“So...” Saylor couldn’t finish. He’d spoken with her mother, but not with her? Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he called?
Cole seemed to read her discomfort. “I know, I should have called you.” He offered a shamefaced grin before opening his arms as though offering himself to her. “But I was going to surprise you.”
Saylor gulped. Literally gulped. She wasn’t sure when she’d ever done so, but the realization was that impactful. First the apology, then the embrace, now this?
Cole had been planning to come with her to David’s wedding. A comforting euphoria began to swirl in her stomach. He was telling the truth; he really did want to be with her.
Even after this horrible week, after their awful breakup, he’d been willing to come. A chill swept up her spine as surely as if Jack Frost were running his finger up her back.
“Cole.” Her voice hinted at how touched she was. “I don’t even know what to say. That was so sweet of you. But I’m not going.”
“Oh?”
Her lips crinkled out a ready smile. “I have a better idea of how we can spend our time tonight.” She rifled the box from her pocket, heat flaring in her cheeks. This was no casual edging down a limb. This was full-on throwing herself from the bridge.
Cole’s eyes glinted at the sight of the mistletoe. He took the box from her, deliberately brushing his hand against hers.
“I like where this is going,” he said. “But we can’t do it with you looking like that.”
“What?” She peered down at her jeans and snow-clung shoes. “You don’t like my clothes?”
“Let’s make a night of it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m taking you out. Get your cute little self home and don’t come back until you’re dressed to kill, Saylor Bates.”
“If it’s that fancy of a date, then you’d better be picking me up.”
He thought this over for all of two seconds. “You’re right. If we’re sticking with tradition, that’s how things should go.”
“Definitely tradition,” she said, lifting the mistletoe and tiptoeing up.
Flashing a seductive grin, he dipped down to press his lips against hers. The kiss filled her as though he’d poured hot water inside, collecting first in her toes and climbing up to her throat. This was a hot chocolate kiss, she decided.
Though he drew his mouth away, his arms stayed securely around her. “What is it?” he whispered, forehead to forehead. “What’s different?”
“Me,” she said, beaming, steaming with the heat of his touch, the tingle of his kiss, and the glimmer of change. With another final peck, she wheeled around and scurried out the door.
Chapter Twenty-five
Saylor brushed her hair aside, reached behind, and carefully zipped up the concert choir dress she hadn’t worn since college. It was black velvet on top, with a vivid, flowing red skirt draping from its empire waist. To her delight and relief, it still fit, and she managed the zipper and twisted her hair up into a knot at the back of her head. Her step was lighter, with a bounce sneaking its way to lift her with every move she made.
She balanced against her dresser as she slipped into ankle boots with wedge heels. On impulse, she reached into the drawer and pulled out the gray shirt. Without a second thought, she plopped it into the donation box by the door.
Letting it go was healing. The usual tug this shirt had given her for so long was gone. Nothing else was keeping her attached to it, which widened her smile even more.
She determined to donate the box first thing Monday morning.
A knock sounded, adding to the exhilaration surging through her. Saylor gave herself a final once-over in the mirror before sweeping down the hall to open it.
She didn’t even notice the cold. Cole was as sharp as ever in his tux. His gaze roved from Saylor’s neckline to the hem of her red skirt and back up again, dripping with such burning approval her body temperature clicked up a few more degrees. It hadn’t been more than an hour since the last time they’d clapped eyes, but if this was what it’d be like every time they were reunited, she’d take it.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Are you ready, Saylor Bates?”
“For your plans?”
“Unless you have something else in mind.”
Saylor glanced behind him, out across the snow to where his pickup idled. As of a month ago, her plans had included keeping it together when Parker was around, working enough to cover their basic needs, and not crying herself to sleep. She clutched the mistletoe in her coat pocket. Her plans were so much different now.
No more Christmas Eve’s spent alone just to avoid her brother. Christmas should be spent with family. With those you love.
No more pining for the lost past, not when such a bright future lay ahead of her. It had taken sorrow to open her eyes to it. It had taken the pain, the loneliness. It had taken a trip to the mall and a handsome, phony Santa Claus telling her son a simple story about mistletoe to make things clear. It had taken her family’s patience and their faith in her to rebuild her own faith in herself.
“My plans are to make the most of things from now on,” Saylor told him. “And I’m ready to make the most of our night, Cole. Of every second I get to spend with you.”
“Sounds good to me.” Lips pursed in a satisfied smirk, he led a hand toward the door. “After you.”
SAYLOR’S MOUTH DROPPED.
“The mall? You had me dress up like this for the mall?” Then again, this was Twin Falls, Idaho. It wasn’t like they had the opera or art galas or anything around here. She stared across the parking lot, past the Red Robin to the Old Navy in the strip mall across
