Page 33 of Jingle Bell Jilt
I pause with a slice of pizza halfway to my mouth. How could I have been so flippant about a conversation with my mom? At least I can have one. I take a bite and chew thoughtfully. “She’s worried about my finances. And she thinks that Nathan just had cold feet and that we really aren’t over.” My shoulders drop. “And a lot of using my full name.”
He squints at me, but his head nods. “Oh, yeah. I wondered about that.”
“About what?” I ask him warily.
“The name on your credit card. I looked at it for several minutes and I have no idea how to pronounce it.”
I sigh, cursing my parents and their ‘creative naming practice’. “It’s pronounced Mary-Shane.”
His brow creases even more. “Mary-Shane? What country are your parents from?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Rural Utah.” I grimace. “It’s kind of like being from a foreign country.”
His head tilts to the side. “What nationality is your name, then?”
“It’s Utahn.” I say.
“Utahn?”
“Yeah. People in Utah are kind of known for naming their kids weird names. And they take it a step further by using really ridiculous spellings. That’s my parents.” I lift a shoulder. “I’m named Mary after my mom and Shane after my dad. But they thought that adding theeafter Mary made it less common and adding theyto Shane made it more feminine.” I shake my head in wonderment. “What they did not think about is how stupid the names sound together.”
“They don’t sound stupid together.” His lips are twitching, but he shakes his head. “There’s so much I never knew about Utah.”
When I look away, he reaches over and puts his hand on my knee. A delicious warmth curls up and down my leg. I keep my eyes adverted because I don’t want him to know that his touch has affected me. I’m sure it’s just because I’m feeling vulnerable.
“Hey, I think your name is really pretty.”
I finally glance at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not a good liar, Mr. Barrington.”
He pulls his hand from my leg, and I glance longingly at the empty spot. “I’m not lying. And I bet you never had to wonder if someone was calling for you, rather than the other Maryeshayne in the halls at school.”
“No, I never had that problem.” I can’t help but laugh. “But I can promise that I will never do that to my kids. They will have nice normal names with proper spellings.”
Evan crosses his legs at the ankles and puts his plate in his lap. “I don’t know. I had the opposite problem of you. There were four other Evans in my grade. All the way through primary school I was known only as Evan B. There’s something to be said about having a unique name.”
“Maybe. But if you choose something ‘unique,’” I make air quotes in front of me, “it should be spelled in a way that every teacher doesn’t stumble over it.”
Evan nods. “Point taken. I’ll make sure to spell all my kids’ names normally.” He wipes his hands on the napkin sitting on his thigh. “Now, what movie are we watching first?”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
SHAY
Iwake up to complete darkness and am unsure where I am for a minute.
A breath sounds as my head rises and then falls. I jerk up, seeing Evan sleeping next to me. Or I guess under me? Oh, that doesn’t sound good at all. Not nearly as innocent as it really is.
The TV has the time bouncing around on a blue screen. 1:14 am. When did I fall asleep? I rememberThe Year Without a Santa Clausending and starting to watchDie Hard.But that’s when things start to get a little hazy. I guess that meansA Christmas Storyis on deck for tomorrow. I glance at the TV. Or rather today.
A little shiver of excitement travels down my spine. It’s Christmas morning. Who would have thought three days ago that I could feel this way?
Evan lets out a quiet snort and I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Apparently, when I wake up in a strange place in the middle of the night, I get the giggles. But I don’t want to wake him. He looks so incredibly cute, his arms spread wide on the back of the couch and his hair slightly mussed.
I have a strong urge to run my fingers through it—to mess it up a bit more. Confession? I’ve wanted to do it since I woke him up in the early morning to inform him that his rental was flooding. I can’t imagine this opportunity will present itself many more times.
I reach forward slowly, as if inching toward a sleeping bear, if you were crazy enough to do such a thing. But fingering Evan’s hair feels pretty on par with that. Two of my fingers barely graze the surface when he snorts again and shifts positions.
I yank my hand away, my heart hammering in my chest. Okay, so the analogy holds true, because I scoot a little farther back on the couch and try to calm my breathing.
