Page 81 of The Mistletoe Kisser

Willis waddled out from behind the armchair in the living room, a strip of plaid ribbon wrapped around his foot.

“Oh yeah. And a duck,” she finished.

Stan gave Willis a wide berth when the duck waddled in his direction.

“I thought you’d have at least four dogs. And I was betting on a blind one and one with three legs,” Ryan said while he rummaged through her cabinets.

“Willis has a limp courtesy of a groundhog trap if that helps. But my friend Layla—the deputy—takes all the stray dogs. Her schedule is a little friendlier to needy pets.”

He set bowls, plates, and utensils on the counter and opened the containers.

It smelled heavenly. “What are you doing here, Ryan?” she asked finally.

“My parents have dinner together once a week without fighting,” he announced, plating sandwich halves with an unexplained bitterness.

“Uh. How dare they?”

He strode to the table with a plate and bowl in hand. She sat when he indicated a chair.

“They divorced when I was a teenager and were still fighting when I left for college,” he explained.

“Okay.” Her stomach growled when he put a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a chicken salad sandwich in front of her. It was her favorite comfort food meal.

“My oldest sister called to tell me she was pregnant months ago,” he continued as he headed back to the kitchen for his food. “I didn’t pick up or remember to call her back.”

“Ouch,” Sammy said, picking up her spoon and watching him.

He sat next to her, looking frustrated. Restless.

“I poured all my energy into being the best accountant in the firm. It was stable, predictable. There was a map to be followed. The outcomes could be anticipated. And the rugstillgot pulled out from under me. I walked into that conference room having no idea it would be my last time. I didn’t have a defense prepared. I had no clue there was anything to defend.”

She winced for him. The man who hated surprises had been dealt the worst kind. And the hits just seemed to keep coming.

He picked up half of a ham and cheese on marbled rye bread and stared at it. “My parents didn’t know I broke up with my ex-girlfriend a year ago even though I talk to my mother every Tuesday.”

Sammy held up a hand. “Hang on. There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence.”

“What? That I’m anal enough to schedule phone calls with my mother but I don’t bother telling her when I end a relationship or get fired? She thinks I took vacation time to be here, by the way.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “Why does she think that?”

His shoulders jerked up and then dropped. “Because that’s what I insinuated.”

“It sounds like you’ve had an interesting day.”

“I was sitting there, surrounded by an entire lifetime of someone else’s paperwork and family photos, and I didn’t know what to do next. Ialwaysknow what to do next,” he lectured, waving his spoon at her.

“You’re not here because you thinkIknow what the next step is, are you?” she asked. She couldn’t even craft her way through a few dozen wreaths.

“No. I wanted to see you. Because since I walked into that conference room a week ago expecting to be made partner, I’ve had this ball of ice in my gut. The only time it goes away is when I’m with you.”

Her internal squealing was deafening.

“Oh,” she said on a breathy sigh.

He looked at her over a spoonful of soup. “That’s it? ‘Oh’?”

“I’m processing. Slowly. I’m a little sluggish at night. Besides, there are a million things you could mean by that statement.”