"Oh." I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking. "Um, so who won?"
"It's a secret," she said, and winked at me. "I can't say."
I didn't much care, to be honest. I was just making conversation. I looked at Owen, not sure what to do. We'd just made love last night, and it had been wonderful. What now?
Would he tell me that he wanted to stay here with me a bit longer? Make plans to spend time together?
"Well," Owen said, and rubbed his head. "I guess I should pack up."
SIX
This is the part where I need a Christmas miracle. You sure we can’t stay another week or two? No? Just until the New Year? – Owen MacIntosh, to Kitty
I MASKED MY HURT AT OWEN’S indifference all the way to the airport, my bag clutched to my chest. Kitty kept a constant stream of conversation going. Wouldn't we be glad to get out of all this snow? Did Boston have as much snow as Alaska? What about San Diego, where Owen was from? Would he be excited to get back home? Were they excited about seeing the TV show?
I wasn't excited about that prospect at all.
I chewed on my lip as Luna dropped us off at the airport. I looked at my airline ticket. "I'm gate B-34 to Boston," I told Owen.
He held up his ticket with a faint smile. "B-22 to San Diego."
"I guess we should part here, then," I said. I felt so...weird. Sad, but resigned. "It was nice to spend my time at the Loser Lodge with you."
He gave me an awkward smile. "You too."
I waved and turned away.
Someone grabbed me by the purse strap, and I jerked to a halt. I turned around, and Owen's hand had my strap.
Then he pulled me close and dragged me into another hot, breathless kiss that sucked all of the air out of my lungs and filled me with longing.
When he released me, he whispered against my mouth. "Just thought I'd leave you with proof that I'm a better kisser."
I giggled.
He touched my cheek and smiled. "Bye, Luna."
"Bye, Owen," I whispered back.
And then we parted.
I was proud of myself. I made it onto the plane before I broke down into blubbery tears.
CHRISTMAS EVE WAS KIND OF LAME when you didn't celebrate anything. I fidgeted in my chair, my laptop perched atop my legs. I couldn't go to the coffee-shop tonight, not with it being a holiday, so I was forced to work at home. Nearby, my mother knitted a hat and watched a re-run of I Love Lucy.
We were so stinking boring.
I was lonely, too. And sad. It was weird, but that cabin in the middle of nowhere with Owen had felt more homey and cozy than being at home with my mother. I thought of the Christmas tree we’d put up, decorated with the world's longest Christmas garlands, and smiled to myself. Neither one of us had wanted to concede to the other, so we'd ended up making chains over a hundred feet long, and then laughed ourselves silly when we realized how long it took to wrap around the tree.
I'd have loved to spend Christmas Eve curled up in front of the fire with Owen, drinking hot cocoa, eating his delicious cookies, and then f**king like bunnies. Instead, I was home. Home with my mother, because she'd struggled with being alone after my father died, and I'd moved back in...and stayed. I sighed.
"You're moping," my mother said, not looking up from her hat.
"I'm not," I protested. "I don't mope."
"That's the third time you've sighed in five minutes," my mother said. "I recognize a mope when I see one."
I glared at my laptop screen. My working draft of TERMITE 3: IT SLAYED UPON A CHRISTMAS EVE was open. I typed in, "Sugarman walks in. His mom is knitting a hat. She gives him an annoyed look."
Then, I deleted all of it. It was crap. Owen would know what the scene needed. His ideas were always great. Mine alone? Sucked.
"Luna Marie Collins, don't sit there and tell me you're not moping. What's wrong?"
I sighed and picked at one of the loose threads on the arm of the couch. "Nothing."
"Is it because you lost at the game?"
"It wasn't just any game," I muttered. Count on my mother to make me feel like I was five instead of twenty nine. "It was Endurance Island. And I didn't just lose, I came in last place."
"But you still had fun?"
I shrugged. I had fun after I got voted off.
“So when do I get to see the footage of you on the website? I keep checking it and it’s never there.”
“Um. Well, I’m guessing ‘never’.” I’d checked the website, too, eager for a glimpse of Owen’s face, but it never appeared. In fact, there was no Loser Lodge footage at all, which disappointed me terribly. When Kitty had said the producers were mad at us, she meant it. They really cleaned house. “We sort of got in trouble and production decided to axe the whole Loser Lodge movies thing.”
“We?”
“Yeah…I met a guy."
"Oh?" She put down her hat for that. "What's he do?"
"He's a pastry chef. His name's Owen and he lives in San Diego." And he hadn't even asked for my phone number.
"Ah."
"What's that mean?"
"It means I understand the moping now." She gave me a prim look and picked up her hat again. "You met a boy and he lives halfway across the world, so you're moping."
"San Diego isn't so far from Boston," I told her. But it was, really. Just like Endurance Island wasn't anything like reality. There was a disconnect that was too big to overcome.
Sad to say, but I would probably never see Owen again. I'd even asked about the reunion show and Kitty had hemmed and hawed. "Oh, um," she'd said when I'd called her. "See, they're still deciding if they should include the non-jury members."
Which meant no. I'd hung up, depressed.
No Owen. Merry Christmas to me. I sighed again.
My mother flung down her knitting. "Stop that, Luna!"
"I'm sorry," I said, snapping my laptop shut. "Jesus. Forgive a girl if she's all sad and crap, okay?"
"I understand being sad," my mother said. "You don't think I miss your father?"
I mentally groaned and felt guilty. "Of course you do. I’m sorry."
"But you know, you have to keep on living," my mother said. She shook her head as she looked at me. "You’re young. You can’t spend every holiday here with me, wishing your father was here.”
I blinked back a rush of tears. I missed him every day. On holidays, I showed solidarity to my mother, though. “I don’t mind being here with you.”
“You’re young,” she repeated. “You need to live more. I invited someone over tonight, by the way."
I groaned aloud this time. "Seriously? Why?"
"My friend Barbie knows this guy that is new to town and she thought it would be good for the two of you to meet. Trust me. It'll be nice. He's bringing cookies."
God, the last thing I wanted was to see some new guy here with cookies. "I've got to work on this script, Mom. I'm really busy."
"Oh, clearly," my mother said, nonplussed. "I can tell by the way you've been sighing over the same three words all night."
I gritted my teeth just as the doorbell rang.
"Get that please, Luna."
"Mom," I hissed. "No!"
"Do it for your mother."
I rubbed my forehead. "Mom, I don't want you to hook me up with anyone on Christmas Eve. Seriously. I'll just go to my room, all right?"
"Not before you answer the door," she called out.
The doorbell rang again.
"Just a moment," my mother shouted, and then nodded at me.
"Mom, pleaaaase." If she was going to treat me like a five year old, I'd act like one. I didn’t want this guy. I didn’t want anyone but Owen.
"Door," she said, and pointed at it over her shoulder. "Now."
Clenching my jaw against my mother's stubbornness - guess I'd inherited it from her - I went to the front door and flung it open.
Owen stood there, red roses in hand, a plate of Christmas cookies tucked under his arm. A sprig of mistletoe hung above him on the porch.
I screamed and flung my arms around him.
Owen laughed and dropped the flowers on the ground. They fell in a crunch onto the icy porch but I didn't care. His arm wrapped around me and then his mouth was on mine, and we were kissing. My desperate lips clung to him, and I gave a little whimper of joy when I felt his tongue slick into my mouth.
A moment later, the cookies crashed to the ground. Owen's other arm went around my back, and he clung to me. He held me pressed against him as if just as desperate to see me as I was to see him.
We kissed for what felt like hours.
Eventually, my mother cleared her throat from behind us. "Excuse me."
I pulled away from Owen almost sheepishly, wiping at my (deliciously) wet mouth. "Oh. Uh, Owen, this is my Mom. Mom, this is Owen. He's the guy I met."
"I know," she said in a dry voice. "He called a few days ago so we could set this up."
"Your friend Barbie, huh?" I said, staring up into Owen's dreamy eyes. "So you guys were lying to me?"
"Not really lying," Owen said, a wide grin spreading across his gorgeous face. "I told my Mom I wanted to see about opening up a second bakery, and I might have suggested Boston to her. Your mom's friend Barbie owns a storefront that would be perfect for my needs. So...here I am."
My fingers twined in the front of his silly, silly cupcake shirt. "Please tell me you're coming in," I whispered.
"Absolutely." He kissed me again, and then stuck his hand over my shoulder for my mother to shake. "Mrs. Collins, it's nice to finally meet you in person. I'm sorry that the cookies I brought got, uh, trampled."
"That's perfectly okay," she said, and I could have sworn her eyes were damp as she smiled at me. "Merry Christmas, Luna."
"Merry Christmas," I whispered back. God, my mom was awesome.
She shut the door, letting us have our privacy on the porch. I turned back to Owen and dragged his face toward mine, kissing him over and over again. "I can't believe it's you," I said in between lip locks. "I can't believe you're really here. I thought I'd never see you again." A horrible thought occurred to me and I dragged my mouth away from his. "You're here to see me, right?"
He laughed and kissed me back. "Yes. Absolutely. Why else would I come to this place if not for you? It's not because of the delicate way you guys pronounce 'parking lot'."
"You're such an ass," I said as I cuddled him.
"I know, Boston," he said. "Anyhow, I figured I had one last competition in mind for you and I."
"Oh?" The pit of my stomach dropped just a bit. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," he said, and his hand went to the small of my back as he pulled me against him. "I kinda thought it'd be fun to see which of us says 'I love you' first. I'm totally willing to bet you all the hot water, too."
"You're on," I told him.
Best Christmas ever.
About Jessica Clare
NYT & USA Today Bestselling author Jessica Clare writes under three pen names. As Jessica Clare, she writes erotic contemporary romance. As Jessica Sims, she writes fun, sexy shifter paranormals. As Jill Myles, she writes a little bit of everything, from sexy, comedic urban fantasy to zombie fairy tales. She lives in Texas with her husband, cats, and spends way too much time playing video games. To sign up for Jessica's new release newsletter, go to