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Ten
“That’s new.” Stefanie let out an uncomfortable laugh when she spotted what was hanging over the entrance of the B and B.
“What’s new?” Emmett asked as he turned into the driveway.
“Mistletoe. Yikes.”
“Thought you loved Christmas. Isn’t mistletoe a holiday staple?”
“No.”She had firm feelings about it and none of them were positive.
“No?” His tone was bemused. He parked, but let the engine idle, turning to face her in the dark cab of the SUV. “You’re a romantic who loves Christmas and you don’t put stock in the tradition of kissing beneath the mistletoe?”
“Well...neither do you, Scrooge. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that it makes sense for me because I hate Christmas, but you... It makes no sense.”
They had a narrow-eyed standoff. “O Holy Night” played quietly on the radio alongside the gentle blow of heat from the vents.
“I told you my story. Tell me yours.”
He had her there. On a sigh, she began the sordid tale.
“I was at a Christmas party with my parents when I was thirteen. This kid in my class—a piggish oaf named Reggie Meeks—grabbed me and kissed me underneath the mistletoe. Then he bragged to his stupid friends that I made out with him. Like, hot and heavy made out. Meanwhile, I ran into the nearest bathroom and swished with mouthwash until my teeth hurt.”
Emmett chuckled.
“It’s not funny!”
“You’re right.” He sobered some but his lips quirked as if he was hiding a smile. “He has an unfortunate name and it’s not his fault.”
She balled up her fist and punched Emmett’s arm, which was like hitting a steel beam. She shook her hand out and frowned.
“I’m kidding.” He took her hand and rubbed her knuckles, his palm warm and his eyes warmer. “It’s not funny that a kid bullied you into a kiss. But holding a grudge against an innocent plant is criminal. You didn’t make any new memories under the mistletoe after that?”
“Nope. One kiss from Reggie and I was scarred for life.” She shuddered and this time Emmett’s soft laughter didn’t rankle her. “Thank you. For coming with me to the dinner. I could tell you didn’t want to be there. I’m sure there was enough Christmas cheer in there to make you want to hide in a cave.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” He let go of her hand and watched out the windshield, the attractive planes of his face highlighted in the dashboard lights.
He’d been through hell on Christmas Day, and he’d sworn off the happiest holiday because of it. He of all people should understand her grudge against kissing under mistletoe.
How about that? They had something in common.
Outside, the cold wind bit through her clothes and chilled her skin. Emmett walked beside her, head down, hands in his pockets.
“The big moment is fast approaching.” He stopped at the bottom of three steps leading to the door. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Positive. I don’t like being bullied. By Reggie Meeks or Blake Eastwood. I refuse to let Blake push me around like...” She trailed off, considering she might be doing the same to Emmett. Meeting his dark stare, she proceeded carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this? Are you feeling pressured? I’d never want to put you in a position—”
He cut off her words with a kiss before she knew what had hit her. His arm lashed against her lower back, he hauled her against the hard wall of his body and laid his lips on hers. The touch of his mouth to hers ignited sparks between them and suddenly the cold air didn’t feel so cold.
Her gloveless fingers curled into the lapels of his coat and she dragged him closer, the scrape of the scruff on his chin chafing her sensitive skin. He finished the kiss with one brief stroke of his tongue before reverently kissing her top lip, then her bottom lip. He held her close as she inhaled a ragged breath and blew it out on a puff of steam. He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for her reaction, but she couldn’t muster up one save clinging to him like garland around a Christmas tree.
His eyes turned up and hers followed, to the mistletoe dangling overhead. When their gazes met again, he said, “Time for both of us to make better Christmas memories.”
“Oh my heavens! I knew that mistletoe was a bad idea.” Margaret stood at the B and B’s front door, having flung it open. Their hostess’s eyes danced merrily. “I’m teasing. If I were getting married at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Day I’d feel romantic, too.”
Stef slipped away from him, sending him a flirty little smile before wrapping her arm in Margaret’s. They walked inside, Stef and Margaret chattering about the ceremony, Emmett hanging back. Margaret’s son, the officiant of the wedding, stood in the foyer eating a piece of pie. He put his fork down to shake Emmett’s hand.
