Page 21 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“Day spa for you and Franklin at that place you like.”
“The Hershey Spa? Hmm. Three treatments each,” she said, cocking her head.
“Two treatments, plus lunch,” her son bargained.
“Deal,” Phoebe said smugly.
Ryan decided it was beyond time to extricate himself from the conversation. He attempted to squeeze past Aurora, but she very deliberately stepped in his way and grinned.Diabolical child. He turned to try the other way, but a couple in matching corduroy bell-bottoms was hogging half the aisle and making excited exclamations over some kind of organic wheatgrass vodka.
In desperation, he snatched a bottle off the employee’s cart. “Well, I need to go take care of… this bottle,” Ryan announced, holding up the bottle.
Phoebe clinked her tequila to his whiskey. “It was nice meeting you, Ryan. If you need anything while you’re in town, let me know.”
“Uh. Thanks,” he grumbled. He’d be on a plane by tomorrow and doubted there was anything he’d need help with in less than twenty-four hours.
Phoebe turned her attention back to her son and granddaughter. “I’ll see you two in—” she glanced down at her watch. “Not very many minutes.” With a wave, she headed toward the cash register.
“Don’t drink all of the tequila before we get there,” Beckett said, playing tug-of-war with Aurora over a cheap bottle of peach-flavored vodka.
The frustration and abject fear on Beckett’s face made things click into place. Ryan snapped his fingers. “Goat Guy.”
Beckett won the battle and pulled the bottle free. “What Guy?”
“Goat Guy,” Ryan repeated. “That’s who you look like. I met him at the vet clinic. Do you have a brother?”
“Two. Which one was it?” Beckett asked.
Ryan couldn’t remember anything besides not liking the way the guy flirted with the vet. “He’s the one with all the goats.”
He assumed that would narrow it down enough. He assumed wrong.
“Big beard or short beard?” the mayor asked, stroking a hand over his own neatly groomed beard.
Ryan had never been asked to classify facial hair before. “More stubble than beard.”
The mayor nodded. “That would be Jax. He’s the youngest. The goat hates his guts.”
Jax, the cheek kisser.Ryan still thought it was a stupid name.
Aurora giggled. “Clementine wants to eat Uncle Jax. It’s sooo funny! Also, he looks nice in blue eyeshadow.”
Ryan didn’t want to know how she’d obtained that information. He didn’t care for how the little girl was studying him like she was trying to figure out if he’d look better in spring or winter colors.
“Well, it was nice to meet you,” he lied, thankful that the aisle had finally cleared, leaving him with an actual escape route.
“You as well,” Beckett called after him.
“Bye, Ryan!” Aurora waved.
He ducked into the checkout line closest to the door. There was a display of hideous, hand-knit hats, mittens, and scarves. He averted his eyes from the rainbow of lopsided winter gear and stared at his shoes to thwart any more conversations with strangers. The bell jingled, and two more customers entered, bringing with them a cloud of frigid winter air.
Damn it. It was still fucking cold.
“Fiiive golden riiings!” shouted the customers around him.
With the regret of a man who enjoyed a tasteful wardrobe, he grabbed the scarf set from the display and threw it down on the counter next to the bottle. They would get him through the ride out to Carson’s. And it didn’t matter if anyone saw him in it. Because he was leaving and never returning to Blue Moon.
7
