Page 32 of The Christmas Yes List

“Christmas in a cup,” he continues.

“Indeed.”

He watches me take another long, defiant sip.

His dark eyes twinkle with mirth. He pauses, as though quietly calculating my next move before his next words. Evidently, he finds the statement safe enough, because he tilts his head toward the other table. “Perhaps you should go over there and see if Ron—”

“Dom.”

“—has a sweater you could borrow too.”

My eyes narrow as my mouth twists into a grimace all by itself.

He smiles fully now, satisfied that he’s won.

I put down the coffee. Sigh.

“Fine. It’s awful, okay? But what would you have done if I had taken you up on your little challenge? What if I had said, ‘Oh golly gee, you’re so right, I need to ask for the sweater off my married ex-boyfriend’s back’?”

“You weren’t going to do that.”

“How do you know? You’ve known me for, what, a whopping four hours?”

He leans forward. Pats my hand. “Because despite what you may think about yourself, prodigal Chloe Hollis of Maple Hills, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You may not have realized it yet, but I have. I had faith in you.”

My cheeks burn with the heat of his words, and to keep myself from looking completely ridiculous, I turn my attention to the coffee and let a cascade of hair drift over my shoulder into my face. “Hmm,” I murmur, as though what he said isn’t something I’m tucking away to ponder in the quiet of night like a treasure hidden beneath my pillow.

He’s just a stranger turned acquaintance, the more pessimistic version of myself reminds me.

And yet. Even a stranger turned acquaintance’s words can carry gold.

Who knows? Maybe it’s precisely because he’s this stranger turned acquaintance that the words mean more. Isn’t it true (and unfortunate) that we tend to give more weight to the opinions of strangers than our closest friends?

“Sarah, you remember Chloe,” I hear the rather grating purr of Dom’s voice say overhead. I look up to see Dom has one hand on the back of my chair now, one hand on Sarah’s back, and he looks entirely too excited to be innocent. Classic.

He’s followed the straight and narrow line that keeps him looking fully aboveboard at all times.

Don’t buy your old flame a drink, buy one for her and her male companion.

Don’t walk back over to talk again by yourself. Drag along the girl who bullied her through middle school.

Sarah, who, for her part, looks like she’s having the oblivious time of her life, seems surprised by their sudden park at our table. Her beautiful green eyes look absolutely catlike as she blinks down at me. She gives me a millisecond’s worth of attention, clearly sees I’ve undergone no dramatic or noteworthy changes, and shifts her focus back to the karaoke stage and, more specifically, what appears to be a sign-up sheet.

“Chloe. Oh yeah. Hey,” she says distractedly, as though she doesn’t care at all for this interruption. To make things clearer, she takes a step in the direction of the table.

Dom holds her captive with a light tug on the back of her shirt.

I feel an old memory of him doing the same things to me tingle ice-cold down my spine.

Her bottom lip puckers out, an expression that was cute and playful in high school but looks bizarrely immature now that we’re adults. “Somebody’s gonna take the song!” she whines, then flaps her hand at another couple approaching the table.

“Hello, Sarah,” I say back. I’m not sure she’s heard.

The way Dom ignores her tells me this interaction is not new. His gaze flickers to the mug and up to me. “So,” he says, clearly stalling until he thinks of something else to add. Then his eyes brighten as the girl onstage belts out the lyrics of “White Christmas.” “Still got the lungs, Chloe? Or has the big city taken out all your Christmas cheer?”

I take a deep breath. I haven’t sung in years. But I’m not about to tell him that. “I still like to sing,” I reply. “If that’s what you mean.”

He lets out a whistle. Looks at James.