Page 42 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“I can’t be insightful if I don’t know who she is.”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. She came over, we ate, reminisced, had sex, and when I asked her to stay, she left to take care of her dog.”

“That sounds like a legitimate reason. Did she ghost you?”

“She sent a good-night text when she got home.”

“Then what are you tripping out about? Have you tried contacting her today?” Holly asked.

“No, but it’s early. We made plans for this evening.”

“Sam, this is all normal dating behavior.” She set her coffee aside, using her hands like she was lining up the series of events across the counter. “You hooked up, she had to go, but she texted you, and you made plans. What are you stressing out about?”

“I just . . . I wanted her to stay.”

“Welcome to the world of We Don’t Always Get What We Want.”

“I know all about that world, which is why I moved back here,” Sam snapped.

Holly balked and came around the counter, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I forgot about the shop you wanted to open.”

“It’s fine. I just . . . Most of the women I’ve been with would have been down to go again.”

“It sounds like she had responsibilities and was behaving like a grown-ass adult.”

Sam scowled at her. “So, you’re saying that I am overreacting?”

“Without knowing her identity, my best guess is yes.”

“Did you mean to rhyme just then?”

Holly grinned. “I did not, but it sounded good, right?”

He chuckled, relaxing for the first time since Wren walked out the door last night. “Yeah, it sounded great.”

“Now, make sure you wait until three hours before your date to confirm. You don’t want her to know you were feeling insecure.” Holly patted his cheek. “Imagine the damage to your reputation.”

“Oh, I think that ship has sailed. I was lucky we have history, or Wr—I mean, my friend wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

“Oh, I almost caught you slipping.” Holly rubbed her hands together. “And her name starts with R . . . Let me see . . . Renee.”

“No.”

“Rachel?” Holly asked.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Sam said, abandoning his coffee as she followed behind him.

“Ricki?”

“Not going to acknowledge that.” Sam shut the door, muffling her last gleeful guess, and shook his head.

“Hey, Sam,” she called through the door.

“Yeah?”

“I hope she’s the right girl for you. Whether you believe it or not, you’re an amazing guy who deserves someone special.”

A lump seized in his throat, and he cleared the emotional ball with a cough. “Thanks, Hol. Now go away. I want to pee without you hovering and listening outside the door.”