Somehow I force my feet forward, moving toward my ex, who greets me with a sheepish, slightly embarrassed smile. “Hi, Kelly.”

I can only stare.

He looks the same, but different. Familiar, but . . . wrong?

That’s my first thought. He looks wrong. I mean, not the man—he’s fine. Good-looking as I remember.

But his presence here feels wrong, and . . . weird.

Colin’s from Oklahoma, and he’s got a big family there. What in the world is he doing here in my little hometown two days before Christmas?

He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, smiling a little wider as he looks me over. “You look . . .” His expression is warm. “You look amazing.”

“You too,” I say, although my voice sounds wooden. I don’t know that he looks amazing, but he looks pretty darn good. He’s lost the scrawniness of youth—his shoulders are broader. His belly, too, if I’m going to be picky. Which I shouldn’t be, given the fact that my own belt’s too tight.

It’s just that it’s hard not to look at him and see Mark. Or rather, see all the ways that he isn’t Mark.

Someone bumps into me from the back, and I stumble forward a bit. Colin catches my arm.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, looking up into his eyes. They’re brown. Were they always brown? I could have sworn he had hazel eyes, but all the details seem murky now.

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re going to think I’m nuts.”

Ever in the habit of putting other people at ease, I spread my arms to the side. “I’m wearing an elf costume. Try me.”

Colin’s arm drops, and he takes a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“I know,” he says, lifting his shoulders. “It’s been years, and I’ve always remembered you—us—fondly, but for some reason these past couple weeks or so, I just . . . I can’t get you out of my mind.”

I can’t help it. I close my eyes and try to hold back my disbelieving laugh, because it’s so exactly what I pictured. It’s my fantasy come true—the one guy I never got over showing up out of the blue, saying he wants me back . . .

Well, sort of. I mean, Colin hasn’t actually said that, but he’s here, and—

“I want another chance,” he says, reaching forward and gently setting his hands on my arms. “I know it’s been years, and this must seem crazy, but . . . come on, Kell, you’ve always loved this stuff.”

I frown. “What stuff?”

He shrugs. “Fate? Soulmates? Being meant to be, even after all this time.”

I inhale a long breath and think about this. I do believe in all of that. Or at least I did. And there’s the not insignificant fact that this is exactly what the woman on the train predicted—that I’d find the one I let get away before Christmas, and . . .

Well, he found me, but still. Same difference.

“At least have a drink with me,” Colin pleads, running a hand through his blond hair. “Or coffee. Dinner. Brunch tomorrow. Anything.”

I should say yes. I owe it to the three years Colin and I spent together. I owe it to the fact that he’s traveled God knows how far to be here on December twenty-third.

I owe it to my ex list, and my belief in destiny, and . . .

“Hey, hey!” A middle-aged man appears beside us, giving Colin a playful man-to-man punch on the shoulder. “Well done, coaxing the hot elf beneath the mistletoe.”

I recognize the guy. One of the patrons from Mark’s restaurant, who always seems just one drink past classy. I’d ignore him, but now others have joined in as well, nudging me forward as they point toward the mistletoe.

I swear to God, if I never see mistletoe again after this . . .

Colin gives me a sheepish but not entirely disappointed smile, and before I realize that he’s not about to tell them all to get lost, his hands are on my shoulders, and he’s tugging me forward, his lips finding mine . . .

It’s the perfect end to my story, right?

The woman who believes in fate and fortune seeks out all of her ex-boyfriends but one on the word of a fortune-teller, and then the one that got away shows up, just in time for a Christmas kiss beneath the mistletoe.

It’s perfect. In theory.

It makes for a great story, for sure, except . . .

I don’t think it’s my story.

Even as Colin deepens the kiss, earning us a few whistles and laughs, I feel nothing.

Or rather, I feel something, but it’s not what I thought I would.

I feel bored.

And more in love with Mark than ever.

Colin might be the guy that destiny chose for me, but . . . he’s not the one I choose.

I gently ease back, and though Colin lets me end the kiss, he keeps his hands on my shoulders.

“A drink, Kelly. Just to catch up.”

Ugh.

I don’t want Colin right now—not ever. But neither do I want to embarrass the guy in front of what’s a growing number of spectators.

I don’t owe Colin much, but I do at least owe him the courtesy of letting him down privately.

“Sure, a drink sounds great,” I say, forcing a smile.

The people nearest us clap happily—cluelessly.

Relief’s written all over Colin’s face as he nods, finally dropping his hands. I breathe out in relief as he withdraws contact.

But the relief is short-lived, because over Colin’s shoulder, my eyes collide with a familiar dark gaze.

I feel a million emotions at once as Mark and I stare each other down across the crowd. Panic. Lust. Hurt. Anger.

Love.

I love him, and he’s just watched me kiss another man and agree to a date.

“Mark.”

I say his name. Or at least I think I do, but maybe not, because nobody else seems to respond, not even Colin, and even as Colin says something about giving me a ride, my eyes don’t leave Mark.

His leave mine.

Without a word, he turns and walks away.