Mr. Streiker’s son takes a piece of paper from his father, looks at it, and rolls his eyes. “Really, Dad? You got her phone number?”
“How else am I supposed to get ahold of her?”
“Whatever. Let’s get you home.” He shakes my hand as well as Ben’s. “Thank you again.”
We stand in the doorway to make sure they get to their car okay. They pull away, and I turn to head back inside, but Ben grabs my wrist. Goosebumps scatter across my body, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m wearing this tiny dress and it’s freezing out here, or if it’s his touch.
I’m guessing it’s the latter, but it sure would be nice to know if I have the same effect on him.
“We didn’t get a chance to finish our dance.”
The song we were danci
ng to fades into another holiday classic—this one a little slower.
“No, we didn’t. But…” I lift my eyes and point to the mistletoe I know is hanging in the doorway.
I know because I’m the one who put it there. Yay, me!
Ben’s eyes follow mine, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “Well, we can’t break a Christmas tradition, can we?”
“That wouldn’t be very festive of us.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he says, pulling me farther into the bar. He shuts the door and backs me against it. Our bodies are lined up in all the important spots: lips, hips, and hearts and oh, jingle bells, this is it.
This time it’s happening.
Me and Ben and Mrs. Bauman.
Wait. What? Mrs. Bauman?
“Mrs. Bauman,” I shriek, when I see her out of the corner of my eye. She’s standing beside us with a toothy smile and tired eyes.
For the second time tonight, Ben steps away, and I’m left feeling empty and cold.
“Sorry, sweetie, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just going to ask Ben if he could give me a ride home.”
“Sure.” Ben pushes his fingers through his hair and walks around for a few seconds as though he forgot what he was doing.
“What are you looking for?” Scott says from across the room.
Shit. I forgot he was still here too. And he’s standing behind the bar each with a Cheshire grin on his face.
“My keys,” Ben answers.
Scott points to the coatrack. “They’re probably in your coat pocket.”
“Right.” Ben shakes his head and nods. “Right. My coat. I’ll probably need that.”
“It is a little cold out.”
“It is? I mean, it is. Yes. Freezing. I’ll need my coat. So will you, Mrs. Bauman. Let me grab that for you.”
Ben helps her into her coat and ushers her out the door. And when the big goof behind me starts laughing, I turn and give him my best evil glare.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You broke Ben,” Scott says. “He didn’t know which way was up. Quit playing with the poor guy’s emotions and just kiss him already.”