Page 48 of Take Me Home for Christmas

I could tell by her worried look that I’d hit a nerve. “No, I just—I don’t want people asking me if I’m going tonight.” She set down a soccer ball ornament and tugged off her cap, probably because it felt like a hundred degrees in the crowded store. “And please don’t ask me either. Because I’m not.”

She looked on edge, scanning the shop. “Okay,” I said, “but you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. The cheating wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t!”

Put foot in mouth, stop talking. I guess I didn’t listen to that wise inner voice, because I kept trying to help. “You’re human like all of us, you know. Cheating aside, I mean, most everyone gets dumped.”

“Even you, Mr. Eight Weeks?” She gave a weak half smile. But I could tell the issue was weighing on her mind.

“Yep. Sophomore year. Meribel Klinger.”

She shot me an incredulous look as we moved on to a table full of beach-themed ornaments.

I was desperate to make her smile. “Is it so hard to imagine that I had my heart broken?”

“I was just thinking that she has a unique name.” She examined a glittery orange starfish. “So, did she break the eight-week rule?”

I picked up a sparkling sand dollar. “She was an exception to it. She wouldn’t go out with me, but I was hopelessly in love with her for an entire school year.”

Mia looked up. “And then what happened?”

“I had to move on. Too many other girls were sad that I was unavailable.” That got me an eye roll. “Okay, the truth is that I switched foster families and schools.” I paused, not wanting this to be about me. “Mia, no one else in the world is perfect—no breakups, no losses. You shouldn’t hold yourself to that standard. I’m sure no one else does.”

She clapped her chest, a gesture of indignation. “I do not hold myself to a standard of perfection.”

“Says the daughter who brought home a fake boyfriend because she didn’t want to disappoint her mom.”

She gave me a good glare but couldn’t tell me off because an elderly woman with white hair began waving furiously as she approached.

“Mia! How wonderful to see you,” the woman said, giving Mia an exuberant hug.

“Mrs. Bradbury, how are you?” Mia hugged her back, clearly excited to see her too.

“Wonderful. Who’s the hunk?” she asked in a lively tone, checking me out over the tops of her spectacles.

“Mrs. B, this is Brax.” I noticed Mia avoided labeling our relationship. But maybe it was high time to.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the woman’s hand.

She didn’t let go, rather added her other hand on top. “Nice to meet you, Brax. Mia,” she said, glancing over at her, “I hope you’ve told this handsome young man that you won the state essay competition your senior year.” She turned back to me. “Iwas hoping she might become a writer one day, but I understand that medicine claimed her.”

I knew Mia sometimes brought books with her to read on call that barely got cracked open with how busy we were, but writing? Interesting.

Mia grinned. “I credit you for giving me the confidence to write, Mrs. B.”

“Well, lots of doctors become writers, so you never know,” the former teacher said in a singsong voice. “Actually, I suppose more lawyers do, but maybe someday, you will write a book.” She finally dropped my hands. “Are you two going to the big party tonight?” Her eyes twinkling with mischief, she looked me up and down. “If I had this hottie on my arm, I’d walk in there in a red dress and heels and tell old Charlie to go stick it.”

“Oh my goodness.” Mia covered her mouth to hide a smile. “I don’t have hard feelings but thank you for that.”

“I’m so thrilled to see you successful and happy, dear,” the older woman said.

Mia hugged her one last time. “Great to see you too.”

Hmmm. As we walked out of the shop and back onto the street, I couldn’t let that go. “She was nice. You want to write a book one day? I mean, you’re multitalented, so it doesn’t surprise me.”

She smiled. “She was an amazing teacher. I double majored in English in college. Did you know that?”

“That’s fascinating. But what kind of book would you write?”

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