Page 13 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“I’ve never seen the show, but I’m not sure I agree. If you’ve got chemistry, that should always be explored.”

“Not if the chemistry is just going to fizzle out and destroy what you have.”

Mitch scoffed. “How do you know if you don’t try?”

“Trust me, man. I can tell when something isn’t meant to be.” Of course, Wren’s face sprang to mind, and he kicked himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. What happened nineteen years ago was ancient history and had no bearing on his life today. And yet the minute he’d seen her, Sam couldn’t help following her outside just to see . . .

If what? That overwhelming need for each other still exists? Safe to say that it doesn’t, especially after her reaction to my snark.

He hadn’t meant to come off like such a dick, but come on! Wren acted like Sam was the one who gave her up, when actually she’d told him to go. She’d said they didn’t have a future because she’d wanted to stay in Mistletoe and he’d wanted to find a fresh start for them both. Only she hadn’t stayed. After graduation, she’d left for another state, and he’d never heard from her again. What else was he supposed to think except that she’d always wanted her freedom from him, her father, and this town, but she hadn’t had the guts to tell him?

The fact that she’d come back after all these years was insane to him, but he should have just let her go instead of trying to engage with her outside the Den. Maybe if he had, there wouldn’t be a knot of irritation and regret twisting him up on this gloomy Monday afternoon.

“Are you about done?” Mitch asked tightly, breaking Sam out of his melancholy.

“Yeah, I’ve just got this small section left.”

“Thank God. When you’re finished, go get a Snickers or something. You better hope I don’t remember this experience the next time you want something inked.”

Sam bit back a laugh as he finished up the skull and blue flames Mitch wanted in honor of his dad. He’d passed away a month ago, and Mitch had chosen his motorcycle club’s symbol as his latest tattoo. Sam and Clark’s dad was enjoying life in Florida, away from his sons, while he and his wife sipped drinks on the beach and forgot they ever had children. He’d never inspire the kind of sentimental honor Mitch’s dad did.

“You’re probably right. I need a candy bar to stop being so stressed and frustrated. Chocolate fixes all.”

“According to my sister, it does,” Mitch said.

Sam turned off his tool and started cleaning up. “You’re finished.”

“In all seriousness, Griffin, maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf.”

Sam glanced up from his task, frowning. “In what sense?”

“With women? Show them you’ve changed and are looking for something more.” Mitch frowned. “That is what you want, right? That’s why you’re upset? You’re finally looking to get serious, and no woman will touch you with a ten-foot pole?”

“That’s not what I said.” Although it was exactly what he’d been worried about.

“Then why does it bother you?” Mitch asked, climbing off the stool and stretching. “There are plenty of women who won’t care about your reputation and will let you tear their clothes off.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to explain it, and that got him really thinking about Mitch’s suggestion. Was Sam ready for something more than just a short-term arrangement?

Sam grabbed the plastic to cover Mitch’s tattoo, securing it in place. “All set.”

Mitch slipped his flannel over his arms, watching Sam. “Just so we’re clear, you’re not interested in the lovely Officer Wren Little, right?”

The question sucked the air out of Sam’s lungs for a moment, leaving him breathless. His first reaction was to tell Mitch Hell yes, because they had history and even if there wasn’t going to be a repeat between them, he didn’t want his friend going after his ex.

But that would require a whole conversation about their past, which was something he wasn’t itching to talk about.

“No, of course not. Go nuts,” Sam mumbled.

“I plan to.” Mitch chuckled, working on the buttons of his shirt. “Dad would have loved this. Thanks for squeezing me in.”

Sam almost laughed. Usually, Mitch and Sam would be too busy to tattoo each other except on rare occasions, but a Monday before a major holiday was slow. They hadn’t had a call in hours, and both their shifts were nearly over when the owner, Astrid, and her husband, Sven, came in. Although the sound of their names automatically made Sam think of Vikings, he knew they’d both grown up here. They were just blessed to have been christened with those names.

“I’m gonna step out to get some air, if you’re good here?” Sam posed it as a mix between question and statement, knowing that he was going to take a walk whether Mitch agreed or not. He needed to clear his head.

“Sounds good.” Mitch patted him on the back. “I appreciate you, even if you did borderline assault me today.”

“Assault my ass, drama queen.”