An Ex for Christmas (Love Unexpectedly 5)

Daughter duty fulfilled, I turn my attention to the rest of my Facebook feed, smiling at all of the babies-with-Santa photos. I’m definitely at that age when more and more of my friends are having kids. Most of my high school girls still live here in Haven, so I’ll get to coo over their babies in person. But I went to college in Boston, and my sorority sisters are scattered all over the country. Social media’s a must for staying in touch with that set of friends.

I’m about to shut my laptop when my eye catches on a picture that makes me do a triple take to make sure I’m seeing it right. Eventually I realize that what I thought I saw is in fact what I’m seeing.

“That bitch,” I seethe, blood pressure skyrocketing.

It’s not a word I use lightly, as I’m all for girls supporting other girls, but there are some occasions that call for it, and this is one of them.

This time I do shut my laptop—nay, slam it—and I’m out the door and charging across my backyard, Rigby barking happily at my feet.

Whoops. I realize when I’m halfway across the lawn that it snowed a little bit last night, and I’m still in my PJs and red fuzzy slippers. I yelp-hop the rest of the way, Rigby really getting into it, thinking we’re playing.

I give a quick knock at Mark’s back door, then charge right in because I need my wet slippers off, stat.

Rigby dashes into the kitchen ahead of me, his cute little feet leaving snowy paw prints in his wake. I start to charge after the dog in my bare feet, then skid to a halt when I see my best friend sitting at his kitchen table staring at me with a bemused expression.

“Oh. Hey.” I give him an awkward nod.

He glances down at my bare feet, which are practically turning blue. “Really?”

“I was in a hurry. Can I borrow some socks?”

I dash up the stairs to his bedroom before giving him a chance to respond. Huh. Mark makes his bed on Sunday mornings.

Interesting.

I’ve been in his bedroom before, but mostly just after he bought the house and I was snooping. I’ve never had much reason since.

It’s very…guy-ish. There’s an old-looking dresser, a big bed with a navy duvet cover. Two functional pillows, and not a throw p

illow in sight. A shame. A few teal polka dots would be just the thing to brighten the room.

I open the upper right drawer. Whoops. Boxers, nope. I shut that and go with the top left drawer. Socks. Bingo.

I grab a fuzzy-looking green pair, then blink in surprise when I see what’s nestled at the bottom of the drawer. Well, not so much nestled as covered in socks, but still, it’s there.

My Magic 8 ball.

I carefully lift it and give it a shake, smiling when I see it still works.

Technically, it’s not my Magic 8 ball. As established, I already have two of my own, one for work, one for home. Three, if you count the one on my key chain. Don’t laugh. The Magic 8 ball has helped me through some major life dilemmas. College decisions, what to wear, breakups…

Anyway, this one was a gift, and I thought he’d sent it to Goodwill a long time ago.

“Does Mark ever use you?” I ask the ball before giving it another shake.

Very doubtful.

Huh. Yeah, can’t say I didn’t see that coming.

I put it away and hop into the socks before heading back downstairs.

Mark’s put a towel on the floor beside his chair, and Rigby’s curled up, chewing his favorite penguin toy, which resides at Mark’s house.

It’s a cozy picture, and one I’d like to think I fit into. I pour myself a cup of coffee from his pot, top off his mug, then sit across the table from him.

“When’d you get the glasses?” I ask, cupping my mug and studying him over the steam.

He gives me a look over the top rim of them. “Few months ago. They’re reading glasses. Doing the books gave me a headache.”