An Ex for Christmas (Love Unexpectedly 5)

“Explains why the roses didn’t make it.”

“They were pink, back in the day. To match your dress.”

“To match…” Her voice trails off, and her eyes go from the corsage to me. “My prom dress?”

I shrug nervously, no longer convinced this was a good idea. “I worked up the courage for a month to ask you to go as my date. We were both single by then, and I thought it’d be as good a time as any to tell you how I felt.”

“But I insisted on going with my girlfriends,” she whispers, touching a dried petal gently.

I clear my throat. “Yeah. Well. I got this just in case, told myself I was going to come by your house, make the speech….”

When she lifts her eyes to mine, they’re shiny again with unshed tears. “Oh, Mark, if you had—”

“Might have avoided this train wreck, huh?” I ask, nodding at the messy pile of posters.

She laughs and clutches the corsage to her chest. “I love it.”

“I was thinking…” I clear my throat again. God, I am so out of my element here. But she’s worth it. She’s always been worth it.

I jerk my chin toward the tree. “I know it’s small, but I was thinking it could be…you know. For the top.”

Her lips part in surprise, but the smile that follows is worth every moment of my awkward discomfort. “My tree topper.”

I shrug. “It’s not blue—”

“Aqua.”

I roll my eyes. “I know it’s not aqua or white, but—”

“It’s perfect,” she says, touching my hand. “Perfect.”

I swallow. One more to go…

I thrust the gift bag at her. “Your real gift.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and lifts her eyebrows. “You wrapped it. That’s a first.”

I give a little shake of my head, and Kelly smiles. “Or, your mom wrapped it.”

“Wouldn’t let me leave the house until she found coordinating tissue paper.”

Kelly gingerly lifts said tissue paper from the bag and glances inside, then gives me a skeptical look. She reaches inside, pulls out a Magic 8 ball. “In case I lose the others?”

Here goes nothing. I scoot closer to her and slide a hand to the back of her head, my thumb drifting over her cheekbone.

Her eyes go warm, and though I want nothing more than to kiss her—hell, more than that—I nod at the Magic 8 ball. “Shake it.”

“What question should I ask it?”

I’m the one asking the question.

“Shake it,” I say again.

She does as I say, and I watch, heart in my throat, as she glances down at the little screen.

I already know what it says. I’ve spent the past God knows how many hours taking the damn thing apart and hacking it to say what I want it to say.

“Mark?” she lifts her eyes to mine.