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The Trouble with Mistletoe

Page 8

by Tracy Leigh

Correction. I saw a woman behind the wheel.

I thought she looked like Wynter but figured I was imagining it. She hasn’t been back here in over ten years. Why would she come home now? And who’s Gary? Is it her kid?

No. It can’t be.

I see her brother all the time. Pretty sure Bennett would have mentioned becoming an uncle.

Which leaves one possibility.

I glance at the dog at my feet and arch a brow. “Are you Gary?”

At the sound of his name, he perks up, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course you are.”

“Gary!” Wynter calls again, louder this time. “Don’t you want your dinner?”

“Does Gary happen to be a black-and-white spotted dog?” I shout.

She spins around, her eyes finding mine, her mouth falling open. She doesn’t say anything. Just stares, her gaze breaking from mine and roaming my body.

To say I had a crush on her when I was younger would be an understatement. Hell, I’m pretty sure every boy in school did, which drove Bennett crazy. She was so far out of my league, not to mention eight years older than me, but there was always something about her.

I’d stare out my bedroom window for hours, watching as she practiced her cheer routines in the backyard. But once her friends left, she would switch the music, kick off her sneakers, and dance. And not the moves that were part of her cheer routine.

This was real dancing.

Even back then, I knew there was a difference. Cheerleading looked like something she was good at. But ballet looked like something she loved.

I wonder if she still dances.

She definitely has the body for it, as far as I can tell beneath the oversized sweatshirt she’s wearing.

It’s been over ten years, but she hasn’t changed much. Her dark hair still falls in gentle waves to her mid-back. Her lips are still full, painted a soft pink. And her legs still go on for miles.

The only thing different is her eyes. They’re still a mesmerizing shade of blue, but they aren’t as bright as they used to be. Or as full of life.

“Wynter?” I say, and her gaze snaps back to mine.

“Y-yes. Have you seen him?”

My lips curve into a smile, and I step aside, revealing my new friend. “You could say that.”

“I’m so sorry.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as she walks toward the fence. “Gary’s been cooped up in a car for the past few days. I guess he wanted to stretch his legs.”

I give a small nod, not pressing for more details about why she’s spent the past few days in a car with her dog, although my mind is spinning. Why would she drive all the way here when her husband makes more money than I probably ever will? He’s a retired professional football player who now coaches a top-tier college team. She could afford a flight, even with her dog.

So why did she drive?

“I don’t mind the company.” I step off the porch, crossing toward the fence separating my yard from her parents’. “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. I figure this is a sign or something. Pretty sure Mom would think it was.”

Wynter’s expression falls. “I’m sorry about Hannah. I’d hoped to make it back for the funeral, but I couldn’t get away. I always liked her.”

“She liked you, too,” I reply, then clear my throat.

Even though it’s been almost a year, I still hate it when people offer condolences about my mom. I know they’re just being polite, but all it does is remind me she’s gone.

“What brings you to town? Bennett didn’t mention you were coming.”