“What about Archer?” I said, wanting her to keep going.
“That boy has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. Always has. And when his father got sick, it was that much more on him. He’s a good man. A hard-working man. And he’s sacrificed a lot in his young life to make sure the farm is successful and also contributes to the town.”
“I thought he was straight,” I murmured.
She giggled. “I think gender is just an afterthought when it comes to what is between you two.”
I looked up. My parents had always known I was gay, and they always accepted me, but this was the first time I’d ever really talked about relationships with my mom. “Really?”
“I believe you two have the kind of true love the mistletoe was made for.”
“When he kissed me,” I confessed, “it was under the mistletoe.”
“Then what are you so worried about?” she admonished. “You know what happens when true love kisses under the Winterbury mistletoe.”
“He wants me to quit my job and move back here,” I said.
“That’s a big leap of faith after just one kiss,” she allowed.
“It wasn’t just one kiss,” I refuted instantly, the stark denial basically like a boomerang coming back to slap me in the forehead.
Apparently, it wasn’t just a kiss to me either.
I stood abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. “I have to apologize. I need to see Archer.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” I was insistent. I couldn’t let him think for one more second that our kiss wasn’t everything. That I’d just been scared.
“But the auction starts soon,” Mom protested. “You have to bring the gingerbread.”
I glanced at the clock, restless and suddenly feeling caged. I couldn’t drive out to the farm now. I wouldn’t even get there before he was already on his way to the bistro.
But I couldn’t just do nothing. I had to do something.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me it was hot cocoa time?” Dad said, walking into the kitchen and eyeing our mugs.
“I was having a talk with Toby, George,” Mom said, standing. “But I’ll make you some now.”
And just like that, I knew what I needed to do. After all, an apology was only as good as the actions that backed it up.
“Dad, can we talk?”
Dad’s eyebrows arched up his forehead. “Of course, son. What’s on your mind?”
16
Archer
I can’t just changemy entire life for one kiss.
The words repeated over and over and over in my head like a bad Christmas jingle.
We promised to talk after the gazebo was complete, but we avoided it. Just like we always did. I couldn’t help but wonder if we would fall back into the enemy roles we’d gotten so good at over the years.
Hell, the more I thought, the more I realized we’d been enemies almost longer than friends. Which one was the real us?
Was I fooling myself, thinking we could be more?
