9. Colette
COLETTE
" I can’t believe it! A film crew?” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “He'll have to go back to Toronto now!"
The universe has finally thrown me a bone. I win the dare without lifting a finger.
Daisy's laugh crackles through the speaker. "Don't count your victory cookies before they're baked, honey."
"Oh please, where's he going to stay? The man's too proud to crash on someone's couch. Sometimes the stars align and?—"
The words die in my throat as I turn onto Peppertree Lane. My modest craftsman home looks like Santa's workshop exploded all over it. Garland drapes every conceivable surface. Twinkling lights outline each window, the porch, and…good lord. Is that an inflatable snow globe on my lawn?
A familiar figure descends my ladder, toolbelt slung low on his hips. Hendrix Ellis, wearing a Santa hat and hanging what appears to be a life-sized mechanical reindeer.
"Oh. My. Gawd." I kill the engine.
"What? What's happening?"
"I'll call you back," I choke out, scrambling from my car and slamming the door.
Hendrix turns at the sound, and his signature troublemaker grin spreads across his face.
"Welcome home, Professor!" He gestures proudly at my house. "Like what I've done with the place?"
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Each word comes out as its own sentence.
"Spreading Christmas cheer. Grannie mentioned you needed help with decorations this year."
"I absolutely did not—" I stop, noticing the mistletoe. It's everywhere. Hanging from my porch, my doorway, even from the branches of my maple tree. "Are you trying to turn my house into some kind of kissing booth?"
He winks. "Just keeping with tradition. Though if you're offering..."
"Get off my lawn."
"Can't. Grannie's orders. And you know how she gets about her Christmas decorations competition. Which do you prefer—musical lights that play 'Jingle Bells' or the ones that flash in sequence?"
"Neither!
"Don't worry, I'll make sure your house wins the decoration contest this year. Gotta keep up with the Joneses. Though technically, I think you're trying to keep up with the Patels. Have you seen their light display? It's visible from space."
I stomp up my walkway, ducking under a string of twinkling icicle lights, trying not to stare at the way his thermal shirt clings to his shoulders. "Take it down. All of it. Now."
"Come on, Prof. Your house was the only dark spot on the street. Like… a missing tooth in Santa's smile."
"My house was tastefully minimalistic.”
"Your house was giving Scrooge vibes." He adjusts a wreath that's bigger than my front door. "Besides, look how the white lights bring out the trim work. And that vintage sleigh? Perfect for your porch."
I hate that he's right. The lights cascade in perfect symmetry, each ornament positioned with surprising attention to detail. The garland frames my windows in elegant swoops, and—no, I will not admit how gorgeous it looks. I'd rather eat coal.
"The mechanical reindeer has to go." I point at Rudolf, whose nose blinks with metronomic precision. "And the mistletoe."
“The mistletoe is the best part." He steps closer, eyes twinkling, and it’s not lost on me that we’re standing directly under a particularly large sprig. "I heard it’s a great way to improve your chances of getting kissed."
"Ugh! Why are you so insufferable?"
"Why are you still single?"
I back away as he advances, but my heel hits the bottom step of my porch and I feel myself going down.
I flail my arms like that will help at all, but gravity has other plans. My feet slip on the icy step, and my heart leaps into my throat?—
Strong arms wrap around my waist, and I find myself pressed against a chest that smells like pine trees and winter air.
My hands grip his biceps—purely for stability purposes, of course. Not because they feel like steel cables under my fingers.
"Careful there, Shakespeare." His voice comes out low, husky. "These steps get slick."
“Ugh!”
His eyes dance with mischief. “I gotta say, I didn’t expect you to fall for me so fast. But I’m not complaining."
My heart hammers against my ribs. He's so close it’s making my knees wobble. Or maybe that's just the near-fall talking. His eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
A gentle breeze stirs the mistletoe above us, making the berries dance.
"Well, well," he murmurs, glancing up. "Would you look at that?"
"You put that there."
His thumb traces small circles on my back where he's still holding me. "You know, they say it's bad luck to ignore mistletoe tradition."
"Don't you dare?—"
He leans in closer, and I catch a hint of coffee on his breath. I should push him away. I should definitely not be noticing how his eyes are flecked with gold, or how his hands feel steady and sure against my back, or how his lips curve into that infuriating half-smile.
"If you try to kiss me, I'll?—"
"You'll what?"
"I will knee you where it hurts."
“You sure know how to woo a guy,” he says, winking.
"Let. Me. Go."
"Say please."
"Please… get your clammy hands off me."
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" His arms tighten around me. "But since you asked so nicely..."
In one fluid motion, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing. My stomach drops as he climbs the steps, and I'm absolutely not thinking about how solid his chest feels or how gracefully he moves for such a big guy.
"This is completely unnecessary." I squirm, but his grip remains firm. "I am perfectly capable of walking."
"Can't risk you slipping again." His chest rumbles when he speaks. "What kind of gentleman would I be?"
"A gentleman would leave me alone and go back to Toronto."
"Where's the fun in that?" He climbs the last step and sets me down in front of my door with surprising gentleness, but keeps his hands on my waist a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his touch seeps through my wool coat, and I hate how my breath catches.
"There. Safe and sound." His voice drops lower. “But try not to fall again unless I’m around, okay?”
I fish for my keys in my pocket. “Whatever. I’m not clumsy.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know about that. Remember when you tripped over thin air and face-planted into the cafeteria's mashed potatoes."
"That was because you tied my shoelaces together!" Heat floods my face at the memory. The entire lunch room had erupted in laughter while I sat there, potato in my hair, wanting to disappear.
"I would never." But his lips twitch. “You looked so cute with gravy in your hair, though.”
“Well as much as I’d love to reminisce with you about how you humiliated me in High School, I do have some papers to grade.” I jam my key into the lock and shove open the door with more force than usual. “And you should probably get on the road back to the big city before it gets too late.”
I shoo him with my hands. It’s a three-hour drive to downtown Toronto in the best conditions. And as much as I’d like to see him suffer, I wouldn’t wish icy roads on anyone.
“Oh, I don’t have to get on the road,” he says, waving to the center of the cul-de-sac. “I’m just five doors down.”
“Wha… what do you mean?”
His grin gets wider. “My family house is being used for some Christmas movie film crew. So I’m staying with Grannie Bell and Aunt Goldie.”
The world tilts sideways. "You're staying... with Grannie?"
Why did I not think about his grandma’s house as a possibility? Probably because, in my eyes, that sweet old lady couldn’t possibly be related to… well him.
"Isn't it great?” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “We'll be neighbors."
"Neighbors?" The word comes out as a squeak.
"Welp, see you tomorrow. Grannie's already planning caroling nights. She says you have a lovely soprano."
"I am not caroling with you."
"We'll see about that. Oh, and Prof?" He taps another sprig of mistletoe I hadn’t noticed above my head. "You still owe me that kiss."
I slam the door in his face. My victory cookies have officially crumbled.