Tic-Tac-Mistletoe - N.R. Walker Page 0,47

until she got bored and curled up on his lap for a sleep instead. But Hamish kept staring at the views, taking it all in with a real sense of wonder, and it was a comfortable silence like we didn’t feel the need to fill it with anything. And when I pointed out the Welcome to Idaho sign, he grinned and buzzed with excitement.

His smile got bigger every mile we got closer to seeing his sister, and I couldn’t help but smile along with him. It was contagious. He was contagious.

He added Liv’s address to the Maps in his phone, and all too soon, we were pulling into her street.

There were very small-town suburban, ranch-style homes with Christmas lights and wreaths on front doors, with Santa signs in front yards. I slowed down at number 164 and Hamish peered out the windshield. “Is that it? Oh my God, that’s it. That’s her house.”

I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine just as the front door opened. A woman with long brown hair came out, trying to put on a coat, and Hamish was out the door and running. Well, kind of running. He still had Chutney tucked under one arm, his other arm was out for balance, he half-trudged, half-skipped, and slid along the path—thank God they’d shovelled or he’d have died for sure.

But he was up those front steps and hugging Liv in some kind of jumpy dance, and I could hear them both squealing and crying. Exactly like he said they would.

At least I was prepared.

I got out of the truck and closed my door, then walked around and closed Hamish’s. Liv pulled back, first to inspect a squished Chutney, then she squished Hamish’s cheeks. “I missed you so much! And you’re finally here! And this is the cutest dog in the world!” Then she hugged him again before spotting me, still standing by the truck. She nudged Hamish. “You weren’t lying when you said he was cute,” she said, which I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear. Then she waved me forward. “Oh my God, I need to hug you for saving my brother.”

Hamish wiped the tears from his cheeks, but he was still crying. “Liv, this is Ren. Ren, my sister, Liv.”

I made it up the stairs, barely, before she threw herself at me and crushed me in a fierce hug. “Thank you so much.” She sniffled. “I’m so grateful for you.”

I hugged her back, trying not to be awkward. “You’re welcome. It was no trouble at all.”

She finally let me go and squeezed my arm. “I’m glad you decided to join us. Come on, let’s get your things inside where it’s warm.” She turned back to Hamish. “And show me this adorable dog!”

Hamish handed Chutney over just as a guy walked out of the house, grinning. “Oh, this is Josh,” Liv said. “Josh, Hamish and Ren.”

“Nice to finally meet you!” Hamish said, offering a handshake.

Then it was my turn. He seemed a nice guy, with brown hair and killer dimples. “Liv’s just been about beside herself,” he said. “But I’m glad you finally made it.”

Josh helped me and Hamish unload the truck, and we were soon ushered inside. “Here’s the spare room,” Liv said, leading the way. It was a spare bedroom all right . . . with one double bed. “There’s just one bed,” she said, trying not to smile.

Hamish shot her a glare before he went in and put his suitcase in the corner. “That’s fine. We can . . .” He looked at me and cringed.

I put my bag on the floor and wheeled in his other suitcase, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “It’s fine, we’ll be fine . . .” I took Chutney from Liv’s arms. “Though I should see if this little one needs to use the bathroom.”

“Here, bring her this way,” Josh said. “There’s some grass out back.”

I put Chutney on the floor and we followed Josh back through the living room, through the kitchen to the mudroom, and out the back door. There was a large undercover area that was half deck, half grass, protected from the snow. “This is perfect,” I said. “I should look at doing something like this at my place.”

“It was Liv’s idea,” he said. “I’m just the builder of such demands. But it is great. We live out here in summertime.”

I was already making mental plans for the back of my house, and for a few