He places his glass down and steps closer, leans in a little closer…and his eyes flick up to the giant ball of mistletoe I made Joe hang above the bar. I can’t stop myself. I grip the front of his shirt and tug him into me. I can’t tell if his mouth crashes to mine first or if I lift on my tiptoes to get there right before he does, but I forget all about it when his tongue sweeps into my mouth.
