Page 16 of Sweet Yuletide (Indigo Bay Christmas Romances #4)

With a baseball cap on, Michael stood in the baking aisle of the local market, staring at Sheridan as she compared two bags of brown sugar.

He couldn’t turn back time, but an hour or even forty-five minutes would be enough to put them at the High Tide Gallery again.

Instead of agreeing they wouldn’t have bad luck and walking out, as if nothing had happened under the mistletoe ball, he would say more about their kiss.

He wanted to do that now, but something held him back—the same way it had at the gallery.

On their walk along Main Street.

Inside the drugstore.

And now at the market.

Based on his sisters, women made a big deal about mistletoe kisses. To be honest, they’d always been a joke to him, a nudge-nudge kind of thing between him and his friends. At least they had been until today.

Now he was rethinking… everything.

Including his type .

Tall, leggy, and brunette with full kissable lips and breathy sighs suddenly appealed to him in a way he’d never imagined. The same way Sheridan’s kiss affected him differently from every other before hers.

Was he losing his mind or lonely from not dating?

Whatever the reason, he needed it to stop.

Now.

He blamed himself for this situation.

Why should Sheridan mention the kiss when he’d shaken it off, acted like it was no big deal, and tried to forget about it?

That might be what guys did. Well, what he did.

Unfortunately, he’d only accomplished two of the three. Her kiss was branded on his lips. She hadn’t been unaffected. It had taken time for her pupils to return to their normal size and her breathing to become less shallow. Her cheeks, however, remained pinker than usual.

From walking to the various stores or because of kissing him?

Michael hoped the latter. Call him selfish, but he didn’t like being the only one caught up in this… whatever it was he thought about her. He barely knew her, so it wasn’t the F-word—feelings.

She placed one bag of brown sugar in the basket. There shouldn’t be much difference between the packages, but how she studied the labels was cute. “We only need honey and molasses.”

“The honey should be with the peanut butter, but I don’t have a clue about molasses.” He’d never used that. At least not knowingly.

“I know where they are,” she said, not missing a beat.

He followed her, trying to think of a way to ask her if the kiss was a one-off or if she wanted more.

Direct would be best .

But that wasn’t like him.

Soon, they had the two items.

“We’re all set to make the cookies.” She lowered her phone. “Do you need anything?”

More kisses, but those didn’t appear to be on her list.

Just talk to her .

Or, he could sleep under the mistletoe to see if she’d kiss him when she woke.

Grow up .

Stop acting like a twelve-year-old .

You’re not Mikey. You’re Michael .

Don’t be that guy .

Talk to her .

His sisters’ voices filled his head. He didn’t disagree with any of those things, but he preferred the path of least resistance. And twelve had been an awesome age.

“Michael?” Sheridan asked.

“What?” She must have been talking to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Freshly made pizzas are on sale for ten dollars. Do you want to split one for dinner?”

“I never say no to pizza.”

“Meat lovers, pepperoni, cheese, or veggie?”

“Pepperoni.”

“My favorite.” She placed it in the cart. “I have salad, too.”

“Sounds good.” Sheridan had fed him last night. He would provide something, too. He grabbed a box of chocolate-covered cherries. “How about these for dessert? They’re another family tradition. No matter whose house we visit, everyone has these.”

She laughed. “My mom buys them, too.”

He placed them in the basket and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. They’d decided to split the expenses for any Christmas tradition. But his guilt continued to rise each time she pulled out her wallet.

This morning, Michael’s team had told him the date they would redeem his ticket—January seventh. That had made the situation more real.

As they exited the market, Sheridan grinned. “Thank you for hanging out with me today.”

“You’re welcome. I had fun.”

“Me, too.”

This was his chance. He wasn’t one for talking. Mason had taught him actions spoke louder than words. Still, Michael took a breath and blew it out. “So, the kiss at the gallery…”

“The mistletoe ball was pretty.”

Not where he was going with this, but at least she hadn’t shut him down. “Yes, but are you okay?”

Her nose crinkled. “With what?”

“The kiss.” The word shot out. “I mean, I don’t want you to be weirded out since we’re sharing the house.”

“Do you feel weird?”

“No.”

“I don’t, either.”

Okay, they were talking, but they weren’t getting anywhere. “I enjoyed it.”

“Me, too.”

He debated asking if they could try it at home under the mistletoe there, but he decided against it. “So, we’re good?”

“Of course.” She sounded nonchalant. “Mistletoe is a tradition. No different from the cookies we’ll bake tomorrow or the ornaments we’ll make on the twenty-third.”

Her calm tone bristled. “Right.”

Except it seemed wrong.

Wrong . Wrong . Wrong .

Only, what could he do about it?

* * *

The next day, kissing Sheridan remained on Michael’s mind. Maybe he needed to go on a date or kiss someone. Someone who wasn’t his roommate. He crawled out of bed, just in time to answer a call from one of his team who wanted him to check his inbox.

He did, only to find a hundred attachments—okay, more like ten—they asked him to read and sign.

The documents had nothing to do with winning the lottery.

No, these were things most responsible adults had, like a will, advanced medical directive, durable power of attorney, medical power of attorney, and letter of intent.

He typed a note into his phone to make sure his parents and siblings had all this stuff, too.

After promising to return everything before Christmas, he hung up. He hadn’t slept well, so caffeine might help. He put on a T-shirt and trudged to the kitchen.

No sign of Sheridan, unfortunately, and the mistletoe appeared to mock him, but a pot of fresh coffee waited for him. He would call it a win.

He poured himself a cup. The hot liquid slid down his throat.

No dishes filled the sink, but that didn’t mean Sheridan hadn’t eaten.

She enjoyed walks along the beach, even though he’d yet to take one.

He grabbed a pouch with two strawberry Pop-Tarts in it and returned to his room.

They planned to bake cookies at eleven, so he had time to read the some of the documents.

He digested the beneficiary form as easily as his breakfast. After signing it, he uploaded the document into his lawyer’s portal. The next one, however, was longer, and the legalese made his brain hurt. By the fourth page, the words blurred.

He rubbed his tired eyes. It was only ten o’clock, but a nap might re-energize him.

His cell phone rang. His mom’s name showed on the screen. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, Mikey. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday, but your grandfather’s gout flared up, so we tried to distract him.”

His grandpa was a big guy. Everyone said Michael took after him. “Is he better today?”

“Yes.” His mom chuckled. “Sometimes, I think he plays up his symptoms for attention.”

Michael wouldn’t put it past the tough-as-nails man who’d fought in the Korean War and was a former Golden Gloves boxing champion but turned into a giant puppy dog around his grandchildren. “At ninety, he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do.”

“That’s what your grandma said. Your tree is beautiful. Did your girlfriend help you decorate?”

He scrubbed his face. “No.”

“Did Sheridan help? That’s the name of the woman who’s also staying at the beach cottage with you, right?”

Ugh . Von must have mentioned it to Marley, who told their mom and most likely everyone else. “Yes, Sheridan helped. And she’s not staying with me. We’re sharing the place.”

“I thought you had help with the tree.”

“Decorating a Christmas tree doesn’t require a special degree or a subscription to one of those home magazines you read or a feminine touch.

” His mom was old-school. She still used a paper calendar and subscribed to magazines.

And okay, he’d never put up his own tree before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.

“Does she get along with your girlfriend?” His mom’s curiosity dripped from each word.

“It’s just Sheridan and me here.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” His mom’s tone was soft and caring. “Was your girlfriend upset to have someone else there? Is it over or something you can work through?”

It amazed Michael how people made assumptions and formed stories about someone else’s life. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to work out.”

Both things were true. And he hoped that would stop the questions about his nonexistent girlfriend.

As soon as he hung up with his mom, Mason called.

Then Madison. And finally, Marley. His family had made today National Bug Michael Day .

Not that he minded talking with them, but he wanted to help make cookies.

Hours later, he finally said goodbye to his sister.

He showered and dressed before heading to the living room.

Sheridan sat on the couch, staring at her phone. She glanced up. “Hey.”

“I’m so sorry to be late. My family called.”

“It’s not a problem. Family should always come first.”

Michael nodded. He smelled the pine from the Christmas tree, but something was missing. “You haven’t baked the cookies?”

“We’re sharing our traditions. I wanted to wait for you.”

His throat clogged with emotion. “Thanks for waiting. Do you want to make them now?”

She glanced at her phone. “Would you mind if we waited until later? I want to go to the animal rescue’s Adoption and Christmas Fair.”

It wasn’t an invitation, but a question gleamed in her eyes. Hope, too.