Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Twin meows come from under the table, a demanding reminder that she’s transported three kittens here today.
Leighton waggles her camera—she’ll be taking pics of the event for the rescue. “That means you have five minutes to give us the good details, and don’t skimp on the kiss. Start now.”
Well, since they’re demanding it…
As I line up the Velcro strips on the back of the banner, I sigh, and the sound is full of regret and desire. “It was a good kiss, okay?”
An orange furball meows again from under the table.
“Clinton wants more than that,” Sabrina says, grabbing his crate and plunking the fiery boy on the table next to Snickerdoodle. “Was it a toe-curling kiss, a knee-weakening kiss, a tease of a kiss, a hungry kiss or a church-tongue kiss?”
Leighton laughs while giving Sabrina a curiously confused look. “Do you kiss in church? Legit asking. I’ve never been.”
Sabrina nudges Leighton’s arm. “Dude, get up to speed on your retro movies. Church tongue is from The Wedding Singer.”
“Isn’t that from another century?”
“Way to insult 1998,” Sabrina says, while I reposition the Velcro again since I can’t quite get it just right. Especially with these jittery fingers.
“Like I said, it’s from another century,” Leighton retorts.
“Yes, and the movie’s still good.”
“Also, I bet you could kiss in church if you skipped the service and went to make out in an empty Sunday school room,” Leighton posits.
“Sounds hot,” Sabrina says, ducking under the table to grab the final crate. After she sets the little tortoiseshell Calypso on the table, she turns a serious stare my way, her eyes lasered in on my hands fiddling with the banner. “’Fess up, Miss Busy Work. Which kind of kiss was it?”
My stomach twists again. Stopping my work—fine, my busy work—I draw a breath, and flash back to last night. I’m struck with the intensity of the memory. The way Rowan touched my cheek, ran a thumb across my lip, brushed his mouth to mine.
I grab the edge of the table. My knees are most decidedly weak, and my toes are definitely curling. A rush of heat spreads down my chest. “I think it was all of the above,” I whisper, with more wonder in my tone than I’d been expecting. With a wistfulness that surprises me.
Leighton’s expression morphs from playful to sympathetic. “Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?”
That’s the problem. That’s probably also why my stomach is so jumpy this morning. Why my fingers feel clumsy.
Sabrina wiggles her eyebrows as she positions a cardboard placard in front of Snickerdoodle’s crate, advertising the kitten’s chatty and cuddly traits. “And you deserve that kind of kiss after JD.”
Snickerdoodle, Clinton, and Calypso meow loudly in unison, perhaps in solidarity too, as if they know the mere mention of my ex’s name calls for catcalls. They’re right, since the man I once loved took me only to out-of-the-way and off-the-beaten path restaurants, romancing me for six months in places where he was least likely to be spotted until I learned the truth of his lies. And the depth of my own gullibility. I believed he was single, like an idiot, even though in retrospect I should have put two and two together and summed up that he was very, very not single. He never wanted me to meet his parents. Never took me out with his friends.
With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and do my best to shrug off the awful memories.
“Whether or not I deserve it isn’t the point. Honestly, everybody deserves great kisses. Well, except for JD. But in general—good people deserve a good love. That’s why I need to double down and focus even harder on finding Rowan a match,” I say, recommitting to my role as matchmaker not match-taker, as I put the finishing touches on fixing the banner. “My job is to find him a partner. To show him that love can be wonderful, not painful. He’s a good man, even when he’s a surly sourpuss, and he deserves love,” I say, feeling emboldened by my love mission once again, even as guilt over last night nags at me. I peer around, making sure nobody working can hear us in this quiet corner of the pet supply store. “But he’s my brother’s client and he’s also my client. And now I’m going to set up a man I kissed. Isn’t that…wrong?”
The guilt crawls higher in me.
Sabrina frowns, but it’s full of sympathy as she comes around the table, squeezing my shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was one kiss under the mistletoe.”
“And besides, it’s the rule of mistletoe to kiss,” Leighton adds, throwing her full friend support behind me, and adding in a side hug for good measure.
Maybe this is what I needed this morning. Their understanding and support loosen the knot of guilt in me. Best to let go of it at last. There are kittens that need homes, and matches to make, and holidays to plan for. I’ll move on, and last night will remain a blip—a blip I won’t repeat. “It was a temporary lapse of reason,” I say, resolved. Certain. “And it won’t happen again.”