For starters, Mark’s working again, but this time he’s behind the bar, which means I get to see him.
The night’s even busier than it was last time I was in, and the pre-Christmas enthusiasm is contagious. Mark pointed out that most people anticipate more time in the kitchen than usual on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so they want to do as little cooking as possible in the days leading up to it.
“Darling!” I turn to see Ivy and her brood walk in the door, and give her a wave, having already decided to forgive her for telling Erika about my ex list. I don’t stay mad for long under most circumstances, and definitely not around Christmas.
She says something to her husband, who nods and ushers their kids to the host desk.
“Hi!” she says as she approaches, looking tired but happy in an off-the-shoulder blue top that makes her red hair even brighter than usual.
“What are we drinking?” She leans forward and inspects. “Dirty martini. That’s good. Real good. Too bad I’m on the club-soda train for the next few months.” She pats her belly. “Which means I’ll have to endure my in-laws visiting sans alcohol. Horror.”
I wince on her behalf. Her in-laws are good people but definitely the meddling type.
“We’re giving them Cory’s room,” she says, unapologetically eating one of my martini olives. “Which means Cory’s with us, which means . . .” She mimes a noose around her neck. “No sleep.”
“Poor baby,” I murmur, rubbing her arm.
“And I have Santa duties in a couple of nights. Ask me how many gifts I’ve wrapped.” She holds up her fingers in a zero shape.
“Do you need help? I can come over and watch the kids tomorrow. Or I can take them for ice cream after the parade tomorrow night. You’re going, right?”
She gives me a look. “Does anyone in Haven miss the holiday parade? Speaking of, how are the green tights? Flattering?”
“I’m not gonna lie, I look kind of adorable in my elf costume.”
Ivy glances over my shoulder, then smiles and waves. “Oh, speaking of elf costumes, you’ll have company. Erika’s an elf, too, right?”
I tense, but turn around and smile at Mark’s ex, who’s working the bar alongside him.
Erika pops a cap off a beer bottle, slides it across the bar to the guy to my right, then gives a good-natured eye roll. “Yeah, still can’t figure out how I got talked into that one. But Ken’s my godfather”—that’d be Ken Prismill, Haven’s current resident Santa—“and I’m not saying no to him, especially when he’s dressed as Santa.”
Ivy nods at me. “Kelly’ll be up there, too. My kids will be expecting double candy canes. Speaking of . . .” She glances over her shoulder to where her husband’s seating her kids. “Feeding time.”
Ivy stands and gives both me and Erika a finger waggle. “See you ladies tomorrow! Kell, I’ll text you about that present-wrapping offer!”
I wave at her, then turn back to the bar, preparing to make small talk with Erika, but she’s gone, and Mark’s in her place, leaning across the bar and watching me.
He nods at my now half-empty martini. “Another?”
The question’s casual. One he’d ask of any patron, one he’s asked of me a million times before when I’ve kept him company while bartending.
But the way he’s watching me? With a little smile and a lot of heat? That’s new.
And I like it. Very much.
“Nah, I’m good for now,” I say, fishing out the remaining olive and popping it in my mouth. I don’t mean for it to be sexy, but the way Mark watches my lips makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the room, and that we’re about to be naked . . .
“Mark?” Erika reappears at his side, setting a hand on his arm to get his attention, and ignoring me altogether. “Penny said they need you in the kitchen. The arugula we got this morning isn’t good, and they want to know what you want to sub in.”
I want to swat her hand away from his arm, which is a little unusual for me. I’ve never really been the possessive, jealous type, but seeing Erika touch my man . . .
Whoa. Where did that thought come from? Mark and I are just . . . what? What are we doing?
Mark drags his gaze away from me and gives Erika a nod of acknowledgment. “Sure, thanks.”
He slips out from behind the bar. Erika stays where she is for a moment, and I feel her studying me, even as I keep my attention on the menu in front of me.
Granted, I have this entire menu memorized. Hell, I’m the one who typed it up for him, because Mark’s a slow-as-heck typer. But I’m afraid if I look at her, she’ll see what I’m thinking, and I’m not really in the mood for a “The Boy Is Mine” scenario.
“Want anything?” Kelly asks.
I glance up. Loaded question, or . . .?
She smiles, and it seems friendly, if maybe a little forced. I smile back. “No thanks, I’m good for now. Actually, I need to use the restroom. Can you make sure no one jacks my spot?”
“Absolutely, no problem.”
Mark returns to the bar just as I hop off my stool and, damn it, my stomach flips in that new-love butterfly kind of way. Forcing the butterflies away, I give him a bright smile and a friendly wave.
That’s what I would normally do. Right?
Crap, this is exactly why I’ve been wary of this, I don’t want to start acting weird, and . . .
I’m still waving.
Mark rolls his eyes, but his atypical grin makes me think he knows exactly what my deal is and is secretly pleased that I’m so flustered.
I bump into Hugh on my way toward the ladies’ room, and he holds my arms to steady me.
“Hey, Byrne, been worried about you! You okay after the other night?”
The other night . . . as in the night before I’d realized I’d wanted my best friend in the biblical way, and before we’d acted on it.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, patting his arm. “Better than good, actually.”
He squints at me. “You do look . . . rosy. Who’s the lucky guy?”
For a second I’m dying to tell him exactly who my guy is, but I bite my tongue. Mark and I haven’t even discussed what we are with each other, much less with other people.
One of the waitresses comes out of the restroom and squeezes by me and Hugh with a playful wink as she points upward.
Hugh and I both glance up. Mistletoe.
Hugh waggles his eyebrows playfully and, placing both hands on my cheeks, gives me a smacking kiss. “Don’t tell your mystery boyfriend,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads back into the restaurant.
Shaking my head, I keep heading toward the restroom, smiling at the thought that just a few days ago the sight of mistletoe had made me think of something else entirely: fortune-tellers and ex-boyfriends. Well, what can I say? I guess maybe the woman was a fraud after all. I tried with my ex-boyfriends, I did, and it just wasn’t meant to be.
But not all of them.
My step falters a little at the forbidden thought—at the realization that perhaps I didn’t try to contact Colin as hard as I could have.
I shove the thought aside.