Holiday in Your Heart by Susan Fox Page A

he’d brought was nothing fancy, just a plastic-wrapped one from a grocery store, but she loved that he’d chosen vividly colored flowers. She’d never been much of a one for pastels.
    â€œHow are you coming on that decision?” she asked, dropping down to the sofa beside Mo. She wanted to touch him, and the wanting was almost irresistible. But something held her back. Maybe she hoped that the first touch would come from him, to prove that he was as drawn to her as she was to him.
    â€œWhich decision?” he asked.
    â€œAbout reconsidering dating.”
    He turned sideways and looked at her, deliberately casting his gaze from the top of her head down her body. “I can’t believe you’re not already dating someone.”
    She shrugged. “Not at the moment. It’s a small town. I’ve gone out with most of the eligible guys, and many of us are still friends.”
    â€œYou’re not looking to get married?”
    â€œI’d like to, but not until I meet the right person.”
    â€œMan, you’re choosy.”
    â€œI’m not. Really, I’m not.” It always rankled when someone made that accusation. “It’s not that I’m looking for anything so special or that I think I’m too good for these men. I’ve dated lots of really nice, smart guys, starting back when I was thirteen.”
    â€œBut?”
    She shrugged. “We have fun for a while, but that’s it. I don’t need to be married. I’m not going to get serious about a man unless—” She bit off her next words as a realization stunned her and her comfortable little world tilted on its axis.
    â€œUnless what?”
    There was no reason not to tell him, so she said slowly, “Unless there’s a click.” She didn’t go on to reveal the rest. What she felt with Mo . . . well, it bore a strong resemblance to a click.
    â€œClick? You’ve lost me.”
    Mouth dry, she swallowed and tried to gather her thoughts. “To start with, a special chemistry. Something, and maybe it’s pheromones, that draws you, physically, to another person. Lust, but more than that, because lust is pretty common. More, um . . .” She studied him, feeling the itch to touch him, flesh to flesh. “Like a magnetic, undeniable attraction.”
    A knowing gleam lit his eyes. “Got it.”
    â€œBut that’s only part of it. It’s not just physical, not solely chemistry. There’s also a recognition of . . . who they really are, I guess. That they’re someone who—” Thinking of how she felt about Mo, she tried to put it into words. “Someone who’s different from you, and not perfect, but you can relate to them. You want to understand them. You want to make them happy, help them find what they’re looking for.” Frustrated, she shook her head. “But it’s more than that, too.” She often felt that way about people, just not with the same intensity as she did with Mo.
    â€œLike all that ‘two halves of a whole’ or ‘you complete me’ romantic shit?”
    â€œNot exactly. I don’t believe that stuff. I think people should be self-sufficient, not need someone else to complete them. Sorry, I honestly don’t know how better to describe it except to say that there’s this click inside you, like tectonic plates shifted and the world rearranged itself in a different way, and you know you’re supposed to be with this person for the rest of your life.” Which was insane, because she barely knew him. He was Brooke’s ex, Evan’s father. He had been, as he labeled himself, a loser and a shit.
    But if she could believe him—if she could trust in his words and what she heard in his voice, trust her own instincts—he was also a redeemed man, a careworn guy who was struggling to make things right. A man worth loving. Staring into those river-water eyes, Maribeth did