Chapter 10
LUCAS
Iwake up at four, holding Holiday Patterson like she’s going to slip through my fingers.
Her face is buried in my chest; her arm is slung across my ribs.
Her breath is warm against my collarbone.
I stay perfectly still, feeling every spot where our bodies connect.
Her other hand rests on my stomach, and I memorize all of it like a fucking idiot because this is the closest I’ll ever get to having her again.
I am so fucked.
My head pounds from the whiskey. My mouth tastes like ass. My body aches from sleeping in jeans. Not to mention, the memory of her kissing me keeps playing on repeat. Her lips were soft and desperate. I didn’t kiss her back even though every cell in my body screamed at me to give in.
I have to get out of this bed before I do something stupid.
I slowly slide away from her. She makes a small whimper but doesn’t wake, just curls into the warm spot I left behind. That contented sigh nearly breaks me.
When I’m finally free, I watch her sleep. She’s curled up, her brown hair spread across the candy cane striped pillowcase like she belongs here.
She looks peaceful. Soft. Mine.
Except she’s not. She never was and never will be.
I quietly change my clothes and place her keys on the bedside table next to the lamp, then get the hell out before I talk myself into climbing back in bed with her.
My truck is freezing; the windshield is covered in ice. I crank the engine and blast the heat, shivering while it warms up.
I drive to the farm even though my shift doesn’t start until six, taking the curves slowly through the mist. Fog rolls over the gravel road.
I park near the barn and squeeze my eyes tight.
Holiday kissed me, and I felt it everywhere. All I wanted was to grab her face and kiss her back until neither of us could breathe.
I didn’t because I can’t open the door I spent over a decade nailing shut. It leads to hoping and wanting and getting destroyed when she gets bored. When she misses Paris. When she moves to New York. When her celebrity chef ex decides he wants her back.
Dominic Laurent.
Just his name makes my jaw clench. He’s everything I’m not. Sophisticated. Famous. Someone who could give her the world instead of a Christmas tree farm in the middle of nowhere.
My phone sits on the passenger seat. I stare at it for a full minute before I pick it up.
Holiday
About last night.
Fuck.
Lucas
Forget it.
Holiday
We should probably talk.
Lucas
Nothing to talk about.
Holiday
But you held me.
My hands tighten on the phone.
Lucas
Don’t read into it. Meant nothing.
Holiday
You’re impossible.
I want to tell her it meant everything. I should apologize for being an asshole.
Instead, I lock my phone and toss it back on the seat.
I get out and slam the door so hard it echoes across the empty lot.
The barn smells like hay, motor oil, and wood shavings. It’s dark and cold, and I flip on the overhead lights. They flicker before coming on fully.
Extra Christmas decorations are stacked in the corner. There are boxes of lights, garland, and ornaments. They’re mocking me with their cheerfulness.
I climb to the hayloft and start throwing bales down to bring to the horse barn.
Each bale weighs around sixty pounds and drops with a loud thump.
Once I’m done with the hay, I move to the firewood.
We sell tons of cords during winter, and I start restacking the bundles of logs, tossing them harder than necessary.
One slips from my grip and crashes to the ground, splitting open.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Everything I touch breaks.
By the time Jake shows up around seven, I’ve reorganized half the barn and I’m soaked with sweat.
“Morning,” Jake says, too cheerfully. He’s carrying two coffees from the gift shop. “Brought you—”
“Don’t need it.”
He stops. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Lucas, you’ve almost done all your tasks. The sun is barely up.”
“Maybe I just wanted to get ahead so I can leave early.”
“Or maybe something happened with Holiday last night.” He sets both coffees down and crosses his arms. “I saw her car at your place. What happened?”
“We baked cookies. We drank too much. She crashed at my place. End of story.”
“And?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Drop it.”
“Lucas—”
“Jake! I said to fucking drop it!” My voice echoes through the barn.
He doesn’t react to my outburst. Instead, he takes a step closer. “You know what your problem is? You’re so busy protecting yourself that you’re gonna let her slip away again. And this time, you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. She came back, Lucas. She didn’t have to.”
“Because she had nowhere else to go.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He heads for the door. “You’re gonna fuck this up.”
He leaves.
I stand there alone, breathing hard.
I hate that Holiday kissed me. That I wanted to kiss her back so badly it hurt. I hate that holding her felt like home. I hate that I told her it meant nothing when it meant everything.
The morning drags on. By nine, families are everywhere. Parents sip hot chocolate, the smell of cinnamon and chocolate mixing with pine and wood smoke. Christmas music plays through outdoor speakers. Some cheerful bullshit about sleigh bells and snow.
I force myself to smile at customers, but it doesn’t help my mood.
The hangover gets worse, and my head pounds. The bright sunlight makes my eyes hurt. I forget to eat breakfast.
Around eleven thirty, Hudson shows up with Colby.
“Uncle Lucas!” Colby runs over and hugs my legs. He just started kindergarten this year.
“Hey, buddy.” I ruffle his hair.
“We’re getting hot chocolate! Then we’re going to see Aunt Holiday and get more cookies!”
The name hits me like a punch. “She’s not your aunt, Colby.”
“Yes, she is!”
Hudson squeezes my shoulder hard. “Leave him alone.”
He crouches to Colby’s level. “Go get in line. I’ll meet you there.”
Colby runs off, laughing.
Hudson straightens up and stares at me. “Get your shit together, Lucas.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.” He walks away, shaking his head.
I avoid looking toward the bakery.
Around noon, she walks out with Bella, carrying boxes to a customer’s car. Holiday’s wearing tight jeans and a red hoodie. Her hair is in a high ponytail. She looks rested, happy even, like last night didn’t wreck her the way it wrecked me.
Then she glances toward me.
Our eyes meet across the parking lot.
For a second, neither of us moves. We just stare at each other.
I’m the one who turns and walks away.
I get lost in work. I help families find trees and load them onto cars. Pine sap sticks to my hands.
Every time I turn around, I catch a glimpse of red across the parking lot. Her laugh carrying on the wind. I keep thinking about that sigh she made in her sleep.
This is killing me.
By two, the hangover drags me under. Dean catches me leaning against someone’s car, eyes closed.
“You okay, man?”
“Tired.”
“You look like you’re gonna pass out.” He pulls a granola bar from his pocket. “Eat this. And drink some water.”
He shoves it in my hand and walks away.
I force myself to eat it even though it tastes like sawdust.
Around three, I’m in the barn when I see her through the window walking to her car.
My body moves before my brain catches up.
I walk out of the barn, toward her. I’m halfway there when I stop dead in my tracks.
What the fuck am I doing?
She hasn’t seen me yet because she’s too busy searching through her purse.
I could close the distance and give her an apology.
I stand there frozen, twenty yards away.
She finds her keys and unlocks her car.
Then she looks up and sees me standing in the middle of the parking lot.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
The air between us sizzles with everything that will be left unsaid.
She gets in her car and drives away.
The rest of the afternoon blurs together. More customers. More trees. More pretending.
I mess up an order. Drop a saw. Forget to tie down a tree properly, but Dean catches it just in time.
“You should go home,” he tells me around four thirty. “Before you hurt yourself or someone else.”
I don’t argue, but don’t leave.
By five, the exhaustion has taken over, so I find Jake and tell him I’m leaving.
“Get some rest. Show up tomorrow with a different attitude.”
“Yeah.”
I drive home to my empty house.
The second I walk in, I go straight upstairs. The bed is unmade. The pillow she used still has the indent from her head. I can still smell her skin on the sheets.
Panic rises in my chest.
I strip everything and throw it into the washing machine on the hottest setting, like I can wash her away.
I should shower because I have sweat dried on my skin. I should eat because my stomach is empty. I don’t.
Instead, I walk to the kitchen and see the box of cookies we made last night still on the counter.
I pick up the container and take one out, then bite into it.
Even today, it’s incredible. The crispy exterior and the gooey fudge center are a perfect combination.
Better than anything that French asshole ever made, I bet. The thought hits me with bitter satisfaction. This is ours—mine and Holiday’s—and it pisses me off that even now, even hating her, we still create magic together.
This recipe is a winner and it could actually win the contest.
That devastates me because I know what she’ll do with the money. I know that she’s planning her escape.
We created something perfect, and I’m destroying us in the process.
I set the container down and walk to the living room. I sit on the couch, looking around the house I built for a family I may never have.
For her.
Always for her.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table.
I pick it up and read the calendar notification.
Baking contest meeting
Wednesday, 6pm at the Community Center.
Mandatory for all contestants.
That’s the next time I’ll be around her. I’ll sit in the same room with her and we’ll act like a team.
I lean my head back on the couch, closing my eyes.
The house is silent except for the washing machine.
My body aches. My chest feels hollow. I’m still covered in the day’s work—dirt, sweat, and pine sap—but I’m too exhausted to care.
I just sit in the dark with Holiday on my mind, wishing I could erase her.
It’s going to be a long week.