Page 59 of The Kiss Class

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christmas morning bringsflurries as I pack for the trip to Colorado. The team plane departs this afternoon, so I have plenty of time to debate with myself whether to sneak in a visit with Cara.

As mentioned, frequent practice will help perfect the art of the kiss. Catching my reflection in the mirror, my smile is big, goofy, and doofy. Who am I kidding? The kiss we shared last night was already perfect, and I just want an excuse to do it again.

I should get her a Christmas gift. I have an assortment of blueberry items from the farm that I brought back from my last trip home. But that doesn’t feel personal. She insisted I keep the sketch she made of me in her notebook when I thought she was writing verbatim the so-called technical details of a kiss.

There was nothing technical about it. Cara’s lips against mine were all desire and passion wrapped up in a bow.

I should pack my suitcase, but I’d rather wear the ugly sweater than go into my room, which is a mess with clothes scattered all over the floor. My condo is sparse, but that’s mostlybecause my bedroom contains the catastrophe that represents my life. It’s a door that usually remains shut.

But what if I want to be less of a hot mess as a social media troll so recently commented? New Year’s resolutions start now. No, they began last night (last week?) because kissing Cara changed my life as I know it. The world blew apart. The explosions exposed my true longings and desires. Fires still smolder because I want more. I want her.

My family calls, and we spend the next hour and a half on video chat with the phone being passed around between my parents, siblings,tantes,oncles, and, of course my many cousins. My eyes burn when we get off the call from staring at the screen for so long.

But I notice one thing. My father has always called my motheramour. I realize I’ve called Cara that on numerous occasions, almost without realizing it. But now I do . . . and it means something.

I fix some lunch, finishing off the cookies I got at the market. Yes, I have cookies for lunch becauseit’s Christmas. I also clean my room and finally pack, including enough gear for two nights, having learned my lesson about winter travel and delays.

After closing my bedroom door, I stand in the living room. Even with the tree Cara and I decorated, a lonely feeling blows through me like the snow now whirling around outside the window. I drop onto the couch, and the white lights blur. Sitting here by myself, I have a bit of an Ebenezer Scrooge moment, imagining my past, present, and future.

If I were to continue on the path I’d been on before that first magical kiss with Cara, I’d probably spend many holidays just like this. Alone. I shiver.

I could detour and see what develops between us.

The future could either be full of glowing smiles, usdancing to Christmas carols with me in a Santa suit and her looking gorgeous in the ugliest Christmas sweater on earth, and warm kisses, or her dad could execute me ice-skate style. I jitter. That sounds like a brutal way to go.

As if answering my question about what kind of future I want, my phone beeps with a message.

My Dream Girl: Merry Christmas!

Me: You too! Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?

My Dream Girl: Sadly, no. How about you?

Me: No? We should fix that. As for me, remember? I’m on Santa’s naughty list.

But that’s going to change. By this time next year, I’ll be a new man. I flip to my phone’s contacts and go nuclear, deleting every single name with a bunny emoji. The only woman I’ll be messaging with is Cara . . . unless her father breaks my hands, which is a real possibility.

My Dream Girl: You’re lucky you guys left when you did. The roads are terrible. I just returned from dropping my sisters and the guys at the airport . . . only to have to head back there tonight.

Me: I’d offer to bring you, but I have to meet the team plane in a couple of hours.

My Dream Girl: Wait. What?

It takes me a moment to compute what she wrote about the team leaving early. I check the group text thread that I keep onmute otherwise, it would be dinging constantly. I also have a few missed calls from when I was chatting with my family.

I pound my forehead with my fist. The flight left early to get ahead of the storm. I missed it.

Me: Funny thing. I’m here in Omaha. Looks like I’ll be flying out with you tonight.

My Dream Girl: I’m not sure that’s funny, considering you need to be on the ice tomorrow.

Me: Your father won’t be pleased.

My Dream Girl: We can tell him I was nervous to drive in this weather, so I asked you to travel with me.

He won’t like that, and I don’t like lying, but I book the only flight to Denver that leaves this evening. A popup appears, asking if I want payment protection in case of delays or cancelations due to weather. With a glance out the window as the snow squalls, I click the box.

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