“Please, call me MJ. So lovely meeting you.”
He gives us a polite nod before shutting the door and jogging off toward where the other two men are waiting.
I buckle my seat belt and pull my purse onto my lap. “I should call the kids and let them know.” I dig around my bag for a moment, and that’s when I remember. “Shit. I left my phone inside. I should go back for it.”
“Oh, Myra Jean,” Rose says with an exasperated sigh. “Leave it. I’m not dying. You can tell them in the morning.”
“Right, sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re right.”
I ease out of the driveway, careful not to jostle Rose around too much.
“I’m so sorry. Are you in a lot of pain?” I ask, just as my tire hits a small pothole.
She winces. “It’s okay. It was worth it to see you lose your shit a little.”
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Things didn’t go according to plan, but I think it went well,” I say with a grin. “All things considered.”
Rose snorts. “I wouldn’t go quite that far. You’ll still be in the doghouse when Lindsey finds out you invited him to dinner.”
“Hold on a minute. What happened towe?”
“Weleft the moment you willed the universe to knock me on my behind.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m sure once Lindsey realizeswhyI took such extreme measures, she’ll understand.”
She’ll be so smitten with Oliver that this will be but a minor indiscretion…right?
7
LINDSEY
June Bug watcheswith wild eyes as I fluff the limbs of my trusty pre-lit artificial Christmas tree in the corner of my living room Tuesday night. The scent of cinnamon and mulled wine wafts from the flickering candle on top of the refinished bookcase beside the tree, making my entire house smell like the holidays.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, nudging a stuffed Lamb Chop closer to the pup with my sock-covered foot. Temporarily distracted, she saunters away with her kill wedged between her teeth.
The fire I’d started crackles, casting a soft glow over the room. With June Bug preoccupied, I take the opportunity to open the screen and throw a couple of logs on the fire.
Though the daytime temps are lingering in the upper fifties, at night, it drops to nearly freezing. The colder weather makes my bones feel as fragile as the holly-covered china my mother breaks out for Christmas every year.
I shift the wood with the poker as my phone rings from the coffee table, so I close the screen and return the tool to the rack before grabbing it.
I smile when I see my sister’s name. “Hey.”
“So, Mom’s really not going to Mistletoe Fest with us next weekend,” Lucy says.
“I take it Ellie called you?” I ask. “I’m not surprised. After the way Thanksgiving went, I figured the festival was out of the question.”
My sister heaves a sigh into the phone. “I guess I was holding out hope she’d change her mind.”
“I know,” I say, cradling the phone to my ear as I shuffle to the kitchen to pour myself some spiced cider. “But we’re still going to have fun because we’ll make it fun for Noah and Emily.”
“I guess,” she pouts.” Anyway, what are you doing?”
I pull down a glass from the cabinet beside the fridge, where I spot my cat hiding beside the insulated bag I use to carry my lunch. “Putting up the tree.”
“With the furry hell-raiser there? That’s brave.”
