“I don’t even know what that means.” Carina leaned closer. “Did you have a crush on him?”
“No,” Emmy mumbled, then winced at the wave of guilt washing over her. She never lied to Carina—not purposefully, anyway—and here she was telling a big bald-faced one. From her doubtful expression Emmy could tell she didn’t believe her.
“Then why did you go to prom with him?”
“He needed a date, and I was available.” She quickly explained the circumstances. “He graduated a few weeks later and left for Ireland a while after. Until the other day I hadn’t seen or heard from him in more than two decades. Sheryl would mention what he was up to occasionally, but that’s it.”
“You saw him the other day?” Carina’s brow lifted. “When? Where?”
“On the way to the post office.” She gathered up the newspaper. “There’s nothing between me and Kieran. There never will be.”
“But—”
“Take your lunch.” She hadn’t been this stern with her daughter in years, but she was tired of the inquisition.
Carina stood, looking contrite. “Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
After she left, Emmy removed her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. She was grateful Carina hadn’t called her out on her lie,and she wished she could’ve been honest with her about her crush on Kieran. She knew what her daughter was up to. It had been five years since Josh dumped her, and Carina hadn’t brought up the subject of Emmy dating again until lately. Not a full-court press, but just a hint here or a suggestion there that she should wade into the romance pool.
No. Way.She’d had zero luck with men. First there was Kieran, but he didn’t count because it was high school. Then there were two relationships in college that hadn’t worked out, and by the time she was thirty-one she had adopted Carina, and her personal life had gone by the wayside for a while. Then she met Josh and had fallen in love. Looking back, the red flags had been there, but she’d ignored them. Loneliness undermined common sense. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.
As she headed for the front of the store, she heard Sheryl talking, and she assumed it was a customer. But when she looked up, she stopped.
Kieran.
“Oh hi, Emmy!” Sheryl held a plastic-wrapped brown loaf that resembled one of Maggie’s infamous fruitcake loaves.
Emmy wilted a little inside. Every year Maggie gave her fruitcake, and every year she tried it and didn’t like it. It seemed a waste of ingredients, and two years ago Emmy had cut the cake in slices, wrapped them in cling film, and put them in the café. They stayed there until New Year’s. Apparently, none of her customers liked fruitcake either.
“And look who just happened to stop by,” Sheryl said, her voice higher and brighter than Emmy had ever heard it.
Kieran turned around and said in his deep, lyrical voice, “Hello, lass.”
She put her hand over her stomach.Wig. Wag.
***
Although he had wanted to explore the store some more—and see Emmy again—Kieran hadn’t expected it to be so soon, or at Sheryl’s request. Around nine-thirty that morning she had called Mum, and knowing his sister, he figured the conversation would be long. He’d taken the opportunity to go for a quick run around the neighborhood, even though it was lightly snowing. Like the rest of Mistletoe, the houses and streets hadn’t changed much, and it was very different from Ballyton and other places in Ireland and Europe. He’d been in Mistletoe less than a week, and he kept expecting the culture shock to hit. Instead, being back home felt like slipping into a well-worn, comfortable pair of old shoes.
When he got back home, he was surprised when his mother had canceled the day’s plans and gave him a list of errands. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead with the cuff of his sweatshirt as he studied the list.
Pick up milk, eggs, butter, and eggnog from Mistletoe Grocery.
Mail Christmas cards at the Mistletoe Post Office.
Deliver fruitcake to the following people and businesses:
He stopped reading at the last entry on the fruitcake list—Mistletoe Antiques. His heart skipped a beat when he thought of Emmy, or more accurately, last night’s hug.
“I don’t mind doin’ these things,” he said to his mother. Especially seeing Emmy again. “But you and I were supposed to spend today together.”
“We’ve got tomorrow. And the next day.” She walked over to the freezer side of her fridge and took out six frozen loaves of fruitcake and placed them on the table. “Go get your shower,” Mum said, shooing him out of the kitchen. “And wear something nice.”
He looked over his shoulder. “You want me to dress up?”
“Um, no.” Her eyes shifted to the left. “Just be presentable.”
