Isla seems to consider it, then says, “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I promise you won’t.”
“Then I accept your grovel.”
She can call it what she wants but it equates to this—he shoots, he scores!
She hops into the driver’s seat, turns on those flashing lights on the windshield, then stares ahead for a few seconds into space, like something is on her mind. At last, she turns back to me with a flirty look in her eyes this time. “By the way, I guess I like the law of mistletoe.”
“I’ll bite. What’s the law of mistletoe?”
Her smile is sly as she says, “That you have to kiss under it.”
With one arm on the side of the car, I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek, catching her sweet scent once more. “Yeah, you do like that law, Isla.”
A quiet gust of breath crosses her lips. Can’t resist—I sweep my thumb along her top lip, then add, “A lot. You like it a lot.”
And since it’s best to know when to push your luck and when not to, I step back, shut the door, and send her off into the night, counting down the hours till tomorrow.
As I walk home, passing an inflatable Santa outside an apartment building with most of its windows illuminated in colorful, twinkling lights, I can’t quite believe I’m looking forward to Christmas shopping, of all things.
I tug up the collar on my coat, shake my head, and mutterbah, humbugat all the holiday cheer around me. The lampposts with garlands, the window displays with snowflakes and mountains of wrapped gifts, and thewreaths on shop doors. It’s so hard to take, this time of year, all the reminders of how a day can go wrong.
How can a guy like me enjoy a single thing about this wretched holiday? And of all the things I despise about this silly season, shopping has to be top of the list.
But evidently, I’m so damn eager to spend time with Isla that I’ve struck a deal to enter Christmas hell.
16
MATCHMAKER NOT MATCH-TAKER
ISLA
“And then?” Sabrina makes akeep goinggesture with her free hand as she sets a pink metal crate on a table at Whiskers and Kisses, a local pet supply store in Noe Valley that’s hosting a kitten adoption event.
“Yes, tell us every dirty detail,” Leighton seconds as she pokes a black polished fingernail in the crate and strokes the little silver tabby’s head.
“Meow!”
The kitten clearly wants the story of last night too—maybe as much as my friends do.
“I’m getting there. I’m getting there,” I say, as I unroll a banner for Little Friends Animal Rescue, but my fingers feel slippery, and it unspools in a mess. I already spilled my coffee at home this morning, and now this?
“Yes, Snickerdoodle is super curious,” Sabrina says, pointing to the little two-and-a-half-month-old furball in the crate. My friend’s been fostering the cutie for the last few weeks and now the kitty’s big enough to find a family. “She needs to hear the rest of the story before she gets adopted.”
I already told them Rowan stayed late after the event. That he helped pack plates, wrap the lights and boxed up some ornaments. That things then turned…interesting.With my stomach knotting, I smooth out the banner’s wrinkles and blurt out the rest of the tale. “And then we kissed under the mistletoe.”
And I’m still replaying it nonstop.
I don’t tell them that part though. Because once I say the quiet part out loud, I’ll have to deal with what that kiss means.
Leighton holds up a stop-sign hand. “People are coming here in five minutes,” she says, gesturing frantically to the store that opens soon for both shoppers and adopters. Staff members are manning the checkout counter, while Sabrina’s handling the kittens for the rescue she volunteers for.
Twin meows come from under the table, a demanding reminder that she’s transported three kittens here today.
Leighton waggles her camera—she’ll be taking pics of the event for the rescue. “That means you have five minutes to give us the good details, and don’t skimp on the kiss. Start now.”
Well, since they’re demanding it…
