Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me off my feet and spinning me onto the sidewalk. I squeal and thrash about until Tom’s voice whispers against my ear.
“If anyone is going to be kissing you tonight, tomorrow, or any other night for the foreseeable future, it’s going to be me. Me. No one else.” His breath warms my ear and cheek. He sets me down, turning me to face him.
Before I can ask him what the hell is going on, his lips crash onto mine. His mouth is demanding, claiming. I can’t breathe, but I don’t dare stop kissing him. Not that I have a choice. Oxygen is overrated.
My body responds to him. I press myself closer, wishing I didn’t have this puffy jacket creating a down version of bubble-wrap between us. My hands go to his face, anchoring him to me. His arms wrap around my waist.
“Well, that mistletoe seems to be working.” An older woman’s voice breaks through the sound of my blood pumping in my ears. I break away from Tom’s mouth. I can feel the heat from his beard on my cheeks and chin. I look up to see we’re standing underneath a ball of mistletoe.
“That was one helluva kiss you two. I’d say get a room, but you’re already living together.” Erik’s sporting a smug smile. I forgot he was sitting here. Diane’s studying the greenery above the chocolate shop next door, avoiding our make-out session.
Tom’s arms are still around my waist. We’re blocking the entire sidewalk and the door to the bar.
“Was it the mistletoe or did you miss me?” I try to pull away, but he tightens his hold.
“I missed you.” He gives me a peck on the mouth. “Missed you.” He kisses me softly. “So much.”
I arch back so I can see him. “And?”
He slowly blinks at me. It’s his innocent look. For when he’s up to no good or has done something he thinks will piss me off.
With a slow exhale, he releases me, but grabs my hand in his. “Kelso looked like he was going in for the kill with you standing under the mistletoe. I couldn’t let that happen.” He glowers at Kelso, who gives him a wolfish grin.
Part of me wants to be mad. I don’t need a man getting all territorial over me like a dog toy. On the other hand, when Tom gets jealous, he gets this look on his face that I find ridiculously hot. Like he’s about to drag me back to his cave. I’ll never admit to him that I like it. Or how much it turns me on. Never. He’s ego is big enough already.
“Tom …” I try to pull my hand back.
“Hailey …” He pulls me closer. I try to resist. I do. I step back and dig in my heels. He’s stronger than me and when I give in, I fall into his arms. “I can’t help it. I don’t trust those Kelsos.” He leans down to kiss me, but I sense him eyeing Erik behind me.
A group of a dozen carolers surround us, singing enthusiastically and very loudly, forcing us to move out of their way.
“Here We Come a-wassailing,
among the leaves so green.
Here we come a-wandering,
so fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to you,
and to your wassail, too…”
Diane shelters herself in the doorway of the shop next door. Only the ball on her knit hat is visible. I can barely make out the top of John’s dark head in The Dog House’s doorway. Erik on his stool, Tom, and I make up a strange audience trio.
Tom backs us up so we have the window behind us. Our legs hit the bench below it and we sit down. Might as well. There’s no escaping the hoard of singers.
My eyes meet his and we widen them in a silent conversation.
He leans toward me and whispers in my ear, “What’s a wassail?”
Without turning my head, and with a forced smile on my face, I whisper back, “I have no idea, but it’s both a noun and a verb.”
Thankfully, the song comes to an end. Sadly, we never learn the definition of wassail.
We clap and smile, and clap some more. Amongst the brightly dressed revelers, I spot Sally in a Christmas sweater with Rudolph and his red nose blinking on her chest. Next to her is Sandy, in an equally bright holiday sweater, covered in three-dimensional, sparkly tinsel. Both are outdone by Connie’s sweater. Her chest is covered with a puffy Christmas tree, complete with ornaments hanging off of it and strings of lights, which are also blinking. Combined, the blinking and sparkling could give someone a seizure. What’s a word for beyond tacky?
“Happy Holidays!” they shout at us in over-zealous merriment. I grip Tom’s hand. Honestly, I’m a little afraid right now.
Tom flinches beside me.
We wish them the same. John squeezes past Erik to join us.
“Oh, John. We didn’t see you there. Where is that lovely wife of yours?” Connie cranes her neck to look around him, as if he’s shielding Diane behind him. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
“Oh, look John, you’re under the mistletoe.” Sally purrs, slinking toward him.
You’ve never seen a man move so fast. I nearly choke on my laugh.
“Hailey.” Erik points above my head. Damn mistletoe is everywhere. I give Tom a quick peck. He isn’t expecting it. I get mostly cheek and beard.
“Where is Diane?” John scans the crowd.
“She’s over there.” I point to the empty doorway. “Or she was.”
A few seconds later, Diane appears with a waffle cone in her gloved hand. It looks to be a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream.
With a sheepish smile, she greets us. “I got hungry waiting for the singing to finish. I wasn’t sure how long it was going to last. And John promised me a cookie earlier, so I had sweets on my mind.” She licks the cone and closes her eyes in pleasure. Opening them again, she asks, “Anyone want some?”
We all decline.
“We wanted to let you know we started a pool on the baby at the bank,” Connie chirps with delight. “People have to guess the date, time and the sex, since you won’t tell us.”
“We have another one going at the grocery store.” Sandy adds. “A dollar a guess. We’re up to thirty-five dollars so far, and it’s only been up this week.”
John grumbles and walks over to Diane. “You’re betting on my baby?”
Diane’s hand on his arm stops his grumbling. “Oh, that’s sweet. Please don’t feel hurt, but we’re not telling anyone the sex because we don’t know it.”
“And I think it’s actually called gender now.” John’s voice is calm like he’s talking to young children.
The three women murmur and smile at him in return. There’s a flurry of oohs and aahs when Diane pats her belly.
It’s a little disturbing. I wonder if she feels like a prized heifer these days. I wonder if I’ll feel like a cow when I’m pregnant.
If.
I mean I’m not planning to get pregnant right now. I wasn’t like Lori growing up–always counting the number of kids I’d have.
If.
Tom and I haven’t even been dating that long. Yes, we’re living together. Yes, I love him. But we’re not ready for kids. Not like Diane. She was ready the second she and John got married. Maybe even before then.
Although, little Toms running around would be really cute. Floppy blond hair and his dimples in a pint size person? Adorable.
But that’s a long way off. Like marriage. We haven’t even talked about getting married. I mean I’m not opposed to it, but he’s just getting used to having a serious, adult relationship and a girlfriend.
There’s no rush.
If, not when. I’m barely thirty. We have plenty of time for us before we start thinking about kids.
Tom squeezes my fingers. I glance up at him. His eyes hold so much love for me. Reflecting the Christmas lights all around us, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever known. Growing up, he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen. I never believed he could be mine.
Okay, maybe when we have kids.
For now we’ll have the puppy. That’s a good place to start our little family.
The carolers finally move down to the next group of shops, leaving the four of us on the sidewalk. Erik’s disappeared, too.
“Shall we stroll?” Diane breaks off a piece of the cone.
John leans over and steals a big bite of her ice cream.
“Hey!” She moves it away from his mouth. “No stealing from the pregnant girl.”
“Let’s mosey.” Tom holds out his arm for me to take. It’s an old fashioned romantic gesture. Totally unexpected from him and completely sweet. I tuck my arm with his and he holds my hand.
John and Diane lead the way down First Street. Diane finishes off the ice cream in record time and starts talking about finding mulled cider. We step into the street to avoid the crowd trapped by a boisterous rendition of “Up on the Housetop,” complete with noisemakers and sound effects.
“Diane!” A woman with shoulder-length blondish red hair calls out from the other side of the carolers. She’s wearing a giant plaid scarf the size of a blanket.
“John!” Now she’s walking toward us. A really handsome older guy with salty-gray-brown hair follows her. He has the whole hot professor look going for him in a blazer and jeans.