Page 62 of Mistletoe Misses
“Let’s go.” She grabs my hand, and we take off toward Loving’s Park.
When we arrive, the gazebo has been cleared and no one lingers about to ask if they’ve seen her. I whip out my phone and send a group text to my siblings.
Me:Anyone have Trixie?
Kendall:You lost that sweet baby?
Me:No time for that.
Cooper:I don’t.
Aaron:Nope. So glad you texted. My lips are too sore to talk.
Kendall:You need to find her. Dottie would be devastated.
Me:Not helping.
Kendall:Just making sure you know how dire your situation is.
Me:Got it.
Our park search leaves us empty-handed, and my military, law enforcement, and yoga training do nothing to calm my panic. I’ve resorted to Dottie’s fretting, terrified she’s injured or wandering through town cold and alone, wondering why I abandoned her. Give me a reckless criminal over a lost, heartbroken puppy any day. This is torture.
Nearly an hour after working our way through town, we stop at the end of Main Street, and I plop onto the bench outside the pool hall to think. Not only will Dottie be devastated, but Nana will never let me live this down. And if I’m being honest, Dottie isn’t the only one who would be upset if anything happened to Trixie. She’s kept me company through too many lonely and baffling hours not to form an attachment.
“Maddox …” Carmen points through the windows of Billy’s Billiards and Bar. “Is that …”
My eyes dart through the busy room and land on Trixie chasing pool balls on top of a table. A bearded guy in a brown leather vest with peppermint candy buttons and a white cowboy hat gently taps them with the cue to give her something to chase. More men and women in matching attire, tough yet festive, and muscular physiques watch from the surrounding bar tables.
“I’ve got this.”
“Got what?”
With the determination of Santa on Christmas Eve, she shoots inside and stalks toward what I can only classify as a biker gang with holiday spirit. I follow closely behind in case a bar fight breaks out since Carmen looks ready to start one.
“Oh, thank you so much,” she says, pressing a palm to her chest in her best Dottie impression.
“Excuse me?” Cowboy Hat asks.
“You found my baby.” She reaches for Trixie, but he steps in front of her, blocking her path. Carmen’s head tilts as her hand finds her punched-out hip in ano, you didn’tstance.
“How do I know she’s yours?” he challenges. “She doesn’t look excited to see you.”
“That’s because she prefers my boyfriend.”
Like Aaron’s had earlier when he heard Addie’s name, my head snaps to Carmen at her casual use of theboyfriendtitle. The room blurs, combining the conversation and loud, overhead music into the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher—all noise with no discernable words or lyrics. Doesn’t matter. I’m too lost, trying to figure out where my opinion falls on the boyfriend matter, to comprehend it anyway.
On the one hand, neither of us is dating anyone else. We’re exclusive without labels. On the other hand, we only reconnected a week ago. While I can’t deny my attraction or residual feelings for her, there’s plenty left for us to figure out.
Shapes and shadows move in my line of sight, but I see nothing until Trixie yelps, yanking me from my trance. Refocusing on my surroundings, I locate her in the biker’s massive hands beside me. Her little legs wiggle in the air in a fight to get to me. The evidence must be adequate to convince him of Carmen’s earlier statement because he hands her over with disappointment drooping his overly tanned face.
“Thank you so much for keeping her safe,” Carmen says over her shoulder while pushing me toward the exit.
The cool air slaps my skin, and thanks to my wayward mind, it’s a quiet trek back to the General Store.
She stops outside the building’s private back entrance and takes my hand. “You don’t have to walk me upstairs. It’s late, and I can see you formulating your refusal to extend the night if asked. I’d like to save us both the embarrassment.”
“Carmen …”
