Mistletoe Kisses

I just wanted to see how she looked when she realized I was within hearing distance, and sure enough, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her green eyes wide and startled. She completely stopped talking mid-sentence, but now that I’m in the aisle with her, she doesn’t even attempt to finish.

Turning away from me, she lowers her voice. “I have to go. I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Flicking a glance at her, I note her heated cheeks and murmur casually, “Mom?”

“No,” she says awkwardly, but doesn’t elaborate.

Interesting. Does Noelle have a date? It certainly sounded date-like.

I shouldn’t care; I gave her the freedom to go out with someone else when she offered herself to me last night and I gave her little but lies and cruelty, I guess I’m just surprised. She’s clearly not doing it out of spite, because I can see from the guilty look on her face she hadn’t wanted me to overhear that conversation. That means she’s actually trying this out for real.

I’m torn between wanting to know who the little asshole is and not caring. It doesn’t matter who it is; I don’t want Noelle going anywhere with him.

I tell myself it’s none of my business and I have to let it go. Noelle is too embarrassed to speak to me, so she flees the aisle in the other direction and goes back to the counter to talk to the lady who runs the book shop.

After a few minutes, they stop talking and Noelle—too tempted by being in a bookstore to resist looking around—begins wandering through the aisles.

Literally all I can think about is the date she’s planning to go on after I take her home. Try as I might, I can’t think of one of the spoiled brats I teach every day putting his hands on her without a spike of possessive rage obliterating half of my common sense.

I don’t want her to go on a date with anyone else.

I’ve made my way through the store aimlessly, looking at rows of books but seeing none. I find myself back in the rare and interesting section, so I pick up the Dickens book again.

I decide to buy it for Noelle, since I can’t very well give her the presents I bought for her at Daring Dolls after last night.

I make my way to the cash register to pay for her gift, then I spot the stack of books Noelle must have set aside to buy for her wishlist shoppers.

Nodding at the books, I ask the shopkeeper to be sure, “Are those hers?”

Since she saw us come in together—and since we’re the only two customers in the store—she knows who I’m talking about and nods her head.

“Put those on the bill as well,” I tell her. “I’m going to take them to the car while she finishes shopping.”

“Any gift wrapping?” she inquires.

I glance at the one I bought for Noelle. I don’t have wrapping supplies at home, so I probably should. “That one.”

She nods and adds a charge to my bill, then reads me the total. I start to slide my card, then change my mind and pay with cash since it’s a small business.

I follow the woman toward the back of the store and watch her carefully wrap A Christmas Carol, casting paranoid glances over my shoulder for Noelle. She doesn’t show up, though, so I make it out to the car with the wrapped gift for her and the stack of books she was going to pay for with her elf money.

I put the books in the trunk and close it quickly, not wanting the steadily falling snow to damage the books in the shopping bag. I look back at the shop, not even wanting to go back in. I can’t get Noelle’s phone conversation out of my head, can’t stop thinking about her telling the prick on the other end to pick her up at six.

An underhanded idea pops into my head, illustrating exactly why I’m on Noelle’s naughty list.

She can’t go on the date if I don’t get her home in time.

Of course, she probably knows I overheard some part of her conversation since I made my presence known, so I can’t just all of a sudden drag my feet and come up with excuses to make her late. She’ll see right through me.

No, it needs to be taken out of my hands.

Committing to the idea as it occurs to me, I walk to the passenger side of my car and pop open the glove compartment. I keep a good quality pocket knife in there in case of emergencies.

I draw it out and glance at the back door of the store to make sure Noelle hasn’t noticed me missing and wandered out to find me. Seeing she hasn’t, I walk back to the rear of the car on her side and squat down. I open the knife, locking the blade so I don’t cut my damn hand off, then I stab the tire.

Air begins hissing out of it immediately. I consider stabbing it a second time just to make sure it’s good and flat by the time we come back out, but on second thought, I recall Noelle telling me how hard it is to dr

ag her out of a bookstore. I imagine we’ll be here a while, so it’ll be flat by the time we come back out.