Mistletoe Kisses

by Anna B. Doe

  “Are you . . . sick?” I can barely get the question out I’m so afraid of the answer.

  “Me? Oh, God, no! Why? Are you . . . sick?” He coughs after asking and his mouth twists in the way it does when he eats sour food.

  “No. I feel fine. I mean, other than you’ve gotten me in here alone and I am starting to feel it’s not for any of the exciting reasons I hoped it was.” I’m the one making the sour face now. Nate breathes out heavily and stands, threading his hands behind his neck while he begins to pace. That man is going to wear a path in whatever home we buy one day, I swear.

  “Okay, I need you to know something. It’s important, and I just want you to know that no matter what, I am in. I am always, one-hundred-percent in—with you, for you, all about you. Okay?” He’s not making sense, but the words he’s saying are so incredibly sweet I can’t help but smile as I lift myself up on my elbows. I blow a few strands of hair from my face and nod, then hold my breath for this big, secret reveal.

  It takes me a minute to realize what I’m staring at. At first, I think it’s a popsicle stick in a sandwich bag. As Nate steps closer, though, and lets me take the item into my own hand, I realize what all of this is about.

  “Oh, my God, you think I’m pregnant!” I laugh out the words and set the test strip to the side so I can hold my chest while I laugh so hard it burns.

  “So, this isn’t yours. We’re not—”

  I quit laughing when my eyes meet his and I realize how serious he is. Then his words flood back—he is one-hundred percent in.

  “Oh, Nate. No, I’m not pregnant.” I scoot to the edge of the bed to sit and hold my arms out for him to come to me. His cheeks redden as he kneels between my knees and wraps his arms around me, pressing his forehead into my ribs. I hold him like this for several silent minutes while we both get lost in our thoughts.

  “I meant it, you know,” he finally says, tilting his head up to meet my eyes. I lean down and softly press my lips to his.

  “I could tell.” I rest my forehead on his as his hands run up and down my sides under my shirt, a nervous flirtation to his touch, his fingers tickling against my skin and with every pass, inching closer to the lace trim of my bra.

  “I thought you were going to propose,” I finally admit, my words a whisper. His hands stop their trail just below my breasts and his head peels back.

  “Do you want that? I mean, now. I know we’ve talked, but not seriously.” His eyes soften, lashes sweeping shut and open with a few heavy blinks.

  “I didn’t think I did. Now, I mean. But then I sorta went there mentally, and . . .” I glance up and waggle my head. He breathes out a soft laugh.

  “Hey, I mentally went all the way to baby clothes and diapers,” he teases.

  I glare at him.

  “Always have to one-up me, Preeter,” I say, pushing him back on his ass with a soft shove to the center of his chest.

  He chuckles but abruptly pauses, his head falling to the side while his gaze hovers on mine. It’s hard to read his face, his mouth barely a smile, his features frozen but content. He’s breathing, but it’s slow and measured, and I feel hot under his stare. It’s a lot of attention all at once.

  Leaning to the side, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. I start to roll my eyes, expecting to see the pink packet for his favorite brand of condoms, but instead he pulls out a dollar bill.

  “Are you about to pay me for sex? And . . . a dollar?” I arch a brow.

  He looks down to his hands, which are busy folding the bill into a shape, and smirks.

  “No, Rowe. I know your fee is much higher,” he jokes. I gently kick my foot forward, but he catches my leg before I can retreat. He tugs my boot off of my foot, then moves to the next one before crawling back up on his knees.

  “Rowe Stanton,” he begins. His dimple deepens on one side, his eyes flitting to the center of my chest while his mouth forms his trademark smile that oozes so much Southern charm I practically feel drunk on bourbon every time I see it.

  “Consider this a down payment,” he says, taking my hand and sliding an origami dollar ring on my finger. “When I can, and when you want, I will do this again with a proper one of these. That will be your last chance to bail out of this thing with me. This is your trial period, and it’s only costing a buck.”

  My mouth hurts from suppressing my smile.

  “It’s your dollar, silly,” I say, stretching out my fingers and admiring my makeshift ring for a breath before pulling his head toward mine to seal this moment with a kiss.

  “So that’s a yes?” he asks, the words buzzing against my lips.

  I nod.

  “It is. To whatever this question is. It’s a yes.” I giggle and he squeezes at my sides, zeroing in on my ticklish spot.

  “It’s a yes to me asking you for real next time, and us making plans together starting right now,” he says.

  I suck in my bottom lip because making plans is a huge step for us.

  “Do those plans stop at Draft Day? Or . . .” I leave it vague, my palms instantly sweating.

  “Those plans include Draft Day, and they don’t stop until I assume room temperature,” Nate says. I blink at him for a moment, and shake my head.

  “You could have just said ‘till death do us part,’” I chide.

  He shrugs.

  “I like to give it flair.”

  His hands now on my thighs, they resume traveling as they were before, painting strokes across my ribs and against the lace trim of my bra before easing up the cups to dip inside. I’m close to getting lost in him when he abruptly backs away and my eyes flutter open wide. The thought must have hit us both at the same time.

  “Cass is pregnant!” We exclaim in unison.

  Chapter Four

  Nate Preeter

  I’m not sure how you go about asking your brother’s girlfriend if she’s pregnant. Clearly, from the dense amount of pure awkward stifling the air in the main room, Ty has not yet broached the question himself.

  “Ask him,” Rowe nudges, whispering at my ear as she hugs my arm. My brother notices her sweet gesture and cocks a brow at me, I think assuming that we’re about to share our good news. I shake my head quickly to let him know it isn’t me. When he swallows hard, I figure he’s done the math. Only one other option in this room.

  “Babe, do you want to sit down and rest?” Ty moves closer to the couch and rearranges pillows while Cass leans against the kitchen island, blowing on a spoonful of our stew. I hope it doesn’t poison her.

  “Ty, I play ninety-minute soccer games. I’m not tired from a little bunny hill this morning.” She gives the spoon one more blow before popping it in her mouth. When she hums the kind of noise that indicates our food is not poisonous, I relax.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Rowe says at my side. She marches into our room and grabs the bagged pregnancy test, thrusting it out in front of her as she strides back into the room. “Is this yours?”

  Rowe sets the bagged test on the counter next to Cass, who instantly laughs at seeing it.

  “Fuck, no!” She twists to her side, revealing the open bottle of wine and the glass she has clearly already drunk from. “You watched me open this bottle. Wasn’t that maybe a clue?”

  Ty’s shoulders drop and a lazy smile spreads on his mouth.

  “No. I mean, I guess. I don’t know, I was just sorta stressed and freaking out. I mean, I’m ready, but . . . I don’t know. I guess I want a heads up next time? Like, when we’re really pregnant,” he says.

  “Me, too,” Cass fires back, lifting her glass in a toast then pressing it to her lips and tilting her head back to finish the small bit that’s left. “And by the way, I’ll be the one pregnant. You’ll just be getting fat.”

  We all laugh about this funny misunderstanding, and I think maybe this tiny glimpse has shown us all how we see our futures playing out.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Ty holds up both of his hands as he demands our attenti
on. He points to the test, still sitting on the counter. “If that’s not yours, or yours.” He points to Rowe then Cass, and we all catch up to his thought process.

  “Oh, shit!” I arrive to the only possible conclusion about two seconds before my parents walk through the front door, heavy tote bags on their shoulders and at their sides.

  “Hey, who’s ready for Christmas?” My mom’s gleeful greeting could not be a better segue for Ty’s pending question.

  “Hey, Mom!” my brother begins.

  She drops her bags and shakes out her arms, her perfect smile stretching the width of her face as her brows lift, waiting for her oldest son to finish his words.

  “Remember the time I asked Santa for a baby brother?” Ty grabs the test and tosses it toward our father, who catches it against his chest, then stares at it in his palm for a very long, very quiet time.

  “Oh, boy,” our mom says, her body shrinking as the air leaves her lungs.

  “Are you serious?” My question comes out a little more incredulous than intended. It’s just that . . . I’m almost twenty-two, and Ty’s twenty-five. And my parents are in their forties.

  “We were hoping to tell you on Christmas, as a surprise,” Mom says.

  “Well, surprise!” Ty blurts out.

  I quiet and simmer in guilt because I can tell this is not how my mom wanted any of this to go.

  “We’re just in shock, Mom,” I add, trying to make it better.

  My mom moves into the kitchen and takes over one of the stools.

  “Well,” she begins. “It seems your father falls within that super small percentage of men who have their tubes grow back together. And, well—”

  She holds her hands out to her sides then folds them on her tummy.

  My dad looks like he’s going to pass out. Probably from all the tube and vasectomy talk.

  “Oh, my God, you two made a baby!” Ty’s hands have flown into his hair, and they’re pushing it back while his wide eyes dart around the room. “You two had sex!”

  I groan at his childish revelation, then throw the nearest pillow I can grab at his chest.

  “Dude, have some class,” I say. I know my brother has a hard time processing major news like this. Humor is his tool. Now is not the time, though.

  “I’m forty-three. Do you guys think I just shrivel up?” My mom has moved to the space between us, her hands on her hips. It’s pretty close to impossible to look at her and see something other than the woman who made my sack lunches and put cold compresses on my head when I had fevers. But I guess, yeah, I mean . . . she made me, and Ty. So, there has been sex in her life.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “Stop it. I see your mind trying to rationalize it.” My mom smacks my arm with her open palm, jostling me out of my thoughts.

  “Cathy.” Rowe steps in front of me, tenderly wrapping her hand around my mom’s bicep. Thank God. Rowe’s good at maneuvering through all things awkward. Hell, our entire early relationship was one big trip through delicate and awkward.

  I look on while my girlfriend—and dollar-bill-fiancée—takes over, instantly changing the tone from one of shock and doubt to celebration and concern. There are no words exchanged at first, merely a sweet embrace that brings tears to my mom’s eyes. Emotions hit Ty’s eyes next, and though he doesn’t let the tears actually fall, they well up pretty damn good.

  “Is this news to celebrate?” Rowe asks, her shoulders lifted as she backs away enough to see my mom’s eyes while still holding on to her shoulders.

  My mom nods slowly, sniffling.

  “It was a shock,” she laughs out. “But yes, we’ve run it up the flagpole as your father likes to say, Ty and Nate, and we think this is a blessing. And we’re so excited.”

  Rowe hugs my mom again, and I move in to take over, wrapping my arms around a woman who has always felt sturdy like a rock but seems fragile and precious now. Ty was too young to realize how this felt when our mom was pregnant with me.

  “Tyson, what do you think?” Our mom turns from my hug to face my brother. Ty runs his forearm along his eyes, drying them. He’s quiet for several seconds, and I worry that maybe he’s really not okay with any of this.

  “I think you better hope for a girl. Otherwise you are truly going to be outnumbered,” my brother jokes. My mom kneels and hugs him, and even though we’ve made it this far, it still feels a bit like a dream. I can’t believe this is really happening.

  “So, how old will you be when she gets to college?” Ty asks.

  “Sixty-one. Yeah, I know—sixty-freaking-one.” A sharp laugh flies from my mom’s mouth and she cups her mouth, probably holding in just how nervous all of this makes her.

  Cass turns our attention toward the kitchen, I think mostly to let my mom off the hook for a few minutes. We’d planned on serving the stew for dinner, but since it’s after noon and things have cooked enough, we give in and begin to fill bowls.

  Everyone but my mom takes a glass of wine, and we listen through casual sips of our steaming soup while my dad walks us through his version of the story. He gives us way too many details, as only our dad could. Apparently, they came up here two months ago for their anniversary—which would mark the date Ty so tactfully labels The Deed Date. They were up here last weekend to get the place ready for this trip, and that’s when my mom started to feel off.

  “Honestly, she took the test on a bet. It was a whim of a decision, and we drove into town because I bet her—”

  “Ah, we do not need to know the terms of this bet, Dad,” Ty interrupts our dad. “We’ve heard way too much about you two and hanky panky times today.”

  The way my dad swallows makes me glad my brother curtailed that part of the story.

  “When that sucker gave us a blue line, though, you bet your ass we drove back to the store and bought seven more just to be sure,” Dad says.

  “Seven more tests, huh?” I imagine the scene, laying them all out and staring at them in disbelief. I was freaked out finding one on the bathroom floor. I can’t imagine seeing seven of them and knowing that my retirement plans have just been hijacked.

  “It’s a blue Christmas, I guess,” Ty says, backing away from the table.

  I’m expecting more to his joke. I think most of us are, because the room becomes instantly silent. My eyes find Rowe’s across the table and we both shrug. I prepare to let out a courtesy laugh so his joke about the blue stripe doesn’t bomb when I realize he’s not making a joke at all.

  Holy shit, my brother is proposing!

  “Cassidy Owens. In about four hours, your sister, her boyfriend, and your parents are going to spill in through that front door and we are all going to have to pretend I haven’t already done this, but I just can’t wait any longer.” He pulls a small box from his side, where I guess it’s been tucked under his leg, and with shaking hands, cracks open the lid to reveal one hell of a rock.

  “Oh, my God!” Cass squeals.

  Before my brother can even get the words out, my future sister-in-law is in his lap, peppering him with kisses as the two of them fumble with their hands tethered to work the platinum ring onto her finger.

  “Yes. Oh, my God, yes!” Cass proclaims, holding her hand to Rowe to show off a ring made with diamonds and sapphires. The girls hug while both of my parents sit back, pleased.

  “Did you know he was going to do this?” I ask.

  My parents shake their heads, and my dad laughs out, “We don’t see anything coming anymore, son. Not a thing.”

  “I guess since I never actually got to say the words just now it will make it easier to pretend we’re doing this for the first time in front of your parents,” Ty jokes. I move to hug my brother, patting his back with a heavy palm while my eyes meet my girl’s over his shoulder.

  Most in my situation might expect to see disappointment in their partner’s eyes, or at least envy. Rowe shows none of that. Her eyes and smile and essence are pure joy and happiness for her friends and her future family. And just
to prove it to me, she wiggles her finger, where an incredibly sincere paper ring sits just below the knuckle as a promise for a blue Christmas of her own very soon.

  THE END

  A Note from the Author

  Being a part of this project was a huge honor. I want to thank everyone involved with a special shout out to Anna B. Doe and Lianne Cotton. Thank you READERS for helping us to support a very special cause - One October.

  I hope you enjoyed visiting with my Preeter boys. And if you’re new to them, they’d love to get to know you more. You can read both of their full stories in The Falling Series.

  Wishing everyone a blessed season and health and good fortune in this new year.

  XO

  Ginger

  Books By Ginger Scott

  Series Reading

  The Falling Series

  The Varsity Series

  The Waiting Series

  Like Us Duet

  The Harper Boys Duet

  Standalones

  Cowboy Villain Damsel Duel

  Drummer Girl

  BRED

  Cry Baby

  The Hard Count

  Memphis

  Hold My Breath

  Blindness

  How We Deal With Gravity

  About the Author

  Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice and Rita Award-nominated author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult romances, including bestsellers Cry Baby, The Hard Count, A Boy Like You, This Is Falling and Wild Reckless.

  A sucker for a good romance, Ginger's other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son swing for the fences or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).