Page 8 of Mistletoe Love Match
“We have to kiss because we gave you the toilet paper?” Calliope asked.
Louise chuckled. “No, you have to kiss because you’re standing beneath the mistletoe.”
Alec looked up, and the woman wasn’t wrong. A green sprig with red berries hung from above.
Ralph nodded. “It’s a Christmas tradition. It would be bad luck if you didn’t.”
“I didn’t notice it before,” Calliope said, staring up at the petite spray of green leaves tied with a white ribbon.
“Neither did I,” added Alec, studying the tiny red berries and pointy leaves. Who the hell would hang mistletoe in front of a supply closet?
“A kiss under the mistletoe can change everything,” Louise offered. “It can lead you in a direction you never expected.”
What the hell did that mean?
He smiled politely, but he didn’t want anything to change. He met Calliope’s eye. They appeared to agree on that point. She looked ready to yank the mistletoe from the ceiling and stomp it into bits.
“Ralph, Louise,” a voice echoed from the end of the hall. “The truck’s here. They need you to sign off on the delivery before you leave.”
Saved by the delivery truck.Alec breathed a sigh of relief.
“Merry Christmas, you two,” Louise said and patted his arm.
“Until tomorrow,” Ralph remarked over his shoulder as the pair headed down the hallway. “And don’t forget to get in a kiss. The mistletoe doesn’t forget.”
The Dagbys had barely turned the corner when Calliope huffed and turned on her heel. “I don’t care if it’s a Christmas tradition. I’m not kissing you under any bloody mistletoe, Dr. Wanker,” she muttered as she threw the scrap of toilet paper in a trash can, then tore down the hallway.
“Are you mad at me?” He had to break into a jog to keep up.
“Yeah, I’m mad at you,” she hissed, then charged into the darkened childcare room and grabbed her purse and coat.
“Why?”
“Why?” she shot back. “Because your bloody brother is corrupting my sister.”
“You think my brother is to blame?” he threw back, following a step behind her as she headed for the exit. He grabbed his jacket off the rack near the door. He barely had one arm in the coat sleeve when Calliope bolted out of the center and into the snowstorm.
“Yeah, he’s to blame,” she snarled, shivering as she strutted through the parking lot, pantyless in boots and a skirt that hit mid-thigh. Aside from prancing around in a bikini, Calliope’s current outfit might just have been the worst clothing choice for this kind of weather.
He squinted and blinked the blowing snow from his eyes. It had really picked up, and it was freaking freezing. “Slow down, Calliope! It could be icy, and you need to take my coat.”
“You want me to take your coat?”
“I’d prefer not to treat you for hypothermia or frostbite. So yeah, at least tie it around your bare legs.”
She whipped around and poked him in the chest as snowflakes accumulated on her eyelashes and in her honey-brown hair. She looked like a beautifully irate snow princess. “I’m fine, Dr. Wanker.” She scoffed. “Why are you so cool and collected? Aren’t you furious about Callista and Anders?”
He was furious, but he didn’t show it by plowing through an icy parking lot.
She rifled through her purse, pulled out a set of keys, and hit a button on the fob, but nothing chirped. “Bloody stupid car,” she muttered, then unlocked her Mini Cooper manually. She threw her purse on the passenger side, settled herself into the driver’s seat, then glared at him. “Louise and Ralph must be confused. There’s no way Callista would make plans to stay in Denver with Anders. Maybe the Dagbys are already trollied. It is the holidays.”
“Trollied?” he repeated.
“It means drunk,” she cried and banged her palms on the steering wheel.
He shook his head. “They didn’t appear intoxicated. I didn’t observe any lack of balance, and their speech wasn’t slurred. I also didn’t smell alcohol on their breath. When a person is intoxicated—”
“I don’t want your clinical opinion, Dr. Wanker,” she interrupted. “What they were saying about Callista has to be complete bullocks.” She pulled her cell phone from her bag, then shrieked.
