Sweet Yuletide, page 9
“When my siblings come after me, I dish back without a second thought.”
“Wait.” She remembered what he’d told her earlier. “You said you were a sweetie.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “With the pretty ladies. My sisters don’t count.”
Did he consider her pretty? Sheridan’s pulse spurted, and she stood taller. Until she thought about the context, and then she realized he hadn’t meant her but ladies in general.
No biggie.
But it told her one thing. Time to call him out. “You talk tough, but I see right through your façade. Your sisters have you wrapped around their little finger as much as Monroe does.”
Michael laughed, the deep sound circling Sheridan like her favorite wool scarf. “Okay, you got me. I’m not that tough with them. Some might say I’m a wimp. But with Mason, I don’t let up and go at it with him.”
The love in his voice for his siblings intensified the loneliness in Sheridan’s heart. She had no way to change being an only child, but she would get to know Max’s daughters better if she remained in Berry Lake.
She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. I need to cook dinner. Do you want a chicken breast?”
Michael straightened. “Do you have extras?”
No, but she would buy more when she went to the market for the cookie ingredients. “Yes.”
“I’d love one.” He glanced at his stash of food. “If you want any ramen…”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She removed the skillet from the cabinet, turned the dial to medium-high heat, and touched the button for the fan. The chicken wasn’t quite at room temperature, but it was close enough. She seasoned the two pieces with salt and pepper before adding olive oil to the pan. “Four minutes on each side, and it’ll be done.”
“I’ll get my ramen going.” Once again, he took up most of the space, removing a saucepan from the cabinet.
She kept an eye on the chicken. “Tell me if I’m in your way.”
“You’re not.” He set to work as if this were an Iron Chef competition, not just water heating. His serious expression amused her. He kept surprising her in good ways.
Not being his type was a blessing in disguise because she had a little crush on him. That explained why she reacted to him the way she did. She hadn’t crushed on anyone in years, but it made sense because he’d helped her rediscover her Christmas spirit.
And if she was suddenly obsessed with the mistletoe hanging a few feet away from them, it didn’t matter. They were roommates. They might end up as friends by the time she left Indigo Bay. But like ramen, kisses weren’t on the menu.
Mistletoe or not.
* * *
The next day, Sheridan strolled along Main Street. She’d set off on her own because Michael had a few calls to make—most likely more interviews or his family—but she’d wanted to give him space, so she agreed to meet him later to buy the craft materials for their ornaments.
Not that she’d seen anything that would work other than Christmas-themed tissue paper, but he might be able to suggest other places to go.
She yawned, fighting the tiredness from a near-sleepless night. When she did sleep, a Christmas tree singing a love ballad with a sprig of mistletoe played a starring role in her dream. So had Michael.
The sign for the Chocolate Emporium beckoned. Chocolate contained caffeine, which would help her wake up. At least in theory. But she’d probably just get a sugar rush only to crash later and have the calories go straight to her hips.
“Sheridan,” Michael called out.
She turned toward his voice.
Michael strode her way at a fast clip. He wore another baseball cap and had exchanged his hoodie for a sweater. He’d worn similar outfits before, but she kept staring at him.
He smiled. “I don’t have your cell phone number, so I’m glad I found you.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you find any ornament stuff?”
“One possibility, but I wanted to see what else was out there before deciding.”
“Coastal Creations has a class to paint ornaments.”
The cost concerned her. Indigo Bay wasn’t a cheap tourist trap, but a charming, small town that appealed to permanent residents and visitors. But if she mentioned money, Michael might offer to pay for her. She didn’t want that to happen. “I’d rather make them ourselves. Isn’t that your family tradition?”
“It is.”
“Then, let’s stick with the original plan.”
“Okay, but do you mind a detour first?”
“Is there something you want to get?”
“I want to show you something.” He led her down the block, opened a door, and motioned her inside.
She found herself surrounded by art. The lighting, the music, the smells… It was like coming home. Funny how she hadn’t noticed this store when she was on Main Street yesterday. “What is this place?”
“Welcome to High Tide Gallery.” A woman greeted them warmly. Her shoulder-length brown hair had a few silver strands mixed in. “I’m Melanie Bowers.”
“I’m Sheridan DeMarco.”
“Michael Patterson,” he said.
“Patterson,” Melanie repeated before tucking strands behind an ear. “Are you Marley’s brother?”
“I am.”
Melanie’s smile widened. “I haven’t worked here long, but my fiancé, Penn, and I are friends with Von and Hope Ryan. They introduced us to your sister.”
“Do you have any of Hope’s work on display?” Sheridan asked, eager to see more of Hope’s paintings.
“We do. Follow me.” Melanie headed toward the back, passing by sculptures and other vignettes by artists. “We hope to get more of her works after she returns from her vacation.”
Those must be the pieces Hope wanted Sheridan to catalog. She was halfway through them. She’d finished more this morning when sleep eluded her.
“She’s a star on the rise.” Sheridan did a double take at a large painting on the back wall Air rushed from her lungs. Her hand covered her heart. “Is that…”
“It’s one of Hope’s more recent works, and I love that she featured a sunset.” Melanie motioned to the sold sticker. “It sold immediately, but the owners live in Nashville and aren’t ready to take possession. We’re happy to hold on to it since most people have a similar reaction to yours.”
Sheridan could imagine. “I’ve never seen her use the purple and yellow hues in this way. The result is stunning.”
“It is.” Michael came forward to stand next to her. “I thought she was good, but this is beyond amazing.”
“Sometimes Hope hides things in the paintings.” Sheridan leaned forward. “Look closely, so you miss nothing.”
“You’re familiar with her work,” Melanie said.
“I’ve seen a few of the pieces she’s done in Berry Lake.”
“She mentioned a show there in February.”
“Yes.” Sheridan didn’t want to talk about the gallery or Sal, but she hoped the exhibit happened. It would be a massive boon for business.
“I should return to the front. Just call my name if you need help.” Mischief gleamed in Melanie’s eyes. “And in case you didn’t notice, the two of you are standing under the mistletoe ball.”
With that, she walked away.
Mistletoe!
Please don’t let it be true.
Sheridan was afraid to look, but she did. Her heart dropped, straight to her feet. If not for her boots, it might have kept going.
The ball hung from a green velvet ribbon. She could almost hear it mocking her and her silly crush. Okay, not really. But the voice in her head wouldn’t shut up.
Michael glanced at the ceiling. “I didn’t notice that.”
“Me, either. But we—”
“It’s tradition to kiss under the mistletoe,” he interrupted. “If you refuse, it’s bad luck.”
“Right. I can’t afford more of that.”
“Then we’ll just do a peck.”
Heat pooled in her cheeks. “Fine.”
What else could she say, especially with her heart playing its rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy”?
They met halfway, not moving their lower bodies, only the upper part. Their lips barely touched, but then someone moved closer. She didn’t know if it was him or her, but the brush of lips turned into a full-on kiss. A hot, make-her-blood-boil kiss she didn’t want to end. Only their mouths touched, but that was enough.
Who was she kidding?
His kiss was everything.
A bell rang.
The front door.
They weren’t alone. They were in the…
Gallery.
She jerked back, inhaling deeply. Thankfully, her lungs remembered to breathe after being kissed so thoroughly. “No bad luck for us.”
He stuck his fingertips in his pocket. “None at all.”
Sheridan wasn’t sure if she should be upset or relieved that this was no big deal to him when her heart continued to race like the speed boats on Berry Lake. Words failed her, but she needed to say something—anything. “Thanks for showing me the gallery.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced at the man and woman speaking to Melanie. “We should go find stuff to make ornaments.”
“Okay.” And get far, far away from the mistletoe ball. At least she knew where it hung at the beach house. Her lips wanted another taste of Michael, but that wouldn’t happen again.
Otherwise, her crush might turn into something else.
CHAPTER TEN
With a baseball cap on, Michael stood in the baking aisle of the local market, staring at Sheridan as she compared two bags of brown sugar. He couldn’t turn back time, but an hour or even forty-five minutes would be enough to put them at the High Tide Gallery again. Instead of agreeing they wouldn’t have bad luck and walking out, as if nothing had happened under the mistletoe ball, he would say more about their kiss.
He wanted to do that now, but something held him back—the same way it had at the gallery.
On their walk along Main Street.
Inside the drugstore.
And now at the market.
Based on his sisters, women made a big deal about mistletoe kisses. To be honest, they’d always been a joke to him, a nudge-nudge kind of thing between him and his friends. At least they had been until today.
Now he was rethinking… everything.
Including his type.
Tall, leggy, and brunette with full kissable lips and breathy sighs suddenly appealed to him in a way he’d never imagined. The same way Sheridan’s kiss affected him differently from every other before hers.
Was he losing his mind or lonely from not dating?
Whatever the reason, he needed it to stop.
Now.
He blamed himself for this situation.
Why should Sheridan mention the kiss when he’d shaken it off, acted like it was no big deal, and tried to forget about it?
That might be what guys did. Well, what he did.
Unfortunately, he’d only accomplished two of the three. Her kiss was branded on his lips. She hadn’t been unaffected. It had taken time for her pupils to return to their normal size and her breathing to become less shallow. Her cheeks, however, remained pinker than usual.
From walking to the various stores or because of kissing him?
Michael hoped the latter. Call him selfish, but he didn’t like being the only one caught up in this… whatever it was he thought about her. He barely knew her, so it wasn’t the F-word—feelings.
She placed one bag of brown sugar in the basket. There shouldn’t be much difference between the packages, but how she studied the labels was cute. “We only need honey and molasses.”
“The honey should be with the peanut butter, but I don’t have a clue about molasses.” He’d never used that. At least not knowingly.
“I know where they are,” she said, not missing a beat.
He followed her, trying to think of a way to ask her if the kiss was a one-off or if she wanted more.
Direct would be best.
But that wasn’t like him.
Soon, they had the two items.
“We’re all set to make the cookies.” She lowered her phone. “Do you need anything?”
More kisses, but those didn’t appear to be on her list.
Just talk to her.
Or, he could sleep under the mistletoe to see if she’d kiss him when she woke.
Grow up.
Stop acting like a twelve-year-old.
You’re not Mikey. You’re Michael.
Don’t be that guy.
Talk to her.
His sisters’ voices filled his head. He didn’t disagree with any of those things, but he preferred the path of least resistance. And twelve had been an awesome age.
“Michael?” Sheridan asked.
“What?” She must have been talking to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“Freshly made pizzas are on sale for ten dollars. Do you want to split one for dinner?”
“I never say no to pizza.”
“Meat lovers, pepperoni, cheese, or veggie?”
“Pepperoni.”
“My favorite.” She placed it in the cart. “I have salad, too.”
“Sounds good.” Sheridan had fed him last night. He would provide something, too. He grabbed a box of chocolate-covered cherries. “How about these for dessert? They’re another family tradition. No matter whose house we visit, everyone has these.”
She laughed. “My mom buys them, too.”
He placed them in the basket and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. They’d decided to split the expenses for any Christmas tradition. But his guilt continued to rise each time she pulled out her wallet.
This morning, Michael’s team had told him the date they would redeem his ticket—January seventh. That had made the situation more real.
As they exited the market, Sheridan grinned. “Thank you for hanging out with me today.”
“You’re welcome. I had fun.”
“Me, too.”
This was his chance. He wasn’t one for talking. Mason had taught him actions spoke louder than words. Still, Michael took a breath and blew it out. “So, the kiss at the gallery…”
“The mistletoe ball was pretty.”
Not where he was going with this, but at least she hadn’t shut him down. “Yes, but are you okay?”
Her nose crinkled. “With what?”
“The kiss.” The word shot out. “I mean, I don’t want you to be weirded out since we’re sharing the house.”
“Do you feel weird?”
“No.”
“I don’t, either.”
Okay, they were talking, but they weren’t getting anywhere. “I enjoyed it.”
“Me, too.”
He debated asking if they could try it at home under the mistletoe there, but he decided against it. “So, we’re good?”
“Of course.” She sounded nonchalant. “Mistletoe is a tradition. No different from the cookies we’ll bake tomorrow or the ornaments we’ll make on the twenty-third.”
Her calm tone bristled. “Right.”
Except it seemed wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Only, what could he do about it?
* * *
The next day, kissing Sheridan remained on Michael’s mind. Maybe he needed to go on a date or kiss someone. Someone who wasn’t his roommate. He crawled out of bed, just in time to answer a call from one of his team who wanted him to check his inbox.
He did, only to find a hundred attachments—okay, more like ten—they asked him to read and sign. The documents had nothing to do with winning the lottery. No, these were things most responsible adults had, like a will, advanced medical directive, durable power of attorney, medical power of attorney, and letter of intent. He typed a note into his phone to make sure his parents and siblings had all this stuff, too.
After promising to return everything before Christmas, he hung up. He hadn’t slept well, so caffeine might help. He put on a T-shirt and trudged to the kitchen.
No sign of Sheridan, unfortunately, and the mistletoe appeared to mock him, but a pot of fresh coffee waited for him. He would call it a win.
He poured himself a cup. The hot liquid slid down his throat.
No dishes filled the sink, but that didn’t mean Sheridan hadn’t eaten. She enjoyed walks along the beach, even though he’d yet to take one. He grabbed a pouch with two strawberry Pop-Tarts in it and returned to his room. They planned to bake cookies at eleven, so he had time to read the some of the documents.
He digested the beneficiary form as easily as his breakfast. After signing it, he uploaded the document into his lawyer’s portal. The next one, however, was longer, and the legalese made his brain hurt. By the fourth page, the words blurred.
He rubbed his tired eyes. It was only ten o’clock, but a nap might re-energize him.
His cell phone rang. His mom’s name showed on the screen. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, Mikey. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday, but your grandfather’s gout flared up, so we tried to distract him.”
His grandpa was a big guy. Everyone said Michael took after him. “Is he better today?”
“Yes.” His mom chuckled. “Sometimes, I think he plays up his symptoms for attention.”
Michael wouldn’t put it past the tough-as-nails man who’d fought in the Korean War and was a former Golden Gloves boxing champion but turned into a giant puppy dog around his grandchildren. “At ninety, he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do.”
“That’s what your grandma said. Your tree is beautiful. Did your girlfriend help you decorate?”
He scrubbed his face. “No.”
“Did Sheridan help? That’s the name of the woman who’s also staying at the beach cottage with you, right?”
Ugh. Von must have mentioned it to Marley, who told their mom and most likely everyone else. “Yes, Sheridan helped. And she’s not staying with me. We’re sharing the place.”
“I thought you had help with the tree.”
“Decorating a Christmas tree doesn’t require a special degree or a subscription to one of those home magazines you read or a feminine touch.” His mom was old-school. She still used a paper calendar and subscribed to magazines. And okay, he’d never put up his own tree before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.
“Wait.” She remembered what he’d told her earlier. “You said you were a sweetie.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “With the pretty ladies. My sisters don’t count.”
Did he consider her pretty? Sheridan’s pulse spurted, and she stood taller. Until she thought about the context, and then she realized he hadn’t meant her but ladies in general.
No biggie.
But it told her one thing. Time to call him out. “You talk tough, but I see right through your façade. Your sisters have you wrapped around their little finger as much as Monroe does.”
Michael laughed, the deep sound circling Sheridan like her favorite wool scarf. “Okay, you got me. I’m not that tough with them. Some might say I’m a wimp. But with Mason, I don’t let up and go at it with him.”
The love in his voice for his siblings intensified the loneliness in Sheridan’s heart. She had no way to change being an only child, but she would get to know Max’s daughters better if she remained in Berry Lake.
She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. I need to cook dinner. Do you want a chicken breast?”
Michael straightened. “Do you have extras?”
No, but she would buy more when she went to the market for the cookie ingredients. “Yes.”
“I’d love one.” He glanced at his stash of food. “If you want any ramen…”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She removed the skillet from the cabinet, turned the dial to medium-high heat, and touched the button for the fan. The chicken wasn’t quite at room temperature, but it was close enough. She seasoned the two pieces with salt and pepper before adding olive oil to the pan. “Four minutes on each side, and it’ll be done.”
“I’ll get my ramen going.” Once again, he took up most of the space, removing a saucepan from the cabinet.
She kept an eye on the chicken. “Tell me if I’m in your way.”
“You’re not.” He set to work as if this were an Iron Chef competition, not just water heating. His serious expression amused her. He kept surprising her in good ways.
Not being his type was a blessing in disguise because she had a little crush on him. That explained why she reacted to him the way she did. She hadn’t crushed on anyone in years, but it made sense because he’d helped her rediscover her Christmas spirit.
And if she was suddenly obsessed with the mistletoe hanging a few feet away from them, it didn’t matter. They were roommates. They might end up as friends by the time she left Indigo Bay. But like ramen, kisses weren’t on the menu.
Mistletoe or not.
* * *
The next day, Sheridan strolled along Main Street. She’d set off on her own because Michael had a few calls to make—most likely more interviews or his family—but she’d wanted to give him space, so she agreed to meet him later to buy the craft materials for their ornaments.
Not that she’d seen anything that would work other than Christmas-themed tissue paper, but he might be able to suggest other places to go.
She yawned, fighting the tiredness from a near-sleepless night. When she did sleep, a Christmas tree singing a love ballad with a sprig of mistletoe played a starring role in her dream. So had Michael.
The sign for the Chocolate Emporium beckoned. Chocolate contained caffeine, which would help her wake up. At least in theory. But she’d probably just get a sugar rush only to crash later and have the calories go straight to her hips.
“Sheridan,” Michael called out.
She turned toward his voice.
Michael strode her way at a fast clip. He wore another baseball cap and had exchanged his hoodie for a sweater. He’d worn similar outfits before, but she kept staring at him.
He smiled. “I don’t have your cell phone number, so I’m glad I found you.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you find any ornament stuff?”
“One possibility, but I wanted to see what else was out there before deciding.”
“Coastal Creations has a class to paint ornaments.”
The cost concerned her. Indigo Bay wasn’t a cheap tourist trap, but a charming, small town that appealed to permanent residents and visitors. But if she mentioned money, Michael might offer to pay for her. She didn’t want that to happen. “I’d rather make them ourselves. Isn’t that your family tradition?”
“It is.”
“Then, let’s stick with the original plan.”
“Okay, but do you mind a detour first?”
“Is there something you want to get?”
“I want to show you something.” He led her down the block, opened a door, and motioned her inside.
She found herself surrounded by art. The lighting, the music, the smells… It was like coming home. Funny how she hadn’t noticed this store when she was on Main Street yesterday. “What is this place?”
“Welcome to High Tide Gallery.” A woman greeted them warmly. Her shoulder-length brown hair had a few silver strands mixed in. “I’m Melanie Bowers.”
“I’m Sheridan DeMarco.”
“Michael Patterson,” he said.
“Patterson,” Melanie repeated before tucking strands behind an ear. “Are you Marley’s brother?”
“I am.”
Melanie’s smile widened. “I haven’t worked here long, but my fiancé, Penn, and I are friends with Von and Hope Ryan. They introduced us to your sister.”
“Do you have any of Hope’s work on display?” Sheridan asked, eager to see more of Hope’s paintings.
“We do. Follow me.” Melanie headed toward the back, passing by sculptures and other vignettes by artists. “We hope to get more of her works after she returns from her vacation.”
Those must be the pieces Hope wanted Sheridan to catalog. She was halfway through them. She’d finished more this morning when sleep eluded her.
“She’s a star on the rise.” Sheridan did a double take at a large painting on the back wall Air rushed from her lungs. Her hand covered her heart. “Is that…”
“It’s one of Hope’s more recent works, and I love that she featured a sunset.” Melanie motioned to the sold sticker. “It sold immediately, but the owners live in Nashville and aren’t ready to take possession. We’re happy to hold on to it since most people have a similar reaction to yours.”
Sheridan could imagine. “I’ve never seen her use the purple and yellow hues in this way. The result is stunning.”
“It is.” Michael came forward to stand next to her. “I thought she was good, but this is beyond amazing.”
“Sometimes Hope hides things in the paintings.” Sheridan leaned forward. “Look closely, so you miss nothing.”
“You’re familiar with her work,” Melanie said.
“I’ve seen a few of the pieces she’s done in Berry Lake.”
“She mentioned a show there in February.”
“Yes.” Sheridan didn’t want to talk about the gallery or Sal, but she hoped the exhibit happened. It would be a massive boon for business.
“I should return to the front. Just call my name if you need help.” Mischief gleamed in Melanie’s eyes. “And in case you didn’t notice, the two of you are standing under the mistletoe ball.”
With that, she walked away.
Mistletoe!
Please don’t let it be true.
Sheridan was afraid to look, but she did. Her heart dropped, straight to her feet. If not for her boots, it might have kept going.
The ball hung from a green velvet ribbon. She could almost hear it mocking her and her silly crush. Okay, not really. But the voice in her head wouldn’t shut up.
Michael glanced at the ceiling. “I didn’t notice that.”
“Me, either. But we—”
“It’s tradition to kiss under the mistletoe,” he interrupted. “If you refuse, it’s bad luck.”
“Right. I can’t afford more of that.”
“Then we’ll just do a peck.”
Heat pooled in her cheeks. “Fine.”
What else could she say, especially with her heart playing its rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy”?
They met halfway, not moving their lower bodies, only the upper part. Their lips barely touched, but then someone moved closer. She didn’t know if it was him or her, but the brush of lips turned into a full-on kiss. A hot, make-her-blood-boil kiss she didn’t want to end. Only their mouths touched, but that was enough.
Who was she kidding?
His kiss was everything.
A bell rang.
The front door.
They weren’t alone. They were in the…
Gallery.
She jerked back, inhaling deeply. Thankfully, her lungs remembered to breathe after being kissed so thoroughly. “No bad luck for us.”
He stuck his fingertips in his pocket. “None at all.”
Sheridan wasn’t sure if she should be upset or relieved that this was no big deal to him when her heart continued to race like the speed boats on Berry Lake. Words failed her, but she needed to say something—anything. “Thanks for showing me the gallery.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced at the man and woman speaking to Melanie. “We should go find stuff to make ornaments.”
“Okay.” And get far, far away from the mistletoe ball. At least she knew where it hung at the beach house. Her lips wanted another taste of Michael, but that wouldn’t happen again.
Otherwise, her crush might turn into something else.
CHAPTER TEN
With a baseball cap on, Michael stood in the baking aisle of the local market, staring at Sheridan as she compared two bags of brown sugar. He couldn’t turn back time, but an hour or even forty-five minutes would be enough to put them at the High Tide Gallery again. Instead of agreeing they wouldn’t have bad luck and walking out, as if nothing had happened under the mistletoe ball, he would say more about their kiss.
He wanted to do that now, but something held him back—the same way it had at the gallery.
On their walk along Main Street.
Inside the drugstore.
And now at the market.
Based on his sisters, women made a big deal about mistletoe kisses. To be honest, they’d always been a joke to him, a nudge-nudge kind of thing between him and his friends. At least they had been until today.
Now he was rethinking… everything.
Including his type.
Tall, leggy, and brunette with full kissable lips and breathy sighs suddenly appealed to him in a way he’d never imagined. The same way Sheridan’s kiss affected him differently from every other before hers.
Was he losing his mind or lonely from not dating?
Whatever the reason, he needed it to stop.
Now.
He blamed himself for this situation.
Why should Sheridan mention the kiss when he’d shaken it off, acted like it was no big deal, and tried to forget about it?
That might be what guys did. Well, what he did.
Unfortunately, he’d only accomplished two of the three. Her kiss was branded on his lips. She hadn’t been unaffected. It had taken time for her pupils to return to their normal size and her breathing to become less shallow. Her cheeks, however, remained pinker than usual.
From walking to the various stores or because of kissing him?
Michael hoped the latter. Call him selfish, but he didn’t like being the only one caught up in this… whatever it was he thought about her. He barely knew her, so it wasn’t the F-word—feelings.
She placed one bag of brown sugar in the basket. There shouldn’t be much difference between the packages, but how she studied the labels was cute. “We only need honey and molasses.”
“The honey should be with the peanut butter, but I don’t have a clue about molasses.” He’d never used that. At least not knowingly.
“I know where they are,” she said, not missing a beat.
He followed her, trying to think of a way to ask her if the kiss was a one-off or if she wanted more.
Direct would be best.
But that wasn’t like him.
Soon, they had the two items.
“We’re all set to make the cookies.” She lowered her phone. “Do you need anything?”
More kisses, but those didn’t appear to be on her list.
Just talk to her.
Or, he could sleep under the mistletoe to see if she’d kiss him when she woke.
Grow up.
Stop acting like a twelve-year-old.
You’re not Mikey. You’re Michael.
Don’t be that guy.
Talk to her.
His sisters’ voices filled his head. He didn’t disagree with any of those things, but he preferred the path of least resistance. And twelve had been an awesome age.
“Michael?” Sheridan asked.
“What?” She must have been talking to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“Freshly made pizzas are on sale for ten dollars. Do you want to split one for dinner?”
“I never say no to pizza.”
“Meat lovers, pepperoni, cheese, or veggie?”
“Pepperoni.”
“My favorite.” She placed it in the cart. “I have salad, too.”
“Sounds good.” Sheridan had fed him last night. He would provide something, too. He grabbed a box of chocolate-covered cherries. “How about these for dessert? They’re another family tradition. No matter whose house we visit, everyone has these.”
She laughed. “My mom buys them, too.”
He placed them in the basket and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. They’d decided to split the expenses for any Christmas tradition. But his guilt continued to rise each time she pulled out her wallet.
This morning, Michael’s team had told him the date they would redeem his ticket—January seventh. That had made the situation more real.
As they exited the market, Sheridan grinned. “Thank you for hanging out with me today.”
“You’re welcome. I had fun.”
“Me, too.”
This was his chance. He wasn’t one for talking. Mason had taught him actions spoke louder than words. Still, Michael took a breath and blew it out. “So, the kiss at the gallery…”
“The mistletoe ball was pretty.”
Not where he was going with this, but at least she hadn’t shut him down. “Yes, but are you okay?”
Her nose crinkled. “With what?”
“The kiss.” The word shot out. “I mean, I don’t want you to be weirded out since we’re sharing the house.”
“Do you feel weird?”
“No.”
“I don’t, either.”
Okay, they were talking, but they weren’t getting anywhere. “I enjoyed it.”
“Me, too.”
He debated asking if they could try it at home under the mistletoe there, but he decided against it. “So, we’re good?”
“Of course.” She sounded nonchalant. “Mistletoe is a tradition. No different from the cookies we’ll bake tomorrow or the ornaments we’ll make on the twenty-third.”
Her calm tone bristled. “Right.”
Except it seemed wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Only, what could he do about it?
* * *
The next day, kissing Sheridan remained on Michael’s mind. Maybe he needed to go on a date or kiss someone. Someone who wasn’t his roommate. He crawled out of bed, just in time to answer a call from one of his team who wanted him to check his inbox.
He did, only to find a hundred attachments—okay, more like ten—they asked him to read and sign. The documents had nothing to do with winning the lottery. No, these were things most responsible adults had, like a will, advanced medical directive, durable power of attorney, medical power of attorney, and letter of intent. He typed a note into his phone to make sure his parents and siblings had all this stuff, too.
After promising to return everything before Christmas, he hung up. He hadn’t slept well, so caffeine might help. He put on a T-shirt and trudged to the kitchen.
No sign of Sheridan, unfortunately, and the mistletoe appeared to mock him, but a pot of fresh coffee waited for him. He would call it a win.
He poured himself a cup. The hot liquid slid down his throat.
No dishes filled the sink, but that didn’t mean Sheridan hadn’t eaten. She enjoyed walks along the beach, even though he’d yet to take one. He grabbed a pouch with two strawberry Pop-Tarts in it and returned to his room. They planned to bake cookies at eleven, so he had time to read the some of the documents.
He digested the beneficiary form as easily as his breakfast. After signing it, he uploaded the document into his lawyer’s portal. The next one, however, was longer, and the legalese made his brain hurt. By the fourth page, the words blurred.
He rubbed his tired eyes. It was only ten o’clock, but a nap might re-energize him.
His cell phone rang. His mom’s name showed on the screen. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, Mikey. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday, but your grandfather’s gout flared up, so we tried to distract him.”
His grandpa was a big guy. Everyone said Michael took after him. “Is he better today?”
“Yes.” His mom chuckled. “Sometimes, I think he plays up his symptoms for attention.”
Michael wouldn’t put it past the tough-as-nails man who’d fought in the Korean War and was a former Golden Gloves boxing champion but turned into a giant puppy dog around his grandchildren. “At ninety, he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do.”
“That’s what your grandma said. Your tree is beautiful. Did your girlfriend help you decorate?”
He scrubbed his face. “No.”
“Did Sheridan help? That’s the name of the woman who’s also staying at the beach cottage with you, right?”
Ugh. Von must have mentioned it to Marley, who told their mom and most likely everyone else. “Yes, Sheridan helped. And she’s not staying with me. We’re sharing the place.”
“I thought you had help with the tree.”
“Decorating a Christmas tree doesn’t require a special degree or a subscription to one of those home magazines you read or a feminine touch.” His mom was old-school. She still used a paper calendar and subscribed to magazines. And okay, he’d never put up his own tree before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.
