Mistletoe Mishap Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  About Mistletoe Mishap

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by Siri Caldwell

  About the Author

  Mistletoe Mishap

  Siri Caldwell

  Brussels Sprout Press

  Copyright

  Mistletoe Mishap

  Copyright © 2017 Siri Caldwell

  Cover design by Marianne Nowicki

  ISBN: 978-0-9974023-2-2 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9974023-3-9 (paperback)

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any locales, business establishments, or actual events is strictly coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.

  Brussels Sprout Press

  P.O. Box 42133

  Arlington, VA 22204

  United States of America

  First edition: November 2017

  About Mistletoe Mishap

  Ready…set…yes!

  It seems like a simple challenge: who can make the other person take the Lord’s name in vain the loudest and the most often with the least clothes on before Christmas.

  With only twelve days to prove that all those years together do not mean she’s forgotten how to goad the love of her life into unbuttoning her own blouse, Kendra has no time to waste. If only Viv played fair…

  This romantic comedy stars two science professors with unacknowledged competitive streaks, mental arithmetic, dumb innuendo, and mistletoe threaded through belt loops. You’ve been warned.

  Chapter 1

  The deejay had the typical deejay voice, smooth and easy to listen to, the kind of voice that made straight women let men get away with saying outrageous things. Some people found him offensive, but it was hard for Kendra to be offended by much of anything after years of teaching twenty-year-olds who had no filter between their brains and their mouths.

  Kendra adjusted the car’s passenger-side sun visor against the early-morning glare, angling it so it would help Viv over in the driver’s seat. This time of year, when the days grew shorter and the sun dropped lower and lower, this last stretch of highway always made her grateful she wasn’t the one driving. She dug through Viv’s handbag for her sunglasses and handed them over.

  “Here’s a listener who sent in a question,” the deejay said. “She writes, ‘My boyfriend and I are getting married in June. I want to stop having sex until then so it’ll be special on our wedding night. My boyfriend thinks this is a bad idea. What do you guys think?’”

  “Special?” Viv said in her charming Argentinean accent. “Is she serious?”

  “Listeners, please call in if you’ve ever done something like this. I need to know what advice to give. So tell me: did holding out make it meaningful?”

  Instantly, a caller was on the line. A woman. “I slept at my mother’s house the night before the wedding.”

  “One night?” the deejay scoffed. “Next caller, please. Hi, you’re on the air. Did you do this thing? No…‌shall we say…‌crossing the line of scrimmage?”

  “Yeah,” said the male voice.

  Wait, what? A man? A man was willing to admit to doing this? And he wasn’t afraid someone who knew him might recognize his voice as they drove to work? Clearly Kendra was never going to understand men. Not that she was trying that hard. Or at all.

  “My wife wanted me to move out for two weeks prior, to, you know, pretend like we were starting fresh.”

  Traffic slowed as they drove onto the bridge that led into the city. Kendra curled her fingers around Viv’s travel coffee mug sliding in the too-large cup holder, steadying it just in time as Viv let loose a curse and slammed on the brakes, just like every morning. Viv always took the approach too fast.

  The deejay’s steady stream of chatter continued. “Two weeks. How did she talk you into it, man?”

  “Like I had a choice?”

  “Two weeks is not a long time,” Viv said.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Kendra said.

  Viv inched the car forward. “What, you’re taking his side?”

  Kendra shrugged. “Everyone’s different. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Was it worth it?” the deejay asked.

  “Sure. Made my wife happy.”

  “But this woman who’s asking for advice is talking about nada until June. We haven’t even hit Christmas yet. That’s six months.”

  “Yeah, six months…” The man’s voice trailed off. “That’s…‌yeah.”

  “Next caller. Hi, you’re on the air. You’ve done this? No scrimmaging for six months?”

  “Three months,” said the female caller.

  “Three months. Excellent.” The deejay sounded so cheerful. So positive. So friendly. Like he had no idea that listeners stuck in traffic were making rude comments about her. “And you would recommend it to this woman who wrote in?”

  “Absolutely. It was wonderful. Women need to know they’re special, that it’s not something their husband or boyfriend takes for granted.”

  “I cannot believe these people,” Viv said, rolling forward another foot while hugging the bumper of the vehicle ahead of her.

  A car horn blared. If Viv had made Kendra wait six months when they’d first met? She couldn’t imagine. Back then, being with Viv had been so good…‌and no, she was not using the word special, because yuck…‌that just thinking about it made her flush hot and cold. Viv’s English hadn’t been as fluent as it was now, and the sound of her broken voice telling her she loved her had made Kendra’s body do horrible, wonderful things Kendra couldn’t control. Giving that up for no reason would have been unthinkable.

  “It made me really appreciate him and it forced him to talk to me more and connect in ways that didn’t involve the bedroom,” the caller explained. “Six months sounds amazing.”

  “She had to force him to talk? Poor thing,” Viv said.

  “Her husband’s never having sex again.” Kendra took a sip of Viv’s coffee and gazed out the window at the rowers defying the morning chill on the river below.

  “Drink your own,” Viv said.

  “Yours tastes better.”

  Viv sighed. “I asked if you wanted candy cane in yours and you said no.”

  “It sounded too Christmas-y.” Kendra placed the coffee back in the cup holder and adjusted her seatbelt. The end of the bridge was in sight, and their zigzagging route through the city with Viv at the wheel was no place to be guiding a hot drink to her mouth. “That first woman? She’ll do it on their wedding night and decide it wasn’t all that special after all. She’ll say ‘Look at what a great relationship we had for the past six months‌—‌we don’t need to deal with all that physical unpleasantness.’ Because if she’s willing to hold out for six months, then honestly, she doesn’t like it very much.”

  “Or she’s just one of those women who needs to talk before she puts out because it makes her feel closer.”

  “How much talking does it take to get in the mood?” Kendra said. “Six months of talking?” If talking was all it took, then she and Viv would be making out in the car every day, because they wer
e great at talking. “They haven’t been together long. They’re in the honeymoon phase. They should be taking advantage of that before it ends.”

  Viv waited for a handful of pedestrians to cross so she could make her left turn, the steady click of her blinker a counterpoint to the voices on the radio. For once she wasn’t muttering at the stragglers in Spanish to pick up the pace, or questioning their parentage, their life choices, and their footwear. “They’re young. They hear people warn them the doing‌-‌it‌-‌like‌-‌bunnies phase will end, but they don’t believe it. They don’t think it applies to them.”

  Kendra nodded. Everyone liked to think they were the exception. Much as it pained her to admit, she did the same thing herself. Because those couples who ran out of things to say to each other after a few years? A few decades? That was never going to be her and Viv. Because she and Viv were different. She and Viv were better than those couples. She and Viv were awesome. “I don’t get how putting the bunny action on hold is supposed to make it beautiful, though. Means she thinks it’s not beautiful right now.”

  “Maybe it’s not.”

  “I feel sorry for the boyfriend.”

  “Not the girl?”

  “Nah. She’s a—”

  “Do not use that word.”

  “Did I say that word?”

  “You were going to.”

  “What, a prude?”

  “Hey!”

  Kendra laughed. “Nah. Just trying to get you riled up.” Kendra draped her arm over the driver’s seatback and stroked Viv’s cheek with the back of her fingers. Viv wasn’t a prude. She was just good at hiding it. “We’re making fun of these people on the radio, but when was the last time you and I…‌you know?”

  “Made it special?” Viv said the word special like it was a word only a thirteen-year-old girl would use, and it was common knowledge that Professor of Immunology Viviana Ortiz had never been thirteen.

  Kendra traced Viv’s cheekbones. Viv usually shook her off when she did stuff like that in the car, preferring to give her full attention to her driving. Today Viv let her do it, and it felt like a victory.

  “Two months?” Kendra guessed, erring in the direction that was less embarrassing.

  “Maybe four.”

  Gah.

  Viv captured Kendra’s hand and lowered it to Kendra’s side of the car with a small, apologetic smile. “Might have that last woman beat.”

  “Should I call in and break it to them? Say waiting doesn’t make it better?”

  As the last pedestrian made it across and the light changed to yellow, Viv spun the wheel and sped into the turn. “That’ll go over well. I can hear the brides screaming all across the city that you’re ruining their special day.”

  Kendra touched her shoulder, crossing the invisible boundary between their seats. You’re so beautiful, she wanted to say. When had she become afraid to touch her? She sighed. “Has it really been four months?”

  “Maybe?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s both our faults.”

  Kendra stared at Viv’s fingers wrapped around the wheel, capable and experienced, the knuckles bony in a way that gave away her age. She loved Viv’s hands. She couldn’t remember what they used to look like, back before she’d acquired the smattering of freckles that couldn’t already be age spots or the faded, almost invisible scars from the day Viv had been way, wayyyy more upset about the experimental cell culture she’d lost than the shards of broken glassware impaled in her skin. Back when Viv’s no‌-‌touching‌-‌in‌-‌the‌-‌car rule was one of those things that made her adorable.

  Viv was still adorable.

  And four months was too long. It might be both their faults, but Kendra was going to fix it.

  Chapter 2

  Kendra slammed the front door shut to keep the cold air outside where it belonged. Winter wouldn’t truly hit DC for another month, but the older she got, the slower her body was to adapt to autumn’s dipping temperatures. She let her messenger bag slide off her shoulder and hit the floor. “Does abstinence really make the heart grow fonder?”

  “Absence,” Viv corrected, shouting from the kitchen. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “No, abstinence. I’m thinking—”

  “Still thinking about that radio show?” Viv spoke over her.

  Either Viv knew her too well or Kendra was becoming predictable.

  Probably both.

  “Yeah.” She nudged her bag with the toe of her boot until it rested against the wall where it wouldn’t trip her later. She shoved her keys in her coat pocket, ignoring the cute little hook by the door where Viv’s perfectly organized keys dangled, and hung her coat in the entryway closet. “I don’t get it. All those people who really, truly believe that not having sex is going to improve their sex lives.”

  “What?” Viv hollered from the kitchen. “I can’t hear you.”

  Kendra strolled into the kitchen. “Really? You didn’t hear any of that?”

  Viv had a pot of water boiling on the stove and was sautéing onions and mushrooms that she poked at with a wooden spoon. “I might have heard a word that starts with the letter s, but not the rest of it.”

  “Anyone would think you taught kindergartners with that mouth, not grad students.”

  Viv turned down the burner under the frying pan. Kendra watched and held her breath, hoping Viv would kiss her and show her what else she could do with that mouth, but Viv only turned to the cabinet to find the pasta.

  Viv opened the box. “Are you going to leave me in suspense?”

  “You really didn’t hear any of it.”

  “So tell me again.”

  “Would a softball coach promise she was going to improve a player’s game by benching her for six months?”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “Sure it is. It’s a physical skill. How are you supposed to get better at it if you don’t practice?”

  Viv dropped the pasta into the water. “I wouldn’t call it a physical skill. It’s more than that.”

  Kendra popped a sautéed mushroom in her mouth and blew frantically on her fingers to cool them. Viv made a disapproving sound.

  Okay, fine. How someone as good at it as Viv was could be so uncomfortable talking about it was beyond her understanding, but if Viv wanted to insist it was all an intellectual and emotional exercise…

  “Would a math teacher encourage you to skip class and not do the homework so that next year, when you move to advanced calculus, you’ll enjoy it more?”

  Viv grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at her eyes. “Onions.”

  She was laughing, right?

  Kendra stepped out of the kitchen to grab a few tissues and was back a moment later, pressing them into Viv’s hands.

  Viv blew her nose. “I dare you to call the radio station and tell them more practice is the answer.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

  “We’re going to test my idea. Using the scientific method.”

  “The scientific—”

  “You’re a scientist. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  “I have, and I’m pretty sure a sample size of one cannot be called using the scientific method.”

  “I haven’t even told you my experiment yet.”

  “You don’t have to. I know what’s coming. I can read your mind.”

  She really could. But Kendra plowed ahead anyway. “The experiment has two arms. In the first arm, we try abstinence. We’ve already done that, so we don’t have to repeat it.”

  “Let me guess.” Viv tapped one finger on her chin like she was thinking hard. She never tapped her chin for real, though. The tapping was an act. “Ooh! I’ve got it! In the second arm, we try the opposite.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” Kendra narrowed her eyes. Maybe she could convince Viv she was offended and make her feel guilty.

  Viv looked unconvinced. “I’m not making fun of you. I�
�m making fun of your idea.”

  “It’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t know.” Viv turned back to the stove and adjusted the flame under the boiling pasta. “Aren’t we already as good as we’re going to get? We’ve had years and years of practice. More’s not going to do anything.”

  Kendra stared at the back of Viv’s shoulders. They were slightly rounded, more hunched than they used to be, but she wasn’t old, not really. Why would she imply they were too old for this? They still liked each other, right?

  Kendra took hold of Viv’s apron ties and wound them around her fingers, being careful not to pull and undo the bow drooping at her waist. It was a way to touch Viv without actually touching her, to be near without running the risk of being pushed away.

  Kendra didn’t do cutesy holiday-themed clothing, but she liked seeing Viv in her Christmas apron, the ties printed in a pattern of holly leaves and berries, because it made Viv happy. The apron and the wreath-embroidered kitchen towels had made their annual appearance a week ago. At school, exams had already started. Soon it would be winter break. Viv would be busy every day in the lab, checking on her racks of culture tubes, monitoring the cells and scary microorganisms inside. They both had to prepare for next semester’s classes. But there’d be no classes to teach, no office hours to spend talking with students, no tedious department meetings. They’d have time to be together. Time to watch movies on the sofa and decorate a tree and impede each other’s efforts to make dinner. Time to do something about their slump.

  But if Viv didn’t want to…

  Kendra unwound her fingers from Viv’s apron ties. It wasn’t surprising that Viv would claim she didn’t need practice. Viv prided herself on being good at things, and she was good. She’d been good at this particular skill right from the start, long before years of practice had made it nearly impossible for her not to be good at it.

  So perhaps the better approach was to goad her. Challenge her. Stop appealing to her love of science and make this about proving herself.