Page 2 of Mr. Merry Ex-Mas
“Someone’s gotta give them common sense, ya know, some real-world experience. Not everything in life is planned out with color codes and timelines.”
His jab hurts. That was the issue when we were dating. We’re too different. And he did his best to constantly remind me how my organizational skills dulled down my life. And his.
I take a deep breath in and count to five. “This is a professional collaboration—nothing more. I don’t care that you’re the school’s volunteer rep or that the PTA thinks you’re some kind of misunderstood Christmas hero. You and I are not friends. We’re not anything. Got it?”
He steps closer, closing the distance just enough that I get a whiff of cinnamon gum. Of course, he smells like Christmas.
And temptation.
And regret.
“You really think I volunteered for this because I want to play nice with the PTA?” he asks, his voice low.
My heart kicks against my ribs. “I think you’re looking for attention from anyone who will give it to you.”
He grins. “And they paired me with you. Funny, huh?”
My face heats, and I just know the blush is creeping up my neck and cheeks. He always knew just what to say to have me lose control, shove him against a wall, and kiss the heck out of him. He loved my ‘unplanned’ side and wanted me to justfeelevery emotion, andreactto every one of his. My hands clench as I fight that familiar feeling now. I narrow my eyes and picture myself punching his stupid dimple that only shows up when he’s being a menace, then kissing him senseless.
“I have a checklist,” I say, holding up my clipboard between us, needing space. “A strict schedule. We’re on a timeline here, and I swear on all the mistletoe–”
“Let me guess,” he interrupts, widening his stance and crossing his arms. “You’ll add me to the naughty list?”
I narrow my eyes. “You were born on it.”
He shrugs, unapologetically. “Some people make lists. Some people make memories.”
“And some people make me want to drink eggnog until I pass out.”
He laughs, and I hate that it still hits me straight in the heart like it used to. That sound that used to come between shared bottles of wine at Grape Expectations, late-night kisses by the bay, and mornings tangled in our sheets.
But that was before. This is now.
“Mistletoe and eggnog, huh? Sounds like you’re asking me out on a date, Miss Johnson.”
I straighten my shoulders, ignoring his second jab about lists and reminders of dates. “I’ll need your set design outline by tomorrow. The supplies are being ordered this weekend, and work starts Monday. The kids are going to need to get in and practice on a complete stage. I want this room mapped out before then.”
“Already done,” he says, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “It’s just a quick drawing and some notes for your supply list. I’ll have the color-coded version available tomorrow afternoon.”
I blink, grinding my back teeth. “You’re joking.”
Danny leans in, a soft smile crossing his face. “I do listen, Sadie. Just not always the way you want me to.”
And for one dangerous second, I forget how much I hate him.
2
DANNY
I’m not proud of the grin I’m wearing as I leave the auditorium, but I’m also not trying to hide it.
God, she is stillsoSadie. She’s sharp as a glass Christmas ornament, tied tighter than a bow on a Christmas gift, and somehow still the most magnetic person in the room. I had barely gotten through the door, and she’d already cut me down with one glance from over that clipboard.
I miss that clipboard.
Not really.
But kind of.
