One snowy Christmas Eve, one mistletoe kiss, one friendship changed forever.
Don’t underestimate the power of mistletoe. It looks innocent enough, but a single branch has the potential to change your life. One mistletoe kiss led to the most embarrassing night of my life, but thankfully by the next Christmas I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.
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About Alyssa Rose Ivy:
Alyssa Rose Ivy is a New Adult and Young Adult author who loves to weave stories with romance and a southern setting. Although raised in the New York area, she fell in love with the South after moving to New Orleans for college. After years as a perpetual student, she turned back to her creative side and decided to write. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two young children, and she can usually be found with a cup of coffee in her hand.
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“Ice skating and hot cocoa? What are you buttering me up for?” I sat down on the bench and unlaced my skates. The snow was falling a little bit heavier, but the flakes were still light and more pleasant than a nuisance.
“I’m just enjoying an evening with a beautiful woman. I do have a romantic side you know.”
“Romantic?” What was Glen playing at? I’d had a crush on him for years, but things had stayed completely platonic. We were good friends who saw each other once a year, and teased each other through text messages and late night phone calls. That was it.
He didn’t hear me. He was already in line to return our skates. I waited for him to return with my boots, and not for the first time I was glad I’d worn wool socks. It was cold during the day, but the nights were absolutely freezing.
“Here you go, my lady.” He bent down and proceeded to put my foot into my boot.
I pulled away from him. “Knock it off. What’s gotten into you tonight?” As charming as Glen was being something seemed off with him. I wondered if maybe I wasn’t the only one who was upset.
He proceeded to move on to my next boot. “It’s Christmas Eve. Aren’t you Miss Holiday Spirit?”
“Exactly.” He put on his shoes and tugged on my hand to pull me to standing. “Let’s get those hot chocolates.”
The line at the café on the other side of the rink was nearly out the door, but I was enjoying Glen’s company so much I didn’t mind.
He insisted on buying my hot cocoa for me, and considering he’d already paid for my skate rental, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Glen had all the money he could ever need, but I wasn’t used to guys buying me anything. My dating experience wasn’t extensive, and it involved boys who were all about going dutch. “I really don’t mind paying.”
“Yeah, but I want to pay. Stop arguing and enjoy yourself.” He lightly bumped his shoulder into mine.
We walked around the village sipping our hot chocolate and not saying much. After a while we took a seat on a bench. It was underneath a tree, and the pine needles blocked some of the falling snow. I closed my eyes and listened to the chatter of people walking by mixed with the low hum of holiday music.
“You guys need to kiss.”
I opened my eyes and saw a girl staring at us. “You’re sitting under mistletoe. That’s the rules. You’re under mistletoe, you kiss.”
I looked up. Sure enough there was mistletoe hanging over us from the tree. It wasn’t real, it was just the decorative stuff they used, but it had the same unmistakable appearance.
Glen put an arm around me. “I think she’s right, Savy.”
I turned to glare at him. “Don’t even start.”
“Why not? Scared to kiss me?” he teased.
Yes. I was scared. Terrified. This was Glen. Kissing him wasn’t something I was prepared to do casually while sitting on a bench in the snow with a bunch of onlookers. Of course I couldn’t tell him that though. “Why would I be scared?”
“I don’t know. Just checking.” He got a twinkle in his eye. That twinkle should have given me all the warning I needed, but it didn’t. I was wholly unprepared when his lips made contact with mine. They were warm and soft, and they moved perfectly against mine. I kissed him back, desperately wanting to know what his mouth tasted like, and if his tongue felt half as good as his lips.
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