“Oh! Sure,” Hugh says, his blue eyes concerned as he turns to me. “You good to drive?”
“Yeah, I haven’t even touched that one,” I say, nodding at my full glass and fishing some money out of my wallet. “Tell Erika to keep the change, ’k?”
“Sure. Are you—”
I pretend I don’t register that he’s still talking, and lift my hand in farewell.
A half dozen people stop me on the way out to wish me a merry Christmas and ask me how I am and blah blah blah, but finally, finally I make it outside, and the frigid air is exactly what I need to clear my head.
Okay, so I’m jealous. We’ve established that. What we haven’t established is why. We haven’t established that because I don’t know.
I feel like I don’t know anything right now. I don’t know if I’m jealous because he kissed her, or because they’re close enough that he told her about my stupid ex thing—yeah, my ex thing feels really stupid right about now.
I rub at my forehead with one hand, dig my car keys out of my purse with the other.
Maybe the plan feels not so much stupid as . . . far away. Like I can’t seem to focus on tracking down Adam or Colin because Mark keeps getting in the way of my brain.
But wait—I don’t even have to track them down. I can just have perfect Erika’s cousin track them down.
Barf.
She doesn’t want to help me. She just wants to keep me out of her way.
“Kelly.”
I hit the unlock button on my car door and ignore the voice.
“Kelly!”
Mark’s voice is closer now, and though I wish I was badass enough to get in the car and peel out of the parking lot movie style, there’s way too much snow and ice still on the ground.
And I’ll never walk away from my best friend, no matter how mixed up I feel right now.
“Damn it, Kelly, would you wait—”
I hold up my hands in surrender and turn around. “What? What, Mark?”
He’s jogging across the parking lot, wearing black pants and a long-sleeved white shirt that isn’t nearly warm enough given the freezing weather.
I frown. “Where’s your jacket?”
He comes to a stop in front of me but doesn’t answer my question. “Hugh said you seemed upset.”
“Just a headache. Drank my wine too fast.”
He reaches out for the keys in my hand. “Then you shouldn’t drive.”
I pull my hand back before he can make contact. “I’m fine.”
He frowns and studies me. “You don’t seem fine.”
“How would you know? I haven’t seen you all day or night.”
His frown deepens. “I’ve been working.”
“Which is why you should get back to it,” I say, waving toward the restaurant. “I’ll text you to let you know I got home safely.”
I reach for the door handle, but he grabs my wrist. “Hey. I may not be Mr. Sensitive, but I know when my best friend’s upset.”
“Oh, am I your best friend?” I ask, temper snapping a little bit. “I wasn’t sure. Thought maybe it might be Erika.”
“What—”
“You told her,” I say, pushing at his shoulder.
He doesn’t so much as rock back an inch. “Told her what?”
“About my ex plan . . . thing.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sure,” I say with a scoff. “I’m sure she has the Sight, too, and just knew to give me the card of her private investigator cousin so I could find Colin and Adam.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he insists. His voice is so calm, so confident.
And yet I only told him. He’s the only one—
Oh.
Ohhhh.
I keep from groaning out loud. Barely.
Ivy. I told Ivy. And Ivy and Erika are friends—not best friends, but they were on the soccer team together in school, and still hang out from time to time.
Ivy will keep a secret if I ask her to, but I hadn’t asked her to. And Ivy’s a talker if not explicitly told not to.
“Well, you still kissed her,” I say, feeling the childish need to accuse Mark of something.
Mark frowns, looking completely confused. I can’t blame him. I’m barely following my own conversation.
“Never mind,” I say with a quick shake of my head. “I’m going to go now, and I promise when I see you tomorrow I’ll be less mad at you, ’k?”
“No, not okay. Why are you mad at me in the first place? Is it because you think I told her about your list, or because I kissed her?”
“Both!” I shout, my thumping heart and the fact that he looks so good making me reckless. “It’s a little bit of both, okay? And I know that’s not reasonable, which is why I’m begging you to just let me go home and sort out my own brain.”
Mark’s gone very still, his eyes dark as they study my face, searching for answers I know he won’t find, because I don’t even know them.
“Please,” I whisper, tugging my hand from his.
He shifts his grip, his thumb brushing over the pulse of my inner wrist, lingering for just the slightest moment . . .
Then he lets me go and steps back, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.
“Drive slow. Text me when you get home.”
I manage to roll my eyes and smile. “’K.”
Mark doesn’t smile back. He holds the door open for me and I drop tiredly into the driver’s seat.
“Kelly—”
“Don’t,” I whisper, not looking at him. “Please.”
He inhales, then nods. Checking that all my limbs are inside the car, he quietly but firmly closes the car door.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him step back, but I don’t glance his way as I start the car and put it in drive.
I do glance in the rearview mirror, just once, as I leave the parking lot, but he’s already gone.
I let out a long breath. “Okay, Byrne,” I pep talk myself out loud. “Whatever these feelings are, you need to get a grip.”
Even driving under the speed limit to be extra cautious, I still make it home in ten minutes.
Rigby’s there to greet me, and it makes me feel a little better. The Christmas music I put on helps, too. I opt for a Luther Vandross Christmas song. A little slower than my usual holiday choices, but it fits my current mood pretty well.
I turn on the tree, glaring at the top that still seems annoyingly empty.
I fill Rigby’s bowl with dog food. At least one of us should eat, and I still don’t have my appetite back. Although now it’s because my stomach’s more in knots about what Mark must be thinking right now.
I’m sure he’s confused as all heck.
Makes two of us.
I’m about to put on hot water for tea (yeah, right—I mean chocolate) when there’s an angry knock at the back door.
Rigby gives a warning bark, but it’s not terribly threatening given that his face is full of kibble.
I frown. Nobody ever comes to the back door. Well, except Mark, and he usually doesn’t knock.
Not usually. Today, apparently, is an exception.
“Um, hi?” I say, seeing him standing there.
He jabs an angry finger up at the mistletoe. “Take it down.”
“What?”
He reaches up and grabs the greenery, pulling it down with an angry swoop and tossing it over his shoulder into the snow. “That damn stuff is making you crazy. Get rid of it.”
I gape at him, then point. “Go get that!”
He crosses his arms. “No.”
“I like the mistletoe. I need it for—”
“Your idiotic list, I know. Tell me, you really think Colin or Alan—”