I should say yes. I owe it to the three years Colin and I spent together. I owe it to the fact that he’s traveled God knows how far to be here on December twenty-third.
I owe it to my ex list, and my belief in destiny, and . . .
“Hey, hey!” A middle-aged man appears beside us, giving Colin a playful man-to-man punch on the shoulder. “Well done, coaxing the hot elf beneath the mistletoe.”
I recognize the guy. One of the patrons from Mark’s restaurant, who always seems just one drink past classy. I’d ignore him, but now others have joined in as well, nudging me forward as they point toward the mistletoe.
I swear to God, if I never see mistletoe again after this . . .
Colin gives me a sheepish but not entirely disappointed smile, and before I realize that he’s not about to tell them all to get lost, his hands are on my shoulders, and he’s tugging me forward, his lips finding mine . . .
It’s the perfect end to my story, right?
The woman who believes in fate and fortune seeks out all of her ex-boyfriends but one on the word of a fortune-teller, and then the one that got away shows up, just in time for a Christmas kiss beneath the mistletoe.
It’s perfect. In theory.
It makes for a great story, for sure, except . . .
I don’t think it’s my story.
Even as Colin deepens the kiss, earning us a few whistles and laughs, I feel nothing.
Or rather, I feel something, but it’s not what I thought I would.
I feel bored.
And more in love with Mark than ever.
Colin might be the guy that destiny chose for me, but . . . he’s not the one I choose.
I gently ease back, and though Colin lets me end the kiss, he keeps his hands on my shoulders.
“A drink, Kelly. Just to catch up.”
Ugh.
I don’t want Colin right now—not ever. But neither do I want to embarrass the guy in front of what’s a growing number of spectators.
I don’t owe Colin much, but I do at least owe him the courtesy of letting him down privately.
“Sure, a drink sounds great,” I say, forcing a smile.
The people nearest us clap happily—cluelessly.
Relief’s written all over Colin’s face as he nods, finally dropping his hands. I breathe out in relief as he withdraws contact.
But the relief is short-lived, because over Colin’s shoulder, my eyes collide with a familiar dark gaze.
I feel a million emotions at once as Mark and I stare each other down across the crowd. Panic. Lust. Hurt. Anger.
Love.
I love him, and he’s just watched me kiss another man and agree to a date.
“Mark.”
I say his name. Or at least I think I do, but maybe not, because nobody else seems to respond, not even Colin, and even as Colin says something about giving me a ride, my eyes don’t leave Mark.
His leave mine.
Without a word, he turns and walks away.
Kelly Byrne’s Ex List: Version Eight
Jack Chance
Joey Russo
Chad Morrister
Doug Porter
Stephen Hill
Adam Bartley
Colin Austin
Damn it!
December 23, Saturday Evening
“Mark. Mark! Stop! Would you wait?”
My best friend doesn’t turn around, but I don’t stop chasing him.
And neither one of us so much as glances at the horde of people staring at us.
And don’t even ask me about Colin. I don’t know where he went, don’t care. I’ll owe him an email later, but Mark . . .
I owe him so much more than that.
“Mark. Damn it!”
I see a mom cover the ears of her kid and glare at me, and I feel bad, I do, but this is my heart on the line, people!
I catch up with him just as his hand is on the handle of the truck door. I bat it away, and he whirls around.
What I see on his face nearly takes my breath away. Anger, yes, but also hurt, hurt that’s so unabashedly undisguised that my own eyes water.
“I—” I realize I’m so ill-prepared for this moment. For this whole scene, really.
“What?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders braced against the wind and the increasing snow, and . . . me. He’s braced for hurt from me.
“He just showed up,” I say. “I didn’t tell him to come, I swear.”
“Did you want him to?”
“I—no. I haven’t really thought about him since you and I . . .”
He steps closer, expression angry. “Since you and I what, Kelly. Hooked up?”
“Don’t make it sound so cheap,” I say, pushing him back slightly.
“I’m not the one cheapening it, Kell. I’m the one planning picnics for us. You’re the one kissing other guys.”
I wince because he’s right—so right.
“What’s he doing here?”
Right. Colin. I shrug. “I told you. He just showed up.”
“To kiss you. And have drinks.”
“The kiss was just because of the mistletoe—”
“Yeah? How’d he do?” Mark asks, his voice cold. “He pass your test? That’s been the plan, right? Get them beneath the mistletoe, find out if they’re the fated Prince Charming?”
“Yes, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I didn’t ask him here. I couldn’t even find him!”
“But you tried.”
“Would you stop interrupting me!” I shove at his shoulders in pent-up frustration, although he doesn’t budge.
He runs a hand through his hair, his own frustration evident. “Fine. Just answer me this. If you could have found Colin, would you have asked him here? Found a way to see him?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Mark winces, just slightly. “And the fact that he showed up. Coincidence? Destiny?”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence,” I say, before I can think better of it.
He lets out a joyless laugh. “Right. No, of course not. The ex-boyfriend who broke your heart must be here as part of the universe’s grand plan, right?”
I rub my hands over my face in frustration that we can’t seem to get on the same page. “Look, Mark. I chased after you. I’m not ready to end this yet.”
“Why?”
The question’s brutally simple. As the answer should be . . .
“I think I’m in love with you.”
He goes very still, his gaze darkening with something that looks like hope before he shuts it down. Mark shakes his head. “You think.”
“Well, I mean . . . this is new, and—”
“It’s not new, Kelly,” he shouts. A couple of people give us startled looks, and he closes his eyes, lowering his voice. “I’ve been right here for ten years. Ten goddamn years I’ve waited for you to get over your childish assumptions that we’re not meant for each other because of our birthdays, or because your damn Magic 8 ball didn’t say ‘soulmate’ whenever you said my name, or whatever.”
Wait, what? “Mark—”
“Ten years, I’ve been right here,” he says again, his hands wrapping around my upper arms and giving me a little shake, “waiting for you to see that I’m the one for you. You want to know why Erika and I broke up? You. You weren’t with Colin anymore, and any fool could see Doug was going to be a short-term rebound. Like a fool, I thought it was time, but then you were gone again, with some other guy. Then another.”
“You were in relationships, too! Plenty of them. How was I supposed to know you . . . Wait, have you had feelings for me all this time?”
Instead of answering my question, he looks away, his gaze distant. Then his eyes swing back to mine. “I’m opening a restaurant in Manhattan.”