The Mistletoe Kisser - Lucy Score Page 0,87
in the direction of Mistletoe Corner and tried to talk herself out of hoping. Those little bastard butterflies were starting to show signs of life again, despite her best efforts.
“He’s not here,” she reminded herself. “He went home. He wouldn’t give up his shot at normal to spend another day in a town that tried to force him into an arranged marriage.”
The cozy clearing was the same as it always was, the tall spruce decked out in multi-colored lights from tip to trunk. More strands of lights, soft and white, crisscrossed over her head. Tiny clumps of mistletoe hung every six feet.
But there was one thing that was different this year. One perfect, grumpy thing.
28
Ryan Sosa stood scowling at the flowers in his hand as he muttered to himself.
“Why aren’t you thousands of miles away from here?” Sammy demanded.
He looked up at her, surprised out of the argument he was practicing. “Christ. It’s about damn time, Sam.”
It was such a Grumpy Ryan thing to say that she couldn’t help but smile.
“Gee, sorry. I was busy doing my job and saving animals.”
He rolled his eyes. “You got to the park almost twenty minutes ago. I’ve been freezing my ass off waiting for you since Layla texted that you were here.”
“Why are you here freezing your ass off?”
“You know why, Sam.” He crooked his finger, in that deliciously bossy way of his, and she couldn’t fault her feet for automatically carrying her toward him.
She stopped when she was a foot away, not willing to throw herself at him in case this was some unfortunate misunderstanding and he was here holding flowers because something terrible had happened.
“Is Carson okay?” she asked.
Ryan frowned. “He’s fine. He’s on his way home. Why?”
“What about Stan? The chickens?”
“You think I’m standing here under mistletoe with stupid flowers in thirty-degree weather to break bad news to you?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Goddamn it, Sam. For a doctor, you can be incredibly obtuse sometimes. I’m here because of you.”
She tried to rewind the words and listen to them again, but nothing made sense. “I’m sorry. I think I’m not processing language correctly.”
He growled, and the sound of it both delighted and terrified her.
“You’re just doing this because of the Beautification Committee,” she insisted. “I don’t know how they do it. Maybe it’s mind control or something. But you aren’t here of your own free will. Did they make you drink anything or force you to watch a slide show or something?”
He was in her space now, the toes of their boots touching. “I’m here for you. I’m staying for us,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“You’re not thinking straight,” she insisted. She couldn’t think with him this close to her. But when she tried to take a step back, he reached and grabbed her by the front of her vest.
“Snap out of it, Sparkle,” he warned, dragging her against him. “I’m here because I want to be. Not because a couple of nutcases pulled some half-assed stunt. I’m here for you. I’m here because the thought of waking up and not seeing you tomorrow scared the hell out of me.”
“Oh,” she said weakly. This was happening. Really happening. She was getting her happily ever… scratch that. She was getting her grumpily ever after.
Someone cleared their throat theatrically. “Is this where the line starts?”
Sammy and Ryan dragged their heated gazes away from each other to find Fitz standing indecently close to them.
“The line?” Sammy managed.
“The kissing booth line?” He took a hit of breath spray and licked his thin lips.
Sammy shuddered.
“Fitz, if you don’t get the hell away from my girl, I’ll send you to IRS jail,” Ryan threatened.
“Jeez. Okay,” Fitz said, holding up his mittened hands. “Mind if I hang out?”
“Aren’t you late?” Sammy asked.
He frowned. “Late for what?”
“The Pants Off Dance Off at the gazebo,” she improvised.
Fitz’s face lit up. “Sweet! Finally some real entertainment. Later, dudes!” He hurried off toward what would soon be a very confused audience.
“Now, where were we?” Ryan demanded.
His fiercely frowning mouth was so close. She could feel his breath, warm and sweet on her face. “Is this happening?” she whispered as her heart thudded in her chest.
“You’re damn right it is,” he said. “Now get used to it.”
She melted against him, ready to seal the Official Most Romantic Moment of her life with a kiss under the mistletoe. “In that case, I think we were right about here,” she said, rising on tiptoe.
“Wait!” someone yelled, breaking the spell.
Chest heaving, Sammy tried to jump back,