Page 5 of Mistletoe Misses
“Georgie! I found it!”
“What? The missing screwdriver?” he calls from the other room.
“No.” She flashes a mischievous smile over her shoulder before proudly displaying her treasure.
Mistletoe.
“What are you doing?” I take a cautious step back, and she taunts me with the plastic rendition, holding it up as high as her arm will allow.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
Another step back and my feet can’t retreat fast enough. My eyes stay trained on her and that godforsaken fake plant like it’s a loaded gun. “I’m not a fan of the tradition.” Or Christmas, for that matter, since you can’t have mistletoe without the holiday.
“I would think a handsome man like yourself would welcome some spontaneous kisses from the ladies.” She traps me against the couch in the living room, puckering her lips.
“Leave him be.” Georgie scowls at her from where he’s hanging lights above the fireplace. “He doesn’t want to ruin his suave look with your lipstick.”
I glance down at the jeans, flannel shirt, and scuffed boots I put on before leaving my apartment in Boston. It’s simple and comfortable—anything but whateversuavemeans. My unsuspecting eyes find the woman again and the bright red,smacking lips on their way to me. She’s at least a good six inches shorter, so the mistletoe doesn’t quite reach the top of my head, making the traditional requirement null and void in my humble opinion.
Yet, she leans in anyway, and I side-step her. She falls over the back of the couch, catching herself before her legs follow.
“Don’t mind my sister,” Georgie says flatly, like he’s used to her nonsense. “She gets a little excited around the holidays. Here.” He hands me a key. “That room has an exterior entrance if you want to drive around back. Breakfast is at seven.”
“Thank you.” I snatch the key and rush out the door, the sound of his sister’s elf-like giggles following me out into the winter weather. At least it’s no longer snowing.
Instead of heading to the room to hide for the night, I head toward the roadside bar I passed on the way here. Based on the overflowing parking lot, it must be a good one. All good bars have ice-cold beer, exactly what I need to erase my first mistletoe encounter since the earth-shattering one nine years ago and any lingering memories of both. Even if I’d been prepared for being chased with the dusty twig, I never could have expected it to rattle me like it did.
Ten minutes is all it took for me to regret my presence in Vermont as I knew I would.
After claiming one of the last barstools, the bartender steps up, drying a glass with a towel as they do in cliché movies. He flips the towel onto his shoulder and stares at me while he puts the glass away. “Madds? Is that you?”
I chuckle at the use of my high school nickname, especially since that’s how I feel—downright mad at my current circumstances. “Yeah. I think.”
“What are you doing here?”
Studying his face, I wonder how he knows me so well, and if I’m supposed to know him. I barely remember anyone outside ofmy ex, my best friend Jamie, and my baseball teammates. When he shifts into the dim overhead lights, I notice his eyes—one blue and the other green—and it comes to me. Our team manager and biggest troublemaker. He was the lighter fluid to our antics and a total blast.
“Drew? Holy, shit. I haven’t seen you since—”
“Jamie’s graduation party at his family farm. Man, that was a wild night.” He sets down the glass, selects a beer from the cooler, and slides it toward me. “What brings you into town? The Spectacular?”
“Shit no. If I’d remembered that was happening, I would’ve stayed home. I’m just … visiting family for the holidays.” No need to bring up the real reason since I’m trying not to think about that either.
“Where’s home these days? I heard you served in the Army.”
“After four years as a soldier, I’d done all I set out to do. I’m Boston P.D. now.”
“Doesn’t sound much different,” he jokes before letting out a roaring laugh, but it fades when something across the bar catches his attention. “Madds, I’d love to catch up with you, but are you sure you want to be here right now?”
“What do you mean?” It is either here or the unhealthy solitude of my room at the B&B. I need company and noise to drown out the unwanted emotions my memories induce.
He points to whatever is behind me that’s wilted his lively demeanor, and I twist in my seat. At the first sight of Carmen setting up a microphone stand on the tiny corner stage, my heart falls into my gut like I swallowed a brick. She’s striking and all grown up, no longer the teenager I remember or the young woman I saw in social media posts.
I’m not proud of it, but I tortured myself by following her actress accounts after she left. When she started posting photos of her at parties and in what looked like dressing rooms withother men, I lost interest. More like I threw the phone into a lake on a temper tantrum, but no one needs to know that.
She bends down to remove the guitar from its case, and her tight jeans show me and everyone in the place the woman she’s become. The dark brown cowboy boots and white, off the shoulder sweater have my mouth watering until I remember—thatisCarmen. The girl who broke me and destroyed the future we’d talked about for hours on end. The girl who chose a chance at fame over me. The girl who—
“I’ll ask again,” Drew breaks into my wallowing and leans on the counter behind me, surely noticing my discontent with this surprise. “Are you sure you want to be here?”
