The Trouble with Mistletoe Read online

  A small smile crossed his face. “You want to make a wish? You’ve lived here for how long and you’ve never made one?”

  “Oh, I have.” She paused. “I like to.”

  This garnered her a raised brow. “How many times have you wished?”

  She bit her lower lip.

  “More than once?”

  Well, crap. How had they gotten on this subject? “Um . . .”

  “More than . . . five?”

  “Gee, would you look at the time?” she asked and tried to go but he caught her and brought her back around, his smile now a broad grin.

  “Fine,” she said. “If you must know, I toss a coin in every time I walk by.”

  He lost the battle with his laughter and she stared at him. Seriously, he had the best laugh. “It worked for Pru, I’ll have you know,” she told him. “She wished for true love to find Finn, and then he fell in love with her.”

  And Willa had been wishing ever since, even knowing how ridiculous and silly it was.

  “So . . . you’ve been wishing for true love for who exactly?” he asked.

  She stared at him in dismay. How had she not thought this through? “Me,” she admitted, slapping her pockets because surely she had even a penny. “But I intend to fix that right now. I’ll just wish for love for someone else.”

  “Who?” he asked warily.

  She narrowed her eyes at his fear. “You. Got any change?”

  He laughed. “Absolutely not.” Then he pulled a dime from his pocket and held it up. “But how about this. I’ll wish for you.” And on that, he tossed the coin into the water.

  Plop.

  “There,” he said. “Done. Hope it works out for you.” He sounded fairly certain that it would and equally certain that it wouldn’t be with him.

  Which was good to know. Except it was also a little bit not good at all. “So you’ve never made a wish on true love before?” she asked.

  He laughed. “No. That was a first.”

  “Because . . . you don’t believe in true love?”

  To his credit, he didn’t brush off the question or try to tease his way out of answering. Seeming to understand how much it meant to her, he shrugged. “For some people, yes.”

  She nodded even as she felt a small slash of disappointment go through her. How silly was that? It wasn’t as if love had worked out for her either. But she knew what the real problem was. It was that Keane had been clear about not wanting or needing anything serious in his life and yet here she was, finally feeling ready for just that in hers.

  “And you?” he asked.

  She stared at the water because it was far easier to talk to the fountain than hold Keane’s too-honest gaze. “I’ve seen bits and pieces of it here and there. I know love’s out there.”

  His eyes were solemn, intense, as he turned her to face him. “But?” he asked quietly. “I’m sensing a pretty big but here.”

  “But sometimes I’m not quite sure it’s out there for me.”

  His gaze searched hers. “That seems pretty jaded for someone who wants everyone to believe in the magic of the holidays.”

  “Christmas has a happy connotation that brings joy and warmth. It comes every year, rain or shine. You can count on it.”

  “But not on love,” he finished for her. His hand came up and he brushed a strand of hair from her temple, his fingers lingering. “I don’t think it’s always like that, Willa. For some people, love’s real and long-lasting. Forever.”

  “For some people,” she repeated. “But not you? If you believe in love, why don’t you believe in it for yourself?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel things deeply. I never have.”

  She stared at him, dismayed. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “I do.”

  “But . . . I’ve seen you with Petunia.”

  He laughed. “Exactly. You’ve seen me dump her on you. I’m willing to pay a cat-sitter rather than deal with her.”

  “When you’re at work, yes,” she said. “But you’ve never once asked me to board her overnight when you were home.”

  “You board overnight?” he asked hopefully.

  She laughed and smacked him lightly on the chest. “You know what I mean. You’re frustrated by her and yet you still spend the money and time to make sure she gets good care when you’re busy.”

  “Because she’s my aunt’s cat,” he pointed out.

  “Which is yet more proof. You’re not close to your aunt but you took on her cat for her, without question or qualm.”

  “Oh, there was qualm,” he said. “Buckets and buckets of qualm.”

  “You bought me muffins,” she said softly, undeterred. “You wanted to cheer me up because I was upset.”

  “No, that was a sheer male knee-jerk attempt to make sure you didn’t cry again. As a whole, we’ll pretty much do anything to get a woman to stop crying.”

  “So what are we doing here, if you don’t, or can’t, feel things, if you don’t ever want to find The One. What do you want from me?”

  He flashed a wicked grin that made her body quiver hopefully but she snorted. “Right,” she said. “‘Animal magnetism.’”

  “Just because I don’t plan on finding The One doesn’t mean I’m not interested in The One For Now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But I still think you’re not giving yourself enough credit and you can’t change my mind about that.”

  “What a shock,” he murmured beneath his breath but his eyes were amused. Then that amusement faded. “From the outside looking in, I had a very traditional upbringing compared to you. Two parents, two older sisters, all college professors of science, their lives tightly run, everything entered into a planner, put in a neat little compartmentalized box.” His smile was short. “But then along came me. I didn’t fit in the box. I was wild, noisy, and destructive as hell. I was rough on the entire family and usually got left behind with a caretaker. My own doing,” he said with a head shake. “It’s not so much that I don’t get attached, as I’m not easy to get attached to.”

  Willa’s heart gave a hard squeeze. He’d learned too young that even the people who were supposed to unconditionally love you didn’t always—something she knew all too well. Only she’d compensated by going in the opposite direction and loving everything and everyone. “You didn’t get a lot of affection,” she said softly. “You weren’t shown much emotion. That’s why you think you don’t know how to feel or give it.”

  “I don’t think it,” he said. “I know it.”

  Back in high school, she’d not been aware of any of this. She’d simply set her sights on inviting him to the dance, knowing only that he’d been a solid athlete and also an equally solid student, and that kids and teachers alike had flocked to him.

  He’d had an easy smile and a natural confidence that had made him seem impenetrable at the time. Now, looking back on it, she could see that he’d used his charisma as a personal shield and she’d not looked past it.

  Which made her just as guilty as everyone else in his life.

  He nodded for her to sit on the stone bench she’d personally lined with boughs of holly and little jingle bells weeks ago now. It was early enough that few people came through the courtyard. There was the occasional runner or dog walker, but mostly they had the place to themselves. With the low-lying fog, it felt like they were all alone.

  It was incredibly intimate.

  They ate muffins in companionable silence for as long as she could stand it, but silence had never been her strong suit. Eventually her curiosity got the best of her. “When Tina said maybe you’ve grown attached to your place, why did you say not likely?”

  “I told you.” He shrugged. “I always sell them when I’m finished.”

  “Because you don’t get attached.”

  “Right.”

  “But we decided that isn’t exactly strictly true,” she pointed out.

  “No, you decided.”

  She blew ou