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That was a good question. “I think we’ll need two chairs,” Nic said.
He was already off, breezing past Charity, who had stopped below the very first light and was still holding the chair above ground. Finally, she set the chair down and watched as he retrieved a second chair.
“I don’t—” she started.
“Trust me,” he interrupted.
And then he gave her a wink. An actual wink. Was that flirtatious? It felt flirtatious. It felt like something he would have done when they were friends too, though. Before things got so complicated between them.
“I’ll help you up.” Nic held out a hand and Charity eyed it for a long moment before reaching out and slipping her hand into his.
She was shocked at how natural it felt. It was a feeling similar to the one that overwhelmed her when she settled into her big, cushy recliner at the end of the day. It felt comfortable. Safe. Right.
But she couldn’t just stand there, holding his hand. Francine was watching, and no telling who else. The library was mostly empty, but there were a few people milling around here and there. The last thing she needed was word getting out around town that they were dating again. Then everyone would just feel sorry for her when he returned to Lexington.
Charity climbed up on the chair, but Nic didn’t let go of her hand right away. When she looked down at him, it was clear he was trying to make sure she was stable. It had nothing to do with him having a hard time pulling away from her. She had to keep telling herself that or she might forget it.
Nic seemed to have no problem climbing up on the other chair. He didn’t even need help. Once he was settled into place, he reached over and grabbed the ribbon from Francine, who stood nearby with her trusty pair of scissors.
“We need a weight,” he said.
“You could weigh it down with the mistletoe,” Francine suggested.
But Nic was shaking his head before she got to the end of that sentence. “No. Something we won’t damage. This is going to be tossed over that light. Maybe some safety pins?”
When his gaze lowered and landed on Charity, it hit home just how close they were to each other. Too close. And it was ridiculous. She was thinking about kissing him again.
Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous, though. This was where mistletoe was going to hang, after all. This would be the kissing spot for the next few weeks.
“I’ve got it!” Francine said. “Be right back.”
The sudden outburst threatened to tip Charity to the left a little. Somehow, she righted herself before she fell and made a complete fool of herself.
“Buttons,” Francine said with a big smile. “And they’re just the right size.”
She was so proud of herself, they had to make it work. But she was right. They were small square buttons with messages on them about reading. Nic and Charity read each one before Nic pinned it to the ribbon—four of them, all in a row.
“I think that’s probably enough,” Nic said. “We don’t want it to get stuck. Do you want to toss it, or do you want me to do it?”
“I’ll let you do the honors,” she said. “I think you know how I am at throwing things.”
A smile broke out on his face. He was remembering the many times she’d tossed something to him and fallen way short. But how did he know she hadn’t improved in that area over the years? Maybe she’d perfected her baseball pitch.
“You know what? I don’t need this chair.”
With that, Nic stepped down from the chair and slid it aside. Then he stared up at the light, moved around a little, and finally aimed and tossed.
It took seven tries, but he managed to get the ribbon to pass through the light and flop down toward Charity. By then, they’d attracted a small crowd. Everyone who’d entered while they were working on this had gathered behind Francine, and they’d drawn the attention of the few people wandering around.
“Perfect!” Francine said. “Let me go get the mistletoe. Who wants to be the first kiss?”
Charity was still standing on her chair, but she felt like she was on display. Especially in light of Francine’s words. She had to stand there, though, and wait for the mistletoe so she could attach it to the ribbon. Which meant shewason display.
“I don’t see any couples here,” Charlotte Edmonds, who stood there alone, said. “Except maybe the two of you.”
“Here it is!”
Francine’s voice saved Charity from responding. She rushed toward them, a bushel of mistletoe in her hand. With all the matchmaking over the summer, nobody would blame Charity for wondering if Charlotte and Francine were up to something. But she was just being paranoid. Mistletoe was a natural matchmaker. It didn’t need help from Misty Mountain busybodies.
