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He smiles. “Bullshit.”
“What—”
“That was Joey Russo helping the Culvers attach a tree to the roof of their car, wasn’t it?”
Damn. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Mark gives the saw a little swing. “And you used to date him, right?”
“For a few months, junior year.”
He shakes his head. “I could have saved you the trouble. That’s not the ex who you missed out on keeping around.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he comes into the restaurant once a month and insists on slathering my ribeye with ketchup,” Mark snaps, moving toward the base of the downed tree and motioning for me to move toward the top.
I do as instructed. “Okay, so he doesn’t have great taste in food. But—”
Mark gives me a look as though to say this should be good.
I try to think of a defense for Joey, but I don’t really have one. Not only is Mark prickly about anyone “adjusting” his dishes with anything more than basic salt and pepper preferences, but he’s got a point. The steak at his restaurant is perfect as is, with delicious butter flavored with delicate herbs and just the right amount of red pepper flakes. Ketchup would ruin it.
He picks up the base of the trunk, and I reach down, fiddling with the branches until I can find a spot on the trunk that’s sturdy enough so I won’t risk snapping the top.
Together we hoist the tree to carrying position, and Mark whistles for the dog, who comes bounding through the bushes.
I groan when I see Rigby. His holiday sweater is now totally covered in brown mud. “Oh, baby. You’re a mess.”
“Sort of like his mom.”
I glare at Mark as I begin to walk backward. “If you knew I was here to see Joey, why’d you let me get all dirty?” I grumble.
Mark’s grin is all the answer I need.
He’d made me get dirty because I’d be seeing Joey Russo.
Saboteur!
“Oh well,” I say, keeping my voice deliberately light and breezy. “A little mud won’t matter much if I can get him into the gift shop.”
Mark gives me a sharp look. “Why’s that?”
“Didn’t you see it when we passed?” I ask innocently. “Big old piece of mistletoe right over the door. Couldn’t be more perfect for my mistletoe test.”
Mark’s grin vanishes completely, although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why that pleases me so much.
December 17, Sunday Afternoon
So, Joey doesn’t even recognize me.
I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not. I mean, I wasn’t the hottest girl in high school, but I wasn’t a complete train wreck either.
So either I’ve improved so much since then that he was like, “Damn, who’s this babe talking to me?” or I’ve deteriorated so much that he’s like, “Why’s this hag wasting my time?”
But here’s the kicker: I live in a small town, remember? It’s not like Joey and I have stayed besties or anything, but I just saw him a few months ago at his uncle’s retirement party.
And we talked.
