Chapter 3
HOLIDAY
Iwake up at three with my heart racing and my sheets twisted around my legs. My skin is too hot, my breathing too fast, and the dream is still clinging to me like smoke.
Lucas. Three days ago, in the bathroom at Moonshiners.
But in the dream, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t laugh in my face and call me pathetic.
Instead, his mouth crashed into mine. His hands were in my hair, pulling me closer, and when he whispered my name against my neck, it wasn’t infused with hatred.
It sounded like the way he used to say it—back when we were eighteen and stupid and I made promises I couldn’t keep.
I throw the covers off and stumble to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. In the mirror, my cheeks are flushed, my pupils are dilated, and my lips are parted like I can still feel the ghost of a kiss that never happened.
“Get it together,” I nearly growl at my reflection. That might’ve been three days ago, but I can’t stop thinking about how close we were. How he smelled and how his hot breath felt against my skin. For one second—one horrible but perfect second—I thought he was actually going to kiss me.
And I would’ve let him.
Ugh! I shake my head.
I would’ve let him, and that makes me angrier than anything he said.
I dress, layering on clothes. I put on black leggings and an oversized candy cane striped sweater, then I pull my hair back in a braid. I need to be at the bakery by four if I want to triple my output. My parents are still asleep when I grab my keys and head out into the freezing predawn darkness.
The drive to the farm is short, but I keep the window cracked, letting the forty-degree air slap me awake.
The sky is still black, stars scattered and sparkling like sugar crystals across velvet.
My headlights cut through the darkness as I turn onto the long gravel driveway that leads to Jolly Christmas Tree Farm.
Even at this hour, the place is beautiful.
Thousands of white lights are strung through the trees, twinkling like something out of a fairy tale.
A giant inflatable Santa waves in the wind near the entrance.
The main building—a massive log cabin that’s used as a gift shop—sits in the center, decorated with wreaths and garland.
It looks magical…romantic, even, which only makes me want to be a big ole Scrooge. Because this is Lucas’s world. His family’s legacy. And I’m just the girl who came back when she had nowhere else to go. At least that’s what he thinks.
I park in front of the cookie shop and unlock the door, flipping on lights as I enter. The space smells like yesterday’s baking, and for a moment, I let myself breathe it in.
This, at least, I’m good at. And no one can deny that.
I brew a pot of coffee—the strong stuff—and pull out my notebook. Emma and I planned a rotating menu, different cookies each day so people keep coming back. Today it’s snowmen and gingerbread reindeer.
I throw myself into work, mixing dough, rolling it out, and cutting shapes. The repetitive motions are soothing. Measure, mix, bake, cool, decorate. Over and over as my hands move on autopilot.
But I can’t stop thinking about Lucas and how he looked at me on Friday night—like he hated me but couldn’t stop staring. The way his body felt pressed against mine in that tiny bathroom haunts me. He leaned in so close I could taste his breath.
And then he laughed in my face, called me pathetic, and walked away like I was nothing.
My hands shake as I pipe icing onto a snowman cookie, and I have to stop, take a breath, and remind myself that I don’t care. I don’t care what Lucas Jolly thinks of me. I don’t care that he still looks at me like he wants to ruin my life as much as I ruined his.
Truthfully, I didn’t ruin shit. I left Merryville. People leave. That’s what happens when you’re eighteen and the world is bigger than a small town in Texas.
By the time Bethany arrives at seven, I’ve got a thousand snowmen cooling and another batch of gingerbread reindeer in the oven.
She’s too cheerful for someone who has to work before school, bouncing through the door with her backpack and a box of decorations.
“Morning, Aunt Holiday!” She ties on her red and green apron, then studies me.
“You okay? You look…weird.”
“Weird? Excuse me? Just focused.”
“Right.” She pulls garland and ornaments from the box. “We need to be shitting out Christmas spirit in here. We’re on a tree farm!”
Before I can protest, she’s stringing garland along the counter and hanging ornaments from the light fixtures. Then she pulls out several bunches of mistletoe.
“Absolutely not,” I tell her.
“Come on! It’s tradition.”
“Bethany—”
“Already cleared it with Emma via text.”
“She’s on bed rest! Leave that woman alone.”
“She said the bakery needs all the Christmas magic it can get.” Bethany drags a chair over to hang mistletoe in the entryway. “Oh, I heard a rumor about you.”
The icing bag explodes in my grip, spewing white frosting everywhere.
“What?”
“Small town, remember? People saw your car at Moonshiners on Friday. Who were you there with?” She grins. “Was Lucas there?”
“I’m not having this conversation with my sixteen-year-old niece.”
“Was he?”
“Work on stocking the display case.”
“Already on it!” she snaps.
At seven forty-five, the bell jingles. I tense, stupidly thinking it might be Lucas, but then I hear Sammy’s voice and relax. He’s wearing his firefighter uniform, a navy shirt and slacks, clearly about to start his shift.
“Want some coffee?” Bethany asks him.
“Please tell me it’s the strong stuff,” he says, pushing through the swinging door of the kitchen.
The look on his face tells me this isn’t a social visit.
“What?” I ask, already defensive.
“What did you say to Lucas on Friday?”
“I knew it!” Bethany calls from the front.
I glare at my brother. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you two talked. What happened?”
“I told him to leave me alone.”
“Holiday.” His voice gets serious. It’s the big brother voice he’s used on me our whole lives since he’s a minute older. “I’ll tell you what I told him. This has to stop. He’s been in a shit mood since you got back, and after going to Moonshiners, he’s been worse than ever.”
My stomach flips. “That’s not my problem or my fault.”
“You can’t pretend like you don’t care,” he says.
“I don’t. I really don’t. I want him to leave me alone. It’s that simple.”
Bethany soaks up the entire conversation.
Sammy crosses his arms, looking so much like our dad in this moment, it’s unnerving. “You’re both acting like children, and I’m stuck in the middle. He’s my best friend, you’re my twin sister, and I don’t want to have to choose anymore.”
“No one’s asking you to do that.”
“Aren’t you? Because I can’t mention him without you shutting down, and I can’t mention you without him losing his shit.” He grabs a cookie from the cooling rack. “I just want things to be like they used to be. When we could all hang out without this…whatever this is.”
I set down the piping bag and look at him.
He has no idea what he’s asking for. No idea what happened that summer after graduation. What happened when I came home that Christmas.
“That can never happen, Sammy.”
“Funny, that’s the only thing you two can agree on,” he says.
Bethany’s eyes widen from the doorway, and I lower my voice. “Things changed. People changed.”
“But you’re still you, he’s still him—”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than I intend. “The three of us hanging out, laughing, and being friends are gone. It’s been gone for years, and I’m sorry, but that’s never coming back.”
“Holiday—”
“I mean it. You can’t fix this. He’s an asshole, and I won’t put up with his bullshit. He’s not a kind person.” I pick up the piping bag again and focus on the cookies because it’s easier than looking at his face. “Keep us separate. It’s better that way.”
Sammy shakes his head, disappointment written all over his face. “Fine. But you should know—being on this side of it is exhausting. And tree season just started.”
He heads for the door, then pauses. “You think you have this under control. You don’t.”
After he leaves, I try to push his words away. But they stick—just like the memory of Lucas backing me against that bathroom door. Just like the dream I woke up from this morning.
The morning rush is crazier than it was over the weekend. By eleven, we’re completely sold out. There was already a line of people waiting when I opened the doors at nine.
Bethany heads to school, and I spend the afternoon prepping for tomorrow. Mixing dough, cutting shapes, getting ahead. My back aches, my feet throb, but I push through. This is what I do. This is what I’m good at.
By the time the sun sets, I’ve prepped enough for two full days. My eyes are burning with exhaustion when I finally lock up and head to my car.
The parking lot is mostly empty with just my car in front of the bakery and Lucas’s truck parked by the equipment shed near the gift shop.
He’s probably doing inventory or maintenance.
He and his brothers take care of the endless jobs that keep a place like this running so smoothly. They’re good at what they do.
I don’t let myself think about how he used to text me when he was working late. How we’d sneak off to the barn and—
No. That was a lifetime ago.
I climb into my car and press the start button, but nothing happens.
“No, no, no.” I try again.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, too exhausted to deal with this.
I could call my parents, but they’re probably already in bed. Sammy, too. Everyone I know is settling in for the night because normal people don’t work eighteen-hour days.
I glance at Lucas’s truck and realize I’d rather walk the two miles home than ask him for help.
It’s dark now, the temperature is dropping fast, and I’m wearing the wrong shoes for this, but I make my way across the parking lot. I’ll manage because I always do.
I barely make it to the gravel driveway before I hear his truck rumble to life. Headlights flick on, and he drives past me without slowing down. Doesn’t even look at me.
Good. I don’t need his help anyway.
I keep walking, my breath fogging in the cold air. There’s a trail that cuts behind his grandmother’s house that I’ve taken a hundred times when we were teenagers. Back when we’d meet up to ride horses or sneak off to just be together. Back when he treated me like I mattered.
I turn on my phone’s flashlight and keep walking, ignoring the way my feet already hurt, ignoring the cold seeping through my sweater.
Five minutes later, headlights appear in front of me.
His truck slows, and he rolls down the passenger window.
“What are you doing?” His voice is flat, annoyed.
“Walking home.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Thought I’d get some exercise after working eighteen hours. It’s such a beautiful night.” I keep walking, picking up my pace even though my legs are screaming.
He sighs. “Get in.”
“No.”
“Holiday—”
“Hell. No.” I stop at his window, glaring at him through the open space. “No way I’m going to owe you one.”
He gives me that fake, bitter laugh that’s always pissed me off. “It’s dark, you’re exhausted, and you have to be back here in seven hours. Get in the truck.”
“Not happening.”
“You’re being stubborn.”
“And you’re being an asshole. Nothing new.”
“I’m gonna give you ten seconds, then I’m leaving your ass here.” He starts counting. “Ten.”
“You’re so predictable,” I snap.
“Nine. All you want to do is push my buttons.”
“Eight,” I say before he can. “And all you want to do is be rude.”
He puts the truck in park and stares at me. “Get in. Last thing you need is to get sick. Who’d be your replacement? You’re it. That’s the last thing Emma needs.”
The wind blows harder, tossing my hair across my face. A shiver runs through me.
“Fine. But know it’s not because I want to, but because of Emma.”
He rolls his eyes as I yank open the door and climb in. I’m hit by the smell of him. Pine and sawdust and that cologne he’s always worn, the one that used to make me dizzy when we were pressed together in the dark.
He doesn’t speak. Just drives back to the parking lot in silence.
The truck cab feels too small, and the air nearly chokes me. It’s so thick. I stare out the window, hyperaware of every breath he takes, every shift of his hands on the wheel.
Being this close to him, remembering how it used to feel is pure torture.
He pulls up next to my car and gets out without a word, grabbing jumper cables from the back seat. I watch through the windshield as he pops both hoods, his movements efficient and familiar. He’s helped people with dead batteries, fixed broken equipment, and kept this farm running.
He holds his palm open, and I hand him my key through the window. He climbs into my driver’s seat, door open, and presses the start button. The engine struggles, then catches.
I get out of the truck and move toward him. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at me as he slides out of my car. He unhooks the cables, drops my hood with more force than necessary, and walks back to his truck.
No acknowledgment. No You’re welcome. Nothing.
He gets in, slams the door, and drives away without a single glance in my direction.
I stand there in the cold, watching his taillights disappear down the driveway.
How did we become this? Two people who can’t even manage a conversation.
He helped me because he’s not heartless enough to leave me stranded. But he won’t give me even the smallest kindness of a response.
Before I left for culinary school, he would’ve followed me home to make sure I made it safely. He would’ve checked my battery connections, told me to get it looked at in the morning. He would’ve cared. Now we’re just strangers who happen to work on the same property.
Actually, we’re a step below strangers.
I don’t know the man he’s become.
I don’t want to.
I climb into my car, crank the heat, and drive home.
The entire way, I think about his silence and how it feels heavier than any words he could’ve said.
Tomorrow, I’ll be back at the farm before sunrise, and he’ll probably already be there with his chain saw and his scowl. We’ll continue this dance of avoiding each other until Christmas.
How will either of us survive the season?
By choice. By necessity. And by pretending that being near him doesn’t still make my heart race the way it did when I was eighteen and stupid enough to believe we had a chance at forever.