The nor’easter’s cleared out by the following evening, and though Haven’s still rocking the winter wonderland look, the snowplows have been out, which means the town’s out, too.

Specifically, everyone and their mom seem to be at Mark’s restaurant tonight. Myself and Mark included, although not in the same capacity.

His sous-chef lives an hour outside of town and couldn’t make it in because of the snow, so Mark’s working the kitchen himself tonight.

For my part, I’m happy at the bar, chatting it up with the seemingly endless stream of friends that keep rolling in, even as I try to keep from glaring at Erika, who’s working the bar tonight, looking glowing, happy, and confident.

Confident because she and Mark are getting back together?

The thought is nearly enough to make me lose my appetite. Nearly, but not totally, because no way am I missing Mark’s cooking.

Plus, I need to see what’s going on with them. Old-fashioned reconnaissance, you know?

I finished my first glass of wine chatting with Ivy and Jim, out for a rare kids-free date night, and am nursing the second glass that my high school principal and his wife insisted on buying me.

When both couples finally close out, I’m not quite ready to go home to my quiet house, but no way can I even think about another drink until I’ve gotten some food in me.

Which means . . . talking with Erika. Our conversation so far’s been limited to her saying, “Pinot grigio?” and me saying, “Yes please!” and her saying “Same thing?” and me saying, “Sounds great!”

We’re both nauseatingly chipper and friendly.

My options now are to wait for a table and eat there (unlikely, since there’s been a wait all evening) or to somehow figure out how to talk to Erika without giving her a piece of my mind for cheating on Mark with Doug.

She seems to read my mind, because after she pours a couple of glasses of red for the cute elderly couple at the far end of the bar, she catches my eye and heads my way.

“Hey, Kelly, another?” She leans on the bar and grins at me like we’re friends.

Which I guess we sort of are, but . . .

Has she always been this pretty? She’s got the toned look of a woman who actually enjoys working out, and a long, bouncy blond ponytail that is always slightly curled but never frizzy. And green eyes. Not hazel, not blue, green. Pretty green.

It’s hard not to hate her.

“I’m thinking I’d better start with water and food first,” I say forcing a smile.

“Sure thing. I can bring you a menu, but I can tell you right now that Mark’s special is the best thing on the menu tonight. We all had it at the staff dinner earlier, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. He’s calling it Christmas on the Bayou Pasta—”

“Oh, right!” I interrupt. “I love that dish. I was actually his test subject, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

Erika’s smile chills just the slightest bit, confirming exactly what I hadn’t really wanted to know—she still sees Mark as her territory somehow.

A week ago I’d have shrugged and let him figure out his own love life.

But a week ago I didn’t know that she’d cheated on him. A week ago I didn’t—

I didn’t what? I don’t know how to finish that sentence, even in my own head.

Or maybe I do.

A week ago, I didn’t feel this way about Mark.

“So, the special, then?” Erika asks.

“Please. And oh, what the heck, another glass of wine.”

“Sure thing,” she says, her smile back in place as she tops off my glass of wine with a generous pour. Normally I wouldn’t, but since I can catch a ride home with Mark, I might as well embrace the holiday season, am I right? I’ll sip it slow, promise.

Erika starts to walk away. Then she taps her palm on the bar and walks in reverse, as though she’d just remembered something. “Oh! Kell, I’ve been meaning to tell you . . .” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “I’ve got something for you.”

Erika pulls something out of the back pocket of her black jeans and slides it toward me.

I pick up the business card, read the name, then glance up in confusion. “A private investigator.”

“I know, it sounds cheesy, but he’s my cousin and he’s actually super-good at his job.”

“Are you . . .” I try to put the pieces together here. “Are you setting me up?”

She gives a good-natured eye roll. “No, it’s for your ex list. I know you’re having trouble tracking them all down, and I thought CJ might be able to help.”

My stomach flips. “How did you know—”

Erika merely smiles.

Mark.

Mark told his ex-girlfriend all about my plan.

Now I really have lost my appetite. The sense of betrayal is biting, although I’m not even sure why. I never explicitly told him it was a secret, it’s just . . .

Yesterday in the snow, and again in that moment under the mistletoe, I’d felt a bit like maybe there was a chance of something.

Now, when faced with his gorgeous ex who seems to want him back, and with the fact that I’m supposed to be in love with one of my exes . . .

Most. Complicated. Christmas. Ever.

I blink rapidly to keep my eyes from watering. An overreaction, for sure—but I just can’t shake the sense that I’m losing him.

And it scares me to death.

“Yeah, thanks,” I manage, holding up the card, and then dropping it into my purse. “I’ll take the special?”

“You got it,” she says, although she gives me a searching look, as though trying to read me.

Good luck. I can’t even read myself.

Erika wanders away, thank God, because I feel my eyes fully watering now, despite my best anti-tear strategies at work.

“Hey, Kelly Byrne! Anyone sitting here?”

I turn toward my name, grateful for a distraction—any distraction. And Hugh Corgy’s perfect for the part. My last year in school, Hugh had the distinction of being the only openly gay kid in our class, and he owned it with the same happy confidence he does now.

He plops onto the stool beside me and surveys the scene. “Where’s your hot bestie?”

Probably shagging his ex.

I force a smile and turn toward the kitchen, relieved that my tears have retreated. “Cooking tonight.”

“Ah, well . . . good news for my belly, if not my eyes. Hey, Erika, can I get a Grey Goose martini with a twist?”

She lifts a hand in acknowledgment of the order and reaches for the vodka behind the bar, only to give it a quick shake and a frown.

“Hey, Hugh, it’ll be just a sec, ’k? I need to run downstairs for another bottle of Goose.”

She slips out from under the bar, and one of the servers comes in to take her place temporarily.

“Okay, darling, I haven’t seen nearly enough of you,” Hugh says, helping himself to a sip of my wine. “Tell me you’re going to the parade. Mom’s setting up an eggnog stand, and I promised to recruit customers. She figures if there’s enough demand, the sheriff will turn a blind eye to booze on the streets.”

“I’ll be there. Actually . . .” I lean forward and pause with fake drama. “I’ll be one of the stars.”

“Gingerbread Princess again?”

“Nah, I passed on my crown to Kayla Teek. I’m . . .” I do a drumroll with my fingers. “An elf.”

Hugh lifts his hand for a high five. “Hot.”

“Right!” I smack his palm with mine. “That’s what I tried to tell Mark. Guys like girls in elf costumes, don’t they?”

“I’m not one to know much about heterosexual preferences, but even I know women in tights is a good thing. Not as good as men in tights, but . . .” He gives a shrug and wink. “So, who are we impressing with our great butt in green tights?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. Who am I impressing? When I’d originally hatched my plan, I’d assumed that there’d still be some exes in the running. I’d figured that maybe I’d have found The One, and that me looking adorable would result in a winter’s-night kiss in front of the whole town . . .

Now when I picture how it’ll go down, the only face I can see is . . .

“Hey, there he is,” Hugh says, nudging my knee with his and nodding toward the back archway that leads to the kitchen.

I glance up to see Mark coming through the doorway.

At the exact same moment Erika comes bounding up the stairs from the storage room to the left, vodka in hand.

She rams into his side, and they both stumble back slightly, although Mark reaches out a hand to steady her.

He says something that makes her laugh, and Mark smiles back. A real smile, the kind that lights up his whole face and isn’t all that common.

My stomach knots with . . .

Jealousy.

Yup, there it is. I’m jealous.

Not as jealous as I’m about to be, though. Remember how just a few seconds ago I was all “Oh, Hugh’s so great”?

That was before he cups his hands over his mouth and calls out “Mistletoe!” to Erika and Mark.

They give a startled look in our direction. Mark’s eyes lock on mine for a fraction of a second before glancing upward.

Erika looks my way, too. Then at Mark, then at the mistletoe. The tables nearby start chanting “Kiss . . . kiss . . .” as do a handful of people at the bar.

Hugh gives me a quick elbow jab in the ribs as though we’re in on this together, and I somehow manage a smile so wooden it feels like my face is splintering.

Mark doesn’t do mistletoe, I remind myself. Or at least he reins it in with a puny kiss on the cheek, as I learned last night.

He’ll give Erika that same indifferent peck, and then—

Erika’s free hand slips around Mark’s neck, and she brings her mouth up to his.

I feel something awful rush through me, my whole body going hot and then tingly, not at all in a pleasant way.

Push her away, push her away . . .

For a moment Mark doesn’t move, and then he rests his hand lightly on Erika’s back, letting the kiss linger.

I want to die.

The crowd whoops, and they break apart. Erika gives a joking curtsey, and everyone laughs.

Everyone but me. And Mark, although he doesn’t look the least bit bothered by the fact that he’s just kissed his ex-girlfriend full on the mouth.

I can’t do this. The two glasses of wine have made me weird, and I need to . . .

I need to get out of here.

“You know what?” I tell Hugh with a sheepish laugh. “I’ve got this annoying headache that just will not quit. Want to finish the wine for me while Erika makes your martini?”

If she can stop kissing her ex long enough to be bothered.

“Oh! Sure,” Hugh says, his blue eyes concerned as he turns to me. “You good to drive?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even touched that one,” I say, nodding at my full glass and fishing some money out of my wallet. “Tell Erika to keep the change, ’k?”

“Sure. Are you—”

I pretend I don’t register that he’s still talking, and lift my hand in farewell.

A half dozen people stop me on the way out to wish me a merry Christmas and ask me how I am and blah blah blah, but finally, finally I make it outside, and the frigid air is exactly what I need to clear my head.

Okay, so I’m jealous. We’ve established that. What we haven’t established is why. We haven’t established that because I don’t know.

I feel like I don’t know anything right now. I don’t know if I’m jealous because he kissed her, or because they’re close enough that he told her about my stupid ex thing—yeah, my ex thing feels really stupid right about now.

I rub at my forehead with one hand, dig my car keys out of my purse with the other.

Maybe the plan feels not so much stupid as . . . far away. Like I can’t seem to focus on tracking down Adam or Colin because Mark keeps getting in the way of my brain.

But wait—I don’t even have to track them down. I can just have perfect Erika’s cousin track them down.

Barf.

She doesn’t want to help me. She just wants to keep me out of her way.

“Kelly.”

I hit the unlock button on my car door and ignore the voice.

“Kelly!”

Mark’s voice is closer now, and though I wish I was badass enough to get in the car and peel out of the parking lot movie style, there’s way too much snow and ice still on the ground.

And I’ll never walk away from my best friend, no matter how mixed up I feel right now.

“Damn it, Kelly, would you wait—”

I hold up my hands in surrender and turn around. “What? What, Mark?”

He’s jogging across the parking lot, wearing black pants and a long-sleeved white shirt that isn’t nearly warm enough given the freezing weather.

I frown. “Where’s your jacket?”

He comes to a stop in front of me but doesn’t answer my question. “Hugh said you seemed upset.”

“Just a headache. Drank my wine too fast.”

He reaches out for the keys in my hand. “Then you shouldn’t drive.”

I pull my hand back before he can make contact. “I’m fine.”

He frowns and studies me. “You don’t seem fine.”

“How would you know? I haven’t seen you all day or night.”

His frown deepens. “I’ve been working.”

“Which is why you should get back to it,” I say, waving toward the restaurant. “I’ll text you to let you know I got home safely.”

I reach for the door handle, but he grabs my wrist. “Hey. I may not be Mr. Sensitive, but I know when my best friend’s upset.”

“Oh, am I your best friend?” I ask, temper snapping a little bit. “I wasn’t sure. Thought maybe it might be Erika.”

“What—”

“You told her,” I say, pushing at his shoulder.

He doesn’t so much as rock back an inch. “Told her what?”

“About my ex plan . . . thing.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Sure,” I say with a scoff. “I’m sure she has the Sight, too, and just knew to give me the card of her private investigator cousin so I could find Colin and Adam.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he insists. His voice is so calm, so confident.

And yet I only told him. He’s the only one—

Oh.

Ohhhh.

I keep from groaning out loud. Barely.

Ivy. I told Ivy. And Ivy and Erika are friends—not best friends, but they were on the soccer team together in school, and still hang out from time to time.

Ivy will keep a secret if I ask her to, but I hadn’t asked her to. And Ivy’s a talker if not explicitly told not to.

“Well, you still kissed her,” I say, feeling the childish need to accuse Mark of something.

Mark frowns, looking completely confused. I can’t blame him. I’m barely following my own conversation.

“Never mind,” I say with a quick shake of my head. “I’m going to go now, and I promise when I see you tomorrow I’ll be less mad at you, ’k?”

“No, not okay. Why are you mad at me in the first place? Is it because you think I told her about your list, or because I kissed her?”

“Both!” I shout, my thumping heart and the fact that he looks so good making me reckless. “It’s a little bit of both, okay? And I know that’s not reasonable, which is why I’m begging you to just let me go home and sort out my own brain.”

Mark’s gone very still, his eyes dark as they study my face, searching for answers I know he won’t find, because I don’t even know them.

“Please,” I whisper, tugging my hand from his.

He shifts his grip, his thumb brushing over the pulse of my inner wrist, lingering for just the slightest moment . . .

Then he lets me go and steps back, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

“Drive slow. Text me when you get home.”

I manage to roll my eyes and smile. “’K.”

Mark doesn’t smile back. He holds the door open for me and I drop tiredly into the driver’s seat.

“Kelly—”

“Don’t,” I whisper, not looking at him. “Please.”

He inhales, then nods. Checking that all my limbs are inside the car, he quietly but firmly closes the car door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him step back, but I don’t glance his way as I start the car and put it in drive.

I do glance in the rearview mirror, just once, as I leave the parking lot, but he’s already gone.

I let out a long breath. “Okay, Byrne,” I pep talk myself out loud. “Whatever these feelings are, you need to get a grip.”

Even driving under the speed limit to be extra cautious, I still make it home in ten minutes.

Rigby’s there to greet me, and it makes me feel a little better. The Christmas music I put on helps, too. I opt for a Luther Vandross Christmas song. A little slower than my usual holiday choices, but it fits my current mood pretty well.

I turn on the tree, glaring at the top that still seems annoyingly empty.

I fill Rigby’s bowl with dog food. At least one of us should eat, and I still don’t have my appetite back. Although now it’s because my stomach’s more in knots about what Mark must be thinking right now.

I’m sure he’s confused as all heck.

Makes two of us.

I’m about to put on hot water for tea (yeah, right—I mean chocolate) when there’s an angry knock at the back door.

Rigby gives a warning bark, but it’s not terribly threatening given that his face is full of kibble.

I frown. Nobody ever comes to the back door. Well, except Mark, and he usually doesn’t knock.

Not usually. Today, apparently, is an exception.

“Um, hi?” I say, seeing him standing there.

He jabs an angry finger up at the mistletoe. “Take it down.”

“What?”

He reaches up and grabs the greenery, pulling it down with an angry swoop and tossing it over his shoulder into the snow. “That damn stuff is making you crazy. Get rid of it.”

I gape at him, then point. “Go get that!”

He crosses his arms. “No.”

“I like the mistletoe. I need it for—”

“Your idiotic list, I know. Tell me, you really think Colin or Alan—”

“Adam.”

“You really think either of them is going to show up on your door in the next three days before Christmas because some psycho ‘saw’ it?”

I cross my arms. “Yes.” Maybe.

He leans in. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah, shocking that you feel that way. You’ve hidden it so well.”

“I’ve put up with it well enough, but it’s got you acting nuts, and—”

“You’ve got me acting nuts,” I shout. “You’ve been weird, pushing me out even as you pull Erika in!”

“What does it matter, Kelly? What does it matter whether I hook up with my ex? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

I swallow, and there’s a lump. “So you are? Getting back together with her?”

He closes his eyes with a sigh, rubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t possibly think about what to do with that woman when I’m trying to deal with this one.” He opens his eyes and motions with his hand toward me as he says it.

“I’m not yours to deal with,” I say, pushing past him to get outside.

I’ve already taken off my boots, and the snow soaks through my socks immediately.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting my mistletoe,” I call over my shoulder, kicking my knees up high as I prance into the yard, so that my feet touch the freezing ground for as little time as possible.

I pull the green bundle out of the snow a second before I’m hoisted off my feet and dragged back into the house.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, depositing me into my kitchen, looking both furious and baffled.

I press one foot on top of the other, trying to warm them, as I find the tiny red loop that the mistletoe hangs by, and then hold the bundle out to him. “Put it back.”

He glares at the mistletoe. “No. Mistletoe makes you weird.”

“Not your problem,” I say, pointing up. “The nail’s still up there. You just have to loop this on there.”

“Fuck the mistletoe, Kelly!”

I gasp. “Take that back.”

“No. Go put on some dry socks.”

“No.”

We’re both breathing hard, and Mark looks . . . furious.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m a little bit furious myself. Furious at him, and Erika, and myself, and that crazy lady in the train station.

Furious that nothing is simple anymore, furious that my heart is pounding and aching and hopeful all at the same time.

I’m furious that I’m jealous, and that’s new to me, to be honest. Hell, I’m so jealous. Jealous that he kissed her for real when I got a brotherly kiss on the cheek, jealous that he sees her as a woman while he treats me like I’m nothing but the half-batty sister who believes in tea leaves and kinda sorta believes Hogwarts is real.

Most of all, I’m furious that I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel like this and it’s with the wrong guy, who I want so badly to be the right guy.

“Damn you, Kelly,” Mark says in a low voice, disrupting my thoughts. “Damn you.”

Mark steps toward me and sets his fingers beneath my chin, using his thumb to nudge my face up to his, much as he did last night beneath the mistletoe.

Except this time, when he lowers his face to mine, he kisses me for real.