Page 3 of 10 Things I Hate About Mistletoe

“Delilah I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Gill. If you want me to take my pants off—”

Delilah covered his mouth with her hand. “Stop! Don’t ruin my opinion of you now.”

He mumbled against her palm, his lips brushing her skin, tickling the sensitive flesh, and she pulled it back. “What?”

“What is your opinion of me?”

Man, that smile should be bottled and sold as lethal. “You’re funny and considerate. You had several key moments of chivalry today.”

“I try to keep them limited, otherwise word will get around. I know how you ladies like to gossip.”

“Hey, we don’t gossip! We inform at length.” She smiled, the aftereffects of the Fireball making her feel lighter.

Anthony chuckled, turning toward her. “You weren’t who I thought either.”

“Do tell.”

“For one thing, I assumed you were shy.”

“Ha, you’re funny.” Delilah was a lot of things but shy was not one of them. Although she didn’t always say everything that popped into her mind either.

“I try,” he said with a grin. “With all the sarcastic shirts you wear, I assumed you’d be snarkier.”

“Stick around. It will come.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Delilah wasn’t sure if it was his smile or the Fireball going to her head, but she slid her hand along his neck to cradle the back of his head and pulled him toward her. When she kissed his full lips, Anthony froze against her, and she could have dissolved into the floor in embarrassment.

She started to pull away, only he’d chased her lips with his. Anthony kissed her back, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, and Delilah melted against him, heat rushing through her veins like warm honey.

Delilah stopped walking suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory.

No, we are not doing that today.

She’d been an idiot who should have followed her instincts about him and kept her distance. If the universe had any mercy, Delilah would never see Anthony again, but in a town like Mistletoe, that wasn’t likely to happen, especially when her best friend’s business was right next door to his. Delilah spent too much time visiting Holly at A Shop for All Seasons, her year-round holiday store, to let Anthony Russo scare her off.

All in all, it hadn’t been that bad. The few times they’d crossed paths, they’d greeted each other and kept their distance. Apparently, he’d wanted to engage with her as much as she wanted to exchange pleasantries with him.

Delilah passed the shop windows, decorated for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday with falling leaves, beloved cartoon characters, and even a few gnome scenes. Mistletoe took every holiday seriously, not just Christmas, and prizes were awarded to the business that put on the best display. Kiss My Donut’s frosted windows portrayed an orange coffee cup with a pumpkin on the sleeve, clasped in the hand of a smiling woman in a brown sweater. Her painted companion wore a green sweater, and he seemed to be gazing at her adoringly, dipping a sprinkled donut into her lidless cup of coffee.

Delilah snorted. As much as she loved romance novels, finding diverse heroines in books and movies who weren’t perfectly proportionate was a difficult quest. Although plus-size women as heroines were more acceptable now than when she was an impressionable thirteen-year-old, the majority of marketing, especially with romantic elements, featured thin women only. Didn’t they think ordinary people fell in love, too?

Delilah stood in front of the painted window, puzzling over it. Why did the world want to portray love as this picture-perfect scenario? Every romantic movie was set somewhere gorgeous, with enough messy drama to heighten the stakes, and the subjects were stereotypically white, hetero couples with sculpted bodies. Only those movies didn’t represent the real thing, especially since 60 percent of the U.S. was plus size.

Dang, Delilah, you really are in a mood today! Go inside, get a latte, and maybe go back to bed. Or write out your aggressions. Either way, you need a happy today.

Delilah grumbled under her breath as she opened the door and stepped inside, the hissing of the espresso machine and multiple conversations surrounding her. As she took her place in line, Delilah’s gaze immediately locked on to a shock of styled red hair and a matching, trimmed beard. The man standing three people in front of her with broad shoulders and a crisp, pressed collared shirt peeking out above a blue sweater was Pike Sutton, and if this was a Hollywood rom-com, he would have been cast as the comic relief sidekick. He never suffered from a lack of female company in real life, yet the world didn’t consider him leading man material.

Not like Anthony, who happened to be standing next to him. All she could see was his broad back and the skin of his neck above his jacket collar. His head was missing its usual ball cap, showing off his short dark hair that looked like he’d just run his fingers through it. It may have been eleven months, but Delilah remembered how soft it had been as she’d tangled her fingers in the strands, their mouths colliding—

Stop thinking about it.

Delilah did her best, but it was hard when every other kiss she’d experienced before Anthony had been mediocre. Just because Anthony Russo couldn’t appreciate her plus-size shape didn’t mean other men hadn’t considered her the perfect leading lady. Unfortunately, none of them had lived up to her sexual fantasies, and they didn’t make it past the first encounter. Delilah had made a vow after her last few sweet but unimpressive sexual partners: If she was going to up her body count, they’d better know how to make her skin burn with the lightest of touches.

“Delilah!”

She swung around at the sound of her name and saw Merry Griffin waving at her from the edge of the café. Delilah waved back, and Merry got up, leaving her stuff at the table to cross the café toward her.