappropriately.

It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I should’ve told the lady no. Run away. Dang it.

“Les, it’s not what you think,” Paige adds.

“I should think not!” The harbinger of trouble cries wearing an expression of disgust. “He’s her brother.” She shakes her head and proceeds on her merry way unaware of the damage she’s caused.

Alessia’s eyebrow wings up. “Okay.”

She glances at the clock on the wall opposite the reception desk. “Paige, we need to go now, or we’ll be late.”

“Go?” Where? I want to ask. May I come?