Jennifer Snow - The Trouble with Mistletoe

Maybe Jim was right, he thought, as he jumped down from the truck and jogged into the store, he had to stop dating local women.

He pushed through the glass door and waved in greeting. “Hey, Mike.” He took his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out his credit card.

“Hey, Luke. My sister was just saying how your truck must get amazing mileage. We haven’t seen you in here for weeks. Forty in gas?” he asked, taking the card and sliding it through the register.

Luke blushed. “I’m not avoiding her… Of course not… I’m just…”

Mike grinned. “Avoiding her?”

“Yeah.” Luke looked away, embarrassed, as he replaced his card and slid the wallet into his back pocket. “Sorry, man. Your sister’s great’ I’m just not really looking for anything serious.”

His sisters had a theory about why that was. One they had no problem reiterating at each and every family get-together. Family dinners at the Dawson home often turned into an intervention, as they insisted on discussing his apparent fear of commitment. Ultimately, the blame always returned to Victoria and her untimely departure from Brookhollow.

While he couldn’t deny the theory held water, he knew his choice to remain single couldn’t be completely blamed on his ex. He just couldn’t seem to find anyone he wanted to spend an extended period of time with. No one he’d dated in recent years had challenged or intrigued him enough. He refused to believe he had unreal expectations.

“She told you about her one-year plan from date to altar, huh?” Mike said, handing Luke a pen to sign the credit card receipt.

“About five minutes in,” he confirmed, scribbling his signature and handing Mike back the pen.

“Well, you don’t have to drive the truck until you’re running on fumes. She’s going out with a guy on my hockey team. They’ve really hit it off, so you’re off the hook.”

Luke released a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“So, I noticed a green Infiniti rental with a familiar blonde at the wheel drive by this afternoon.” Mike leaned against the counter. “Anyone we know?”

“Yeah, the town troublemaker,” Luke confirmed with a wry grin.

“Aka Victoria Mason?”

“The one and only.”

“She’s here to buy out Legend’s Sporting Goods, right?” Mike asked as the phone behind him rang.

“If I let her, yes.” Once again he prayed he was up to the challenge of going head to head with her. The girl he remembered was persuasive and determined. He suspected she’d stop at nothing to acquire the store. She’d said as much, and that worried him.

“So what you’re saying is, the store is hers.” Mike grinned and answered the phone.

Rachel yawned as she stirred the ice in her virgin cosmopolitan.

Victoria glanced up from her laptop. “Are you sure you’re okay?” So far she’d sorted out many of the issues in her in-box, and she pushed aside her guilt for only half listening to her friends reminisce about the old days.

“Yeah.” Rachel nodded, despite her tell-tale droopy eyes. “I just haven’t been up this late in a while,” she said, struggling to hide another yawn behind her hand.

Victoria laughed, glancing at the time on her cell phone. A little past ten-thirty. In New York, she and Heather wouldn’t even have hit the clubs yet. Not that she would ever call the pool hall a club. Six pool tables were sandwiched in a dark corner near the bar and a tiny wooden dance floor, just big enough to hold a dozen people, provided the club portion of the hall. The bowling alley occupied the same building to the left and the movie theater was on the right. Not exactly a trendy hot spot. But somehow, it put her at ease, after the stress of the day.

“No… Kenny, listen to me… His rash cream is on the shelf next to the changing table.” Plugging one ear with her finger, Lisa yelled into her cell phone above the Christmas music blaring from the speakers.

Victoria picked up her phone, wondering how Lisa was getting cell service in here. Nothing. She shook the phone to no avail, and set it aside. Her provider was getting an earful when she could finally call them.

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s right…just put a thick layer all over his butt… Yes, bye,” she said shutting her old flip phone and shaking her head. “Seriously, that man wouldn’t notice something unless it jumped off a shelf and strangled him.”

“Jeremy has a diaper rash?” Ava asked, sipping her white wine. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. Last week he had a stomach flu and his poop was runny, you know…that yellow color—mustard consistency.” She wrinkled her nose.

Ava nodded her understanding. “With that rancid smell… I know it well,” she said with a shudder.

Victoria stared at the two. She pushed away her plate of chicken wings. It was too late to be eating fried food anyway.

“The poop I can handle. It’s the vomit. That curdled-milk vomit,” Lisa added, sitting back in her chair.

Ava waved a hand and said, “I told Darren, I’d change dirty diapers all day long, but vomit was his department.”

Victoria stared at her laptop screen, trying to drown out the conversation around her. Poop and vomit. Were these the same girls who’d refused to pick up their own dogs’ crap when the town implemented that law?

“Girls, I think we are grossing Victoria out,” Rachel said with a laugh. “Sorry. That seems to be all us moms can talk about these days. We’re dying for a night out, but then we all miss our kids.”

“It’s no problem, really. Sorry, I’ve been attached to this computer for the last hour.” Victoria scanned the remaining unanswered emails. She sighed and closed the laptop. She deserved a break.

“So, how about you? Any plans for kids in your future?” Ava leaned forward and a lock of her red hair fell into her face. She pushed it back and secured it with a bobby pin.

Victoria gulped her drink and shook her head. At this stage of her life, children weren’t even a consideration, and the prospect of having a family someday grew smaller with each passing year. Wiping the condensation from the glass with a finger, she said, “Um…no. My position at Clarke and Johnson takes up so much of my time. I travel a lot and there’s hours of overtime almost every day.”

“But you have a boyfriend,” Lisa said. “I saw pictures of you with a guy on Facebook.”

Pictures of her with a guy? Oh, Rob. She shook her head. “He’s just a coworker I dated for a while.” She should update her Facebook profile more often and maybe remove some of her older photos, especially now that Rob was engaged to another colleague. “Nothing serious.”

“So, there’s no one special in your life?” Ava asked, toying with the stem of her wineglass.

“Um…” She debated telling them about Jordan—a guy she’d connected with through an online dating site in a moment of poor judgment, self-pity and too much wine, four months before. With her busy travel schedule and his long hours on Wall Street as a trader, so far they’d managed to make time for three quick lunch dates and countless late-night chat sessions over Skype whenever she was out of town.

She was disappointed that those calls wouldn’t be possible on this trip, with the dial-up access at the Brookhollow Inn. She’d emailed him explaining the situation, attaching an invite to her company’s Christmas party on December 20. It would be their first real date and a chance to introduce him to her friends and coworkers. She hesitated. Her Brookhollow friends wouldn’t understand why she’d had to turn to online dating when she lived in a big city, full of interesting, single people. Nor would they understand that work took priority over relationships. “Not really,” she said finally.