Page 15 of Sweet Yuletide (Indigo Bay Christmas Romances #4)

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She removed the skillet from the cabinet, turned the dial to medium-high heat, and touched the button for the fan.

The chicken wasn’t quite at room temperature, but it was close enough.

She seasoned the two pieces with salt and pepper before adding olive oil to the pan.

“Four minutes on each side, and it’ll be done. ”

“I’ll get my ramen going.” Once again, he took up most of the space, removing a saucepan from the cabinet.

She kept an eye on the chicken. “Tell me if I’m in your way.”

“You’re not.” He set to work as if this were an Iron Chef competition, not just water heating. His serious expression amused her. He kept surprising her in good ways.

Not being his type was a blessing in disguise because she had a little crush on him. That explained why she reacted to him the way she did. She hadn’t crushed on anyone in years, but it made sense because he’d helped her rediscover her Christmas spirit.

And if she was suddenly obsessed with the mistletoe hanging a few feet away from them, it didn’t matter. They were roommates. They might end up as friends by the time she left Indigo Bay. But like ramen, kisses weren’t on the menu.

Mistletoe or not .

* * *

The next day, Sheridan strolled along Main Street. She’d set off on her own because Michael had a few calls to make—most likely more interviews or his family—but she’d wanted to give him space, so she agreed to meet him later to buy the craft materials for their ornaments.

Not that she’d seen anything that would work other than Christmas-themed tissue paper, but he might be able to suggest other places to go.

She yawned, fighting the tiredness from a near-sleepless night. When she did sleep, a Christmas tree singing a love ballad with a sprig of mistletoe played a starring role in her dream. So had Michael.

The sign for the Chocolate Emporium beckoned. Chocolate contained caffeine, which would help her wake up. At least in theory. But she’d probably just get a sugar rush only to crash later and have the calories go straight to her hips.

“Sheridan,” Michael called out.

She turned toward his voice.

Michael strode her way at a fast clip. He wore another baseball cap and had exchanged his hoodie for a sweater. He’d worn similar outfits before, but she kept staring at him.

He smiled. “I don’t have your cell phone number, so I’m glad I found you.”

“Me, too.”

“Did you find any ornament stuff?”

“One possibility, but I wanted to see what else was out there before deciding.”

“Coastal Creations has a class to paint ornaments.”

The cost concerned her. Indigo Bay wasn’t a cheap tourist trap, but a charming, small town that appealed to permanent residents and visitors.

But if she mentioned money, Michael might offer to pay for her.

She didn’t want that to happen. “I’d rather make them ourselves. Isn’t that your family tradition?”

“It is.”

“Then, let’s stick with the original plan.”

“Okay, but do you mind a detour first?”

“Is there something you want to get?”

“I want to show you something.” He led her down the block, opened a door, and motioned her inside.

She found herself surrounded by art. The lighting, the music, the smells… It was like coming home. Funny how she hadn’t noticed this store when she was on Main Street yesterday. “What is this place?”

“Welcome to High Tide Gallery.” A woman greeted them warmly. Her shoulder-length brown hair had a few silver strands mixed in. “I’m Melanie Bowers.”

“I’m Sheridan DeMarco.”

“Michael Patterson,” he said.

“Patterson,” Melanie repeated before tucking strands behind an ear. “Are you Marley’s brother?”

“I am.”

Melanie’s smile widened. “I haven’t worked here long, but my fiancé, Penn, and I are friends with Von and Hope Ryan. They introduced us to your sister.”

“Do you have any of Hope’s work on display?” Sheridan asked, eager to see more of Hope’s paintings.

“We do. Follow me.” Melanie headed toward the back, passing by sculptures and other vignettes by artists. “We hope to get more of her works after she returns from her vacation.”

Those must be the pieces Hope wanted Sheridan to catalog. She was halfway through them. She’d finished more this morning when sleep eluded her.

“She’s a star on the rise.” Sheridan did a double take at a large painting on the back wall Air rushed from her lungs. Her hand covered her heart. “Is that…”

“It’s one of Hope’s more recent works, and I love that she featured a sunset.” Melanie motioned to the sold sticker. “It sold immediately, but the owners live in Nashville and aren’t ready to take possession. We’re happy to hold on to it since most people have a similar reaction to yours.”

Sheridan could imagine. “I’ve never seen her use the purple and yellow hues in this way. The result is stunning.”

“It is.” Michael came forward to stand next to her. “I thought she was good, but this is beyond amazing.”

“Sometimes Hope hides things in the paintings.” Sheridan leaned forward. “Look closely, so you miss nothing.”

“You’re familiar with her work,” Melanie said.

“I’ve seen a few of the pieces she’s done in Berry Lake.”

“She mentioned a show there in February.”

“Yes.” Sheridan didn’t want to talk about the gallery or Sal, but she hoped the exhibit happened. It would be a massive boon for business.

“I should return to the front. Just call my name if you need help.” Mischief gleamed in Melanie’s eyes. “And in case you didn’t notice, the two of you are standing under the mistletoe ball.”

With that, she walked away.

Mistletoe !

Please don’t let it be true .

Sheridan was afraid to look, but she did. Her heart dropped, straight to her feet. If not for her boots, it might have kept going.

The ball hung from a green velvet ribbon. She could almost hear it mocking her and her silly crush. Okay, not really. But the voice in her head wouldn’t shut up.

Michael glanced at the ceiling. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Me, either. But we—”

“It’s tradition to kiss under the mistletoe,” he interrupted. “If you refuse, it’s bad luck.”

“Right. I can’t afford more of that.”

“Then we’ll just do a peck.”

Heat pooled in her cheeks. “Fine.”

What else could she say, especially with her heart playing its rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy”?

They met halfway, not moving their lower bodies, only the upper part.

Their lips barely touched, but then someone moved closer.

She didn’t know if it was him or her, but the brush of lips turned into a full-on kiss.

A hot, make-her-blood-boil kiss she didn’t want to end.

Only their mouths touched, but that was enough.

Who was she kidding?

His kiss was everything.

A bell rang.

The front door.

They weren’t alone. They were in the…

Gallery.

She jerked back, inhaling deeply. Thankfully, her lungs remembered to breathe after being kissed so thoroughly. “No bad luck for us.”

He stuck his fingertips in his pocket. “None at all.”

Sheridan wasn’t sure if she should be upset or relieved that this was no big deal to him when her heart continued to race like the speed boats on Berry Lake. Words failed her, but she needed to say something—anything. “Thanks for showing me the gallery.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at the man and woman speaking to Melanie. “We should go find stuff to make ornaments.”

“Okay.” And get far, far away from the mistletoe ball. At least she knew where it hung at the beach house. Her lips wanted another taste of Michael, but that wouldn’t happen again.

Otherwise, her crush might turn into something else.