Page 7 of Christmas of Love

They had a nasty habit of pairing people up around town.

That club was always up to some sort of shenanigans, but once Daisy arrived in Madison, there wasn’t a peep from anyone back at Buttercup Lake, and I realized they just wanted Daisy to take this job.

It didn’t help that Brielle had just broken up with me for the millionth time but kept appearing at the bar to flirt with any man who looked at her.

I think she did it to make me jealous, but I realized it was a bad sign when it did the complete opposite, and I silently prayed for someone to sweep her off her feet.

Meanwhile, I stayed my distance from Daisy so Brielle wouldn’t come unglued and cause a scene at the one place that brought me peace.

But the truth was that every single thought I had manifested Daisy.

Just like tonight.

I tried to ignore the similarities between myself and the giant green creature stomping around Whoville on my television.

Because I’d always loved Christmas.

Until recently.

Now, with all my brothers and cousins matched off, it had become a big reminder that I sucked at relationships as I sat alone in my vacation home, drinking rancid beer and wishing for a life that wasn’t mine.

Even with Brielle. I knew we weren’t a match, but so many people were against her that I thought I had to give her a shot… and another shot. I knew she wasn’t exactly faithful, but I guess I didn’t care enough to… care?

I let out a deep groan and smoothed my hands over my face to make it all disappear.

The drama of Brielle was enough to cure me of all relationships—past, present, and future.

And I didn’t know what to make of having Daisy shoved onto me when I showed up at the community center.

It seemed suspicious, but I highly doubted Daisy was in on it.

My phone buzzed, and I saw my brother asking about the beer.

Shoot.

I tapped my finger on my knee and wondered what to say.

A little pucker never hurt anybody.

No. That wasn’t right. Maybe…

It left a lingering effect on me.

No. I had to tell him the truth.

Possibly a little too much ginger? I’m unsure if it was just my bottle, but it seemed a little tart. Great effort, though.

I hit send and felt good about being honest while softening the delivery.

Maybe I didn’t always have to be so direct.

His message came right over.

So, I have a shot of getting in your bar?

Well, so much for being less direct. I sighed, rubbed my eyes from exhaustion, and chuckled, picking up the phone again.

Just keep working on it, buddy. You’ll get there.