An Ex for Christmas (Love Unexpectedly 5)

“I like them.”

“I’m so glad,” he says, leaning back in the chair as he tugs the glasses off and sets them on top of his notebook. “Since I was just wearing them for fun, and not at all because I was trying to place orders for next week.”

I wince. “Sorry. I forget that just because you don’t work the brunch shift doesn’t mean you get to take Sunday off.”

He narrows his eyes slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, remembering the reason I dashed over here, and stalling for time.

He looks down at his mug, picks it up, and waits.

I hesitate for only a second, instinct telling me that he probably doesn’t want to hear about my disastrous kiss with Jack, but I need to talk about it. And yeah, it’s a better topic to save for my girlfriends, but they don’t live next door, so…

“So, my mistletoe test with Jack.”

He closes his eyes. “Nope.”

“It was…well, it was conclusive, but not in the good way.”

He sighs in resignation and opens his eyes. “Meaning?”

There’s a plate of half-eaten toast on the table, and I pull it toward me, helping myself to a corner of buttered sourdough. “Eh. Well, we kissed…and…” I take a bite of the bread. “What are those little chickens you serve at the restaurant sometimes? But they’re not called chickens.”

“Cornish game hens?”

“Right. Those.” I point the toast at him. “Anyway, the second Jack put his hands on my waist, all I could think was that his hands felt like Cornish game hens. Like ham hands, except…little chicken hands.”

“You’ve decided he wasn’t the one because his hands are like Cornish game hens.”

“Yup.”

For a second Mark only stares at me. Then he rubs his temples. “How is it we’ve been friends for a decade, and you can still surprise me?”

“Best friends,” I specify.

He merely shakes his head.

I drop the toast back on the plate, because I’ve suddenly lost my appetite as I remember why I came over in the first place. “I need to talk to you about something. Your love life. Not mine.”

“What about it?”

I swallow. “Well, you know how you refuse to get on Facebook, because you think it’s poser nonsense?”

“Not my precise words, but yeah.”

“Well, I’m still on Facebook, and I’m friends with Sheila because, well, I wanted her to like me, and…Sheila’s hooking up with her old boyfriend,” I say in a rush. “In Atlanta.”

I blow out a breath and wait to see on a scale of 1 to 10 how crushed he looks and how quickly I need to force him into a hug.

His only response is a slight smile. “Why are all the women in my life hooking up with exes?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. “That’s a remarkably calm response. Did you miss the unspoken part where she’s cheating on you?”

Mark picks up his glasses and puts them back on, attention already going back to his computer. “Sheila and I broke up.”

I gasp. “You did not. When?”

He doesn’t reply, and I reach across the table to shut the laptop. “When?”