Page 44 of Mistletoe All the Way

Rusty hurries outside, the chilly air giving him a spring in his step. When he’s done, I tell him it’s time for bed, and he trots back over to Eloise.

I can’t let her sleep on the couch though. Too uncomfortable for a long night. After I shut and lock the door, I pad quietly to her side and kneel in front of her. She barely stirs.

“Eloise,” I whisper, figuring I can rouse her slowly, then show her to the guest room.

She’s a brick.

I whisper her name one more time. She burrows deeper into the couch, looking adorable in my sweatshirt.

I blow out a breath, scrub my beard, and stare out the window, contemplating next steps. I could grab a blanket, cover her up, and dim the lights the rest of the way.

But I know what it’s like to wake up with a crick in your back from conking out on a couch, so I coast an arm under her shoulders and another beneath her knees. She’ll wake from this, I’m sure.

Nope.

I’ve scooped her up in my arms, and I’m carrying her down the hall toward the guest room. I cross the threshold when she startles, her eyes flying open, staring straight at me. Her expression is blank for a beat, as she must reconnect to reality.

“Oh.” She blinks, then her gaze swings up and down before it locks with mine. Like she’s amazed she woke up in my arms. And like maybe she doesn’t mind that. “I fell asleep.”

“You sure did, sleeping beauty.” I don’t let her down yet. I savor the moment for another second or two, of my arms around her, my hands against her clothed body, her hair whooshing against my chest. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay in this nighttime moment forever. “Can I set you down?”

She takes a beat, getting her bearings, then says softly, “Yes… I should brush my teeth.”

“I have extra toothbrushes in the guest bathroom,” I say, putting her gently on the plush carpet. I miss the contact. Does she? “Want some sweatpants to sleep in?”

“That would be great,” she says, glancing at her jeans.

“I’ll be right back.”

She shuffles to the bathroom on tired feet, and I leave, my chest feeling a little achy.

That’s longing, settling there in my sternum. The wish that I wasn’t saying good night to her.

I scrub a hand through my hair, concentrating on getting her something to wear. I grab some lounge pants from the bureau. She’ll swim in them, but this is better than denim.

The door to the guest room is wide open, and as I walk toward it, she’s crossing the room, then stops right in front of the doorway at the same time I do. I catch a glimpse of green and red above us.

I arch a brow. “What is that?”

“It’s called mistletoe. You hang it for the holidays.”

I lower my gaze to meet her eyes. “I know that. I meant when—” I circle back to earlier in the evening. “When you disappeared down the hallway. You were hanging mistletoe?”

“And this surprises you?” She smiles without an ounce of guilt.

“You’re right. I should have assumed.”

“I hung it in all the doorways,” she stage-whispers.

“Just what I always wanted,” I say dryly.

“Once I leave in the morning, it’ll keep you in the holiday spirit. Just like the tree. Since I can’t be here to keep you festive.”

Shame, that.

“So the mistletoe is your proxy?” I ask.

“Maybe. Mistletoe is festive, and Mr. Holiday should be festive.”