Page 58 of About Last Christmas
It’s Leo.
Snow covers his jaw and neck.
I suck in a deep breath, waiting for my erratic heart to slow. “You really have to stop doing this sneaking-up-on-me ninja thing.” Did he not learn his lesson with the impaling elf?
After a smooth swipe of his hand across his face, he settles his gaze on me. “That, Greta Carlton, is the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, actually.” I step toward him with a sweet smile. “I didn’t apologize at all.” I lift on my toes, watching his eyes brighten with surprise, and shake the branch above his head.
Snow falls right on his hat and shoulders.
A laugh spills from my lips, but then I catch sight of Leo’s face, rather the way his mouth twists into a mischievous smile.
He stoops down for a scoop of snow, and I bolt.
I duck behind the giant cutout I’d just used for target practice. I pat Saint Nick’s shoulder as if all is forgotten between us. “Mercy,” I call while grabbing more artillery. A girl’s got to be prepared.
“No mercy, Greta.” His voice isn’t as distant. Crap, he’s getting closer. “I have snow dripping down the back of my neck.”
I press my mouth against another laugh. “Do you really want to have a snowball fight right now?” I try to sound threatening, but I don’t think it’s working. “Because, fair warning, I’m in feral mode. Things can get ugly.”
He chuckles. “I can handle you.”
Oof. From his tone it sounds like hewantsto handle me. But I can’t think on that. I peek around Santa and launch a snowball. Leo shirks out of the way. Darn. Realizing I’m unarmed, he sprints toward me. I squeal and dash off, hoping to use the senior center sign for cover, but a snowball strikes my leg. I know he aimed lower on purpose. Because no matter how competitive he is, Leo can’t help but be a nice guy.
He’s fresh out of ammo, and I’m fast in gathering more snow.
I launch and miss again. “Ugh. Come on.”
He has his arm poised to throw. “Are you going to tell me why I found you out here hating on a defenseless Santa?” He squints at me, and then his grin sparks. “I take it you, uh, went to the salon.”
I forgot about my updo disaster! “Not a word, Mathis.”
“You look very Christmasy.”
I roll my eyes. “Are we calling a truce yet?”
“Says the girl with no snowballs.” He takes a step closer and drops his voice to that husky timbre I’ve come to adore. “Or perhaps I can cash in on a seasonal technicality.”
“What technicality?”
“Your hair.”
“Yeah, it’s ridiculous, but it’s the price to pay to rule out Brandy.”
“Ah, well done.” Another step. “But the technicality is what’s actuallyinyour hair.” He’s so close I can reach out and touch him. Maybe snatch that snowball from his gloved hand. Though I can’t move. His arrested gaze is on me, and it’s like my smooth-soled shoes grew spikes and tethered me to the earth. “There’s mistletoe. You know what that means, Carlton?”
“Huh?” My hands instinctively go to the ridiculous updo. “There’s no …” I keep searching. I pull out a bow, garland, a couple of plastic bulbs. My gloved fingers fish around for any sign of a parasitic plant. “No mistletoe.”
His head dips lower. “You sure?”
I’m sure Leo’s the king of mixed signals. He wears a crown forged from romantic energy but held together with friend-zone effort. And yet, I find myself wanting to pledge my loyalty to his kingdom. “Yeah.” I’m breathless, and it has nothing to do with our previous snowball fight. “I’m mistletoe-less.”
“That’s too bad.” He lingers for an excruciating second and steps back with a flirty smile. “But it was worth a shot.”
I swat his arm. “Rude!” Mostly because I want him to kiss me. No, no I don’t. He could be leaving. That’s another item on my unending list of things I need to address. I’ll get to it. Soon. Ish.
He drops the snowball and dusts off his hands. “Why are you out here and not at the party?”
