Chapter 16
LUCAS
It’s a brand-new day of me trying to not lose my fucking mind as she bites her bottom lip.
Holiday’s been doing it for the past ten minutes while she measures ingredients for the cookie bars we’re bringing to Mawmaw’s tonight. She has no idea what she does to me, and I can’t focus on anything except the way her teeth catch her bottom lip and—
Focus.
I’ve been playing this game with her all week. Watching her and noticing things I shouldn’t is at the top of my list. It’s hard to ignore how she hums when she’s happy or the way she looks at me like we were supposed to spend a lifetime together.
Our moments are smothered by the weight of what Sammy told me, and it sits like an elephant on my chest. Dominic controlled and isolated her. Made her believe she was nothing without him. Stole her work and claimed it as his own.
I also notice the damage that piece of shit left behind. Holiday second-guesses herself in ways she never did before. Every day, she’s genuinely surprised when people line up for her cookies. Sometimes she shakes her head when someone gives her a compliment, like she doesn’t believe it.
It makes me want to fly to Paris and punch his fucking face for trying to break her. Instead, I do what I can. I show up. I help. I try to make her see the reality right in front of her.
“Lucas? Did you hear me? You’re very distracted,” she says, flattening the dough with a candy cane-striped rolling pin. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I offer, but I don’t think she believes me. The problem is, I know too much.
Holiday places the dough in a pan, then pops it in the oven.
“What’s really going on?” she asks, moving in front of me.
I force a smile and place my hands on her shoulders. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“About?”
“Life,” I say, being philosophical as I fight an internal war, one I will probably lose.
“If you want to quit—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t be your excuse.”
She pulls away from me. “What? I’m actually looking forward to this contest.”
“Really?” I ask.
“No. I’m dreading it. But I’m trying to reprogram my thoughts,” she says with a shrug.
My smile fades, and the quietness lingers.
“Did he hurt you?” I ask with my voice lowered, needing to hear it from her lips. “Don’t lie. Please.”
“Just emotionally,” she admits. “But that’s my fault for staying.”
“No, it’s fucking not.” I take a step forward, holding my arms out, and she falls into me. I hold her tight, my fingers threading through her hair. “He’s never going to hurt you again.”
“You shouldn’t care,” she whispers.
“I’m aware.” I rest my chin on the top of her head and don’t move until she’s the one to pull away first. “But for some reason I do.”
She loosens her grip and looks up at me, and I wipe away her tears. “You’re too pretty to cry.”
“You don’t mean that,” she says, breathing me in.
I tap her button nose. “I don’t give pity compliments to anyone. Not even you, Peaches.”
“You’re the only person I can trust to keep me honest,” she says. “It’s why I’ve tried to avoid you. It’s like a vampire looking into the sun.”
“Dramatic, don’t you think?”
She immediately smiles. “Stop calling me Peaches or I’m going to fuck you up.”
“Make me,” I mutter. She elbows me in the stomach, and a laugh spills out of me.
“Oof. I’m going to make a complaint with Emma.”
Holiday gives me a smug look. “Go ahead.”
The mood immediately shifts as we clean our mess. Eventually, the timer buzzes, and she removes the shortbread from the oven to let it cool. Her eyes drift up to the clock on the wall.
“You think we should bring Mawmaw other options?”
“Nah. This is it, and you know it.” I lean against the counter. “Stop second-guessing yourself.”
She nods. “You’re right.”
Holiday shaves semi-sweet chocolate from a bar as I put the double boiler on the stove.
I place butter on the top as Holiday drops in the chocolate.
My job is to stir while she pours the condensed milk into the pot.
She’s standing so close to me that I can feel the warmth of her body.
Before everything is completely melted, I remove it from the stove, and she dumps vanilla in.
Once it’s all incorporated, I drop the pecans into the mixture.
“Go ahead,” she tells me, and I empty the fudge mixture on top of the shortbread. Holiday sprinkles it with salt, then places a piece of parchment paper on top before shoving it into a spot she saved in the fridge.
She lifts her hand, and I give her a high five. “We prepped that in twenty minutes.”
“’Cause we kick ass.” I take the broiler to the sink and wash it. She grabs a towel and dries it, placing it back on the shelf where it lives.
“Go home and get ready. I’ll bring this when I pick you up in two and a half hours,” I tell her as I wipe down the counter. There’s not much more to be done because we cleaned after we prepped for tomorrow.
“I can meet you there.”
“Yeah, I know you can. But I’m not letting that happen.” I finish wiping down the counter, then throw the rag in the dirty hamper.
She gives me a suspicious look. “Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll be at your house at four thirty.”
“Um.”
I wrap my arm around her and force her to leave the bakery with me so she doesn’t get distracted. One of her problems is that she doesn’t know how to cut it off and stop working.
Back home, I shower and try not to think about tonight.
The two of us need to talk and clear the air about what’s festering. And we need to do that without interruptions.
I change into dark jeans and a charcoal sweater. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make it look like I didn’t try too hard, which is fucking ridiculous because it’s just dinner at Mawmaw’s. Except it’s not just dinner.
It’s the first time Holiday has been by my side at a family event in over a decade. At one point, she was my automatic plus-one to everything. I pull up to her parents’ house ten minutes early and send her a text instead of going to the door. If her dad answers, he’s going to give me that look.
A few minutes later, the front door opens and Holiday steps out.
Every thought in my head disappears.
She’s wearing a red sweater that’s a soft cashmere, and it makes her look like she fell out of one of my dreams. Her hips shake as she struts toward the truck with her hair down in loose waves.
She’s fucking gorgeous. This is torture.
My eyes slide over as she stares at me.
She reaches the truck and I get out to open the door for her.
“What?” I ask as she openly eyefucks me.
“Nothing. You look—” She stops herself, then continues. “Good.”
I pop a brow at her as she steps on the running board, then slides inside, smelling like gardenias. I force myself to close her door and walk around to my side like a normal person, but my heart is racing.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” I ask when I put the car in reverse.
“Absolutely not.”
“Agreed.” I back out of her driveway. I glance at her and she shyly looks away. I force my eyes back to the road and adjust my grip on the steering wheel.
At this rate, it’s going to be a long fucking night.
A few minutes later, I take the entrance to the Christmas tree farm and drive down the loop to where Mawmaw lives. Our cookie bars sit in the back seat.
“What’s the plan? We eat dinner, share our dessert, then get out before anyone can corner us?” she asks, twisting the hem of her sweater.
“Something like that.”
“You’re hiding something.”
She always could read me too well.
“We’re doing something afterward. It’s a surprise,” I say.
“I hate surprises,” she mumbles.
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
“That’s bullshit. I used to plan things all the time and you’d—” I stop because I’m saying too much.
“Finish the sentence you started,” she says.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Lucas.”
“You’d get this look on your face like I’d just given you the best gift in the world, even if it was flour and butter and a platonic sleepover at my grandma’s.
” I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at her right now, I might say something I can’t take back. “You’d smile like I hung the moon.”
The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with words and old feelings we’ve only danced around.
“I loved your surprises,” she says quietly. “I knew they came from a good place. Can’t say that about anyone else who’s surprised me in the last decade.”
“So that means you’re in?” We pull into Mawmaw’s driveway that’s lined with cars. I kill the engine.
“Are you peer pressuring me?”
“Absolutely.” I smirk.
“Better be worth it,” she says, but does a terrible job of holding back her excitement.
“Isn’t it always?” I park and go around to open Holiday’s door before she can do it herself.
“Quit being so polite,” she says, taking my hand as she steps down.
“Hell no. My mama taught me manners.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes look impossibly blue. Her lips part like she’s going to say something more, but Jake’s voice cuts through the night, interrupting us.
“Hey, lovebirds! You coming inside, or should we start without you?”
“We’re coming,” I say over my shoulder, then turn back to Holiday. “Ready?”
“No. But it is what it is.” Holiday’s cheeks turn bright red, and we head toward the house.
Inside is the chaos I expected. The first thing Mawmaw does when she sees Holiday is pull her into a tight hug.
“Oh, sweetheart, look at you! Haven’t changed a bit.” She holds Holiday at arm’s length and beams. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Lucas?”
“Yeah, Mawmaw. She does.”
Holiday’s eyes widen with a Help me look, but all I can do is chuckle.
There is no saving her. My mom swoops in next, hugging Holiday and asking questions about the bakery.
Then Emma and Claire both shower her with compliments.
Hudson makes some comment about how we look good together and earns an elbow from Holiday.
Jake just grins knowingly at both of us.