Chapter 26 #2
“For what it’s worth, not everyone hates you.” He clears his throat. “Well, Thornberry probably hates you, but would everyone be here if they actually hated you? I’m… I’m here and I don’t mind you.”
I glance up at him. He has a funny way of showing affection. By now I’ve grown accustomed to his stingy compliments. “So you’ve said.”
“I’ve gotten used to you and your neurotic ways.” He gives me a lopsided smile that warms me from head to toe.
I arch an eyebrow, testing him. “Is that why you’re involving yourself with my crazy family? Would you do it if they weren’t paying you?”
Elliot casts his eyes to the ground. “They’re not paying me.”
My jaw almost drops to the floor. “You mean you’re working on my sister’s case for free? Why?” I shoot an exasperated glance at my mom’s back. “Did my mom bargain with you? She’s a cutthroat haggler but I’ll talk to her about—”
“I volunteered.” Elliot hooks a finger under his collar.
“You—” I tip my head back and study his ever-reddening cheeks. “Why would you do that?”
He takes a step forward, his dark gaze very close. “Because I… I...” For the first time since I’ve known him, Elliot Frost was at a complete loss for words. “You know.”
“I don’t know,” I say softly. “You’ll have to tell me.”
“Must I?”
“Would it kill you to say something nice to me?”
“Yes,” he nods adamantly, “it will.”
I roll my eyes. “Elliot…”
“I’ve already said it,” he sputters.
“What did you even say?”
“I-I,” he sputters, “I don’t mind you. In fact, I actually,” he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, “well, I would like…”
His gaze rakes over my pajamas and I have a jolt of mortification. I’m completely underdressed for Christmas.
“Hold that thought,” I say, rushing off to change.
“Holly!” My mom blocks me before I can rush upstairs. “You two are under the mistletoe. You know what that means!”
Elliot and I both glance up.
Indeed we are.
Kissing under the mistletoe. The most cliché excuse to kiss ever.
And yet…
I’m not averse to the idea. After the month I’ve had, I deserve to kiss someone. Question is: does Elliot want to kiss me?
“You know the rules,” Mom chides.
Bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I say, “I guess we better get it over with or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He nods. “Okay. Your move.”
“Here goes nothing…” I move in, aiming for his cheek, but Elliot turns his head and catches my lips with his, clumsily at first, asking permission to advance. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I cup his face in my hands and drag him closer.
A shaky hand presses into my lower back, sealing us tighter, deeper…
This wasn’t like our first kiss, an afterthought fueled by adrenaline and fear, bumbled by the chaos of the parade.
There was no thought behind that kiss, no meaning.
But this one felt different. This one was a serious question and an even more serious answer from two people who can never be serious around each other, about each other.
Too afraid to tell me in so many words, Elliot told me in his kiss. Not only does he ‘not mind me,’ he may actually…
Dare I presume?
Like me. And the feeling is mutual. More than mutual. If he can kiss like that, I can ‘not mind him’ all day long and into the night. We weren’t madly in love. Not now. Not yet. But this kiss was an invitation to the possibility of tomorrow, to next week, to next year.
This kiss felt like hope.
My lips part, drinking him in and my world becomes merry and bright, intoxicated with anticipation and promise, like opening a shiny new gift on Christmas Day.
In a daze, I pull back and absently touch my kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Wow.”
Elliot steps back, peering down at me with a frown as if I’m a riddle he couldn’t crack—and we both know he’s an expert at cracking riddles. “Wow.”
“So…” I glance up, carefully studying the decoration. “Mistletoes are dangerous.”
He snorts. “Very.”
For a minute, we both stand there like chumps, unsure of where to look or what to say. I eye my guests, but everyone seemed to have migrated to the kitchen, leaving us conveniently alone. If I listen hard enough, I could hear whispering behind the kitchen door.
I scratch my scalp. “W-what were you saying before?”
He blinks. “I don’t remember.”
I take a tentative step forward. “Does it matter?”
“If it’s about how I feel about you,” he says, finally meeting my eye, “it matters tremendously.”
My heart skips a beat.
He ducks his head. “Holly?”
“Hm?” I say dreamily tipping toward him.
He takes my hand, laces my fingers through his own. His hands are warm, strong, grounding. “Now that our fake relationship has officially ended…”
I slant my head. “Meaning we fake broke up?”
“And I’m no longer investigating your um…”
“My turd problem?”
We both share a smile in memory of the three lumps of coal that brought us together.
As strange as it is to admit, I’m starting to believe finding poop under my Christmas tree was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
Not that I ever want to repeat the incident, but it got me a tall, dark, and handsome insurance fraud investigator who, and I quote my Aunt Cherry, delivers one hell of a ‘sexual look.’
“I don’t suppose you would want to…” He shrugs, steaming from ear to ear. “After the party, that is.”
I step closer in anticipation. “What?”
A smile cracks his somber face. “Grab a cup of coffee with me?”
“Detective Frost…” Happiness brims into shaky laughter as I take his arm and lead him to the warm nook of my crowded home. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
Thank you so much for reading my quirky little book.