Page 5 of Mistletoe Kisses

3

Cassidy

Oh, I’m asking for trouble here.

Instead of avoiding the cause of all my heartache, I’ve made a deal with him. What can I say, something about seeing such a cheerful man looking like he’s standing on the edge of a skyscraper makes it easier to ignore the warning bells.

They’re ringing even now, louder than hell. Mylo is right at my side, shoving his food around with his fork. Almost like a kid who is dreading to eat his vegetables. My mother’s cooking is not one to turn down.

“As soon as I saw her, I felt it right in the pit of my stomach. She had to be mine.” My father happily shoves a cubed piece of meat into his mouth as he recalls his trip to the tree farm. He’s being way too serious about this tree thing.

Then again, my parents have always been a bit over the top when it comes to Christmas. Sure, we’ll have some turkey during Thanksgiving and watch some football, or we’ll drink and enjoywatching the ball drop for New Year’s, but nothing comes close to how much effort they put in once St Nick is involved.

My mother clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Ten feet, though? Henry, didn’t you learn your lesson from last year? Who knows if it’ll even fit.”

I want to ask about what happened, just so I can understand the conversation a little more. Hell, I want to ask about the year before that too while I’m at it.

I can’t stop coming across reminders.

There’s a small bump to my foot. One sock brushing against another. Mylo sinks his fork into a chunk of broccoli. His foot doesn’t move, silently resting against mine. Like a whispered reminder that I’m not meant to be beating myself up.

My heartbeat spikes for a minute, my toes curling against the carpet. I don’t move my foot, not even after a few minutes. Even though I should, I don’t. Call me greedy, or even foolish. I’ll take the flutters in my stomach over the heavy lump resting solidly in it.

“They’ll be here in a couple of days to deliver it,” my father continues, reassuring my mother with one of his charming smiles. “You’ll help decorate, won’t you, Cas?”

I lift my gaze, momentarily forgetting about what is happening beneath the table.

Funny enough, after the first year on my own, I don’t think I bothered decorating my apartment. Didn’t have time, not with how much time I spent at work. There’s a tingle of excitement at the thought of dressing this place up like I used to.

“Absolutely.” Agreeing with a little too much enthusiasm, my skin grows warm when I catch Mylo smirking. He tries to hide it by taking a bite but fails miserably.

For a short moment, I see the man who held my heart in a tight grip during my teenage years. The one that would teaseand make fun of me for the silliest of things. Before, he’d make butterflies flutter around in my stomach because of my crush.

Now that I’m grown, his smirk isn’t causing a light fluttering feeling. No, it’s more than that now. The tingles are past my stomach, teasing the space between my thighs. I don’t want to acknowledge the heat that’s starting to grow, like a match igniting after only one strike.

Doesn’t help that every time I glance over his way to see if he’s still amused, his gaze captures mine. I’m always the first to look away too, making the heat deep inside grow hotter.

I’ve always been a coward, that much hasn’t changed.

Yet, I want to keep getting caught. I don’t want to give up and run away from these old feelings. Deep down, I want to chase after them.

Oh boy. While my brain and heart get into an argument over where my eyes should be, the hunger residing in my stomach helps keep most of my focus on my plate. With such a delicious meal needing to be finished, I shove another forkful into my mouth while my mother starts to enthuse about baking cookies for the neighbors.

I’m pretty sure she still has gingerbread houses to assemble. Her plate is full enough as it is. Will she ask for my help in the kitchen as well? I hope not. Sadly, I never got any skills from her.

If she bakes the usual insane amount, I’m sure my father or Mylo can offer their assistance. They won’t risk burning any kitchens down.

Once dinner is wrapped up, the exhaustion of traveling hits me hard. I’m ready to dig out my thickest sleepwear, curl into a ball beneath a blanket, and sleep.

Mylo catches me in the hallway upstairs before I can slip away. He takes me by the elbow, his touch shooting a tingle up my arm. Even worse, he leans in to save my parents from hearing his words.

“Swap rooms with me.” His eyes flick in the direction of my old room and his mouth twists. “Doesn’t feel right staying in there. Not when you’re going to be moving your stuff back inside. Assuming that’s the plan.”

That technicallyisthe plan, but I need to talk to my parents about it first. I don’t want to make things obvious by moving an item in at a time.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, my focus more on his fingers as his touch remains. “I don’t mind, really.”

He gives me this look, staring at me long enough to make me squirm. He wasn’t exactly asking, was he?