Chapter 4 #2
“Easy there, Holly Berry.” Ryan jogged toward me, his glasses slipping down on his nose. From his controlled expression, he clearly held back a laugh eager to break free. He was waiting to see if I was hurt before he released it, which almost made me forgive him for the nickname.
He offered me a hand, which I shook off, standing on my own. “I’m fine.” I really wanted to ask him if my butt was dirty, but I resisted. Note to self, don’t walk in front of Nick.
Nick. My gaze darted over Ryan’s shoulder as the man of the hour hauled himself from the cab of his truck. His dark boots crunched on the rocks, and he craned his neck toward me. Checking to see if I was okay?
Maybe I should trip again.
I quickly brushed off the back of my jeans, just in case, and found my smile. The one that had earned me several second dates, if not a third lately.
“Nick, you remember Holly.” Ryan gestured toward me like I was a game-show prize as Nick approached. I slapped Ryan’s arm down, and he rubbed it with a wince. “Holly, you remember Nick.”
“Of course.” Wow, Nick was more handsome up close. Brown hair with natural caramel highlights, carelessly tousled in a way that might have been styled intentionally or might be proof that God loved him a little more than me. Eyes rich and deep like coffee warmed as they met mine.
“Hey there.” Nick’s voice was a notch deeper than Ryan’s, a little more reserved, like maybe he saved it for words that really mattered. A dark shadow of a goatee was interrupted by a white, even smile.
Our hands touched. My fingers instantly wanted to curl into his, to lace together like we were a happy couple instead of near strangers in an incredibly awkward moment.
I worked to keep my heart beating a steadfast rhythm and my palm flat as we shook. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too.” Nick let go and shoved his hands casually into the front pockets of his sherpa jacket. “Are you okay?”
Oh, crap. He could tell I was having heart palpitations? Then, thankfully, my frontal lobe resumed working. He meant my fall. “Oh, yeah. Happens all the time.”
Nick’s dark eyebrows rose.
Great, now I’d confessed to being clumsy. I quickly shook my head as I gestured behind me. “I meant, there. On those stairs. Be sure to take care.” And now I was a Dr. Seuss book. I clamped my lips shut.
“Did you hit your head?” Ryan frowned as he prodded my scalp.
I stepped out of his reach and smiled brightly at a spot somewhere between them. If Mom could deny her inability to grow plants, I could deny my reality. “Need help carrying anything?”
“I’ve got it!” Lydia singsonged from the driveway. A bag hung from one shoulder and a purse dangled from the other. The laundry basket full of gifts was braced against her hip.
“Babe! Let me help.” Ryan rushed toward her, his sister no longer his priority.
I risked a glance at Nick, who was studying me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. But it sure did warm my stomach like a white mocha with zero peppermint shavings. “Trust me, I’m not usually this graceful,” I joked.
He tilted his head and smiled. “So I hear.”
“Ryan’s been telling stories on me, I take it.” I mentally filed that fact away to avenge later.
“Only good ones.”
“I’ll have to be the judge of that.” We locked eyes, and there was that sensation again. Was Nick feeling it too? How could he not? If we’d been standing on snow, it would have melted.
“Regardless, thanks for that, uh, dramatic welcome.” Nick shot me a wink and…yep, the floor was lava.
I wrapped my arms around my middle, mostly to hide my shaky hands. “So, are you ready for this block party?”
Nick let out a low whistle. “From the way Ryan described it, I’m not sure anyone ever could be.”
“That’s about right.” I laughed. “It’s a whole event. I swear people come who don’t even live in this neighborhood.”
“No worries. We’ll face it together.” A dimple creased his cheek.
I swallowed. I’d always secretly judged Austen-era women who swooned. What even was that? Yet my response to Nick’s dimple would have had the over-eager Lydia Bennet telling me to calm down. “Sounds good.”
Piper would have been proud at the way I kept my voice steadier than my hands.
“Should we get the elephant out of the room right away?” Nick glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Or yard, rather.”
“Elephant?” I raised my eyebrows. Did he mean my single status? Was he going to just come right out and—
“You know, about strongly disliking…Christmas.”
“Oh!” I laughed. “ That. ”
“What—is there an entire herd I didn’t know about?” He looked around again with exaggerated fear.
“No herd.” Except the one galloping through my stomach. “I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about… later, ” I added as Ryan approached with the hamper of gifts.
“Can’t wait.” Nick smiled, dimple still locked and loaded. “I’ll just grab my bag.”
I nodded, casually. Calmly. Like I wasn’t being stampeded internally. “See you inside.”
I even kept my smile as normal as possible and my weak knees from sinking back onto the steps as Nick jogged toward his truck, his movements lithe and athletic.
Whew. I might hate the holidays, but my brother sure had given me quite the Christmas gift.
Nick’s memory and the old family photo on Ryan’s desk at work—not to mention the social media profile pic he’d stalked on Holly’s private account—didn’t do the woman justice.
As he and Ryan off-loaded their luggage in the foyer, Nick tried to keep his gaze from resting yet again on Holly by instead focusing on the homey atmosphere and aroma enveloping him.
He shifted his attention to the beams crossing the tall ceiling, to the updated canned lighting and the narrow windows overlooking the acreage outside.
The farmhouse aesthetic was modern with a rustic twist, exactly as he’d expected. Beautiful, really.
Though apparently not enough to distract him from the brightness of Holly’s smile or the good-natured spark in her eyes or the curve of her waist in those jeans…
He quickly turned toward the kitchen. Ryan would kill him if he caught Nick gawking at his sister, even if he was supposed to be her date.
Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“You ready for this, man?” Ryan straightened from setting Lydia’s monogrammed suitcase by the couch.
“Ready for what? You said it would be a low-key Christmas.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest as he returned his friend’s smile. “Freshly fallen snow and sausage balls, remember?”
“Oh, there will be sausage balls.” Ryan laughed. “Though I can’t guarantee the snow, unfortunately.”
“I’d like a refund, then.”
“Nice try. You’re in this now.” Ryan nudged his own suitcase out of the walkway. “Just remember you committed, is all I’m saying.”
A wave of doubt washed over Nick. What did he—
“There you all are!” An elegant woman with wavy, shoulder-length silver hair bustled into the living room, all smiles. She untied a snowflake-printed apron from around her slender waist and draped it over the back of the recliner before holding her arms open to Ryan. “You made it!”
“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Ryan returned her hug, then half-jumped aside as Grace nearly trampled over him to get to Lydia. Holly eased backward, crossing her arms over her middle as the two women embraced.
“Marriage looks lovely on you, my dear.” Grace held Lydia’s rosy-cheeked face in both hands before planting a kiss on her forehead. “So glad you could come.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it.” Lydia beamed as she tossed her blond braid over her shoulder. “I’m hoping you can teach me one of your holiday tradition recipes.”
Nick tilted his head. Did Holly just roll her eyes?
Grace turned her welcoming smile toward him. “And you must be Nick.”
Nick hesitated as he stepped forward into her hug. Grace hadn’t greeted Holly yet. But Holly had been there before them, so they’d probably already talked for an hour. “Yes, ma’am.” The woman smelled like powdered sugar and nutmeg. “Thank you for having me.”
“I’m so glad you accepted Ryan’s invitation.” Grace clasped her hands in front of her chest and drew a deep breath. Her wise, gray-blue eyes sparkled. “Now tell me, do you have any allergies? I should warn you, I cook up a storm during the holidays and this year will be no except—”
“Hey, Mom.” Holly’s voice broke through her mother’s animated pitch.
Grace’s brow furrowed, and she turned toward the fireplace, her expression stricken. “Holly! When did you get here?”
“I’ve been here.” Holly laughed a little, but her eyes looked dull as they hugged. “I called for you when I came in. Dad took my bags upstairs, and then Ryan and Nick pulled up.”
“I thought I heard something. But you always were my quiet church mouse.” Grace palmed the side of Holly’s cheek, then tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear—a motion Holly immediately corrected by pulling the lock back in front.
Nick covered his smile with his hand. “To answer your question, no allergies here, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Grace patted his shoulder. “Please, call me Grace. And for the record, Thomas won’t answer to Mr. Sinclair, so don’t even try.”
“That’s right.” A sudden voice boomed from around the corner and made them all jump. Thomas rounded the staircase with a grin. “Mr. Sinclair is my father.”
“He’s also me, ” Ryan pointed out. Lydia and Holly smacked each of his arms on cue.
Grace shook her head at Nick as she reached for her apron. “I bet Ryan is relieved he won’t be outnumbered this year.”
“It’s tied, dear. Three of you ladies, three of us strapping lads.” Thomas held up both arms and flexed.
Holly caught Nick’s gaze and slowly widened her eyes in apology. He grinned. This holiday was already shaping up to be way better than any he’d had at home. Everything seemed so…real.
Including the delicious vanilla aroma wafting from the kitchen.
Whatever Ryan had been warning him about was obviously a joke. He’d take this bunch over his parents’ holiday showcase any day.
Grace began knotting her apron around her waist. “Ryan, Nick will be in Kat and Chloe’s old room, if you want to show him the way. You and Lydia are in your room across the hall, and of course Holly will take her old room.”
Thomas winced as he rubbed his beard. “Hopefully that’s where I put Holly’s bag, because I’m sure not moving it again. What’d you pack in there, anyway? Bowling balls?”
“Shoes.” Holly grinned at her father, her eyes lighting once more. “And no, not bowling shoes.”
“Then I’d imagine that’s the only type you left behind.” Thomas turned to Nick, lifting his chin a little as he sized him up. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Nicholas.”
“You too, sir.” Nick automatically straightened upon the inspection, pondering for a wild moment whether he should flex too. Then the name he’d used registered. Nick opened his mouth to correct Mr. Sinclair, but just as quickly reconsidered.
Thankfully, Ryan saved him. “It’s just Nick, Dad.” He grinned at Nick. “You know. Like Saint Nick.”
Nick bit back a groan. Holly didn’t contain her snort, though, the sound of which was not only cute but delightfully anti-Christmas. He honestly couldn’t wait to talk to her about their shared lack of interest.
“Nick, it is.” Thomas shook his hand, his grip firm. “We’ll talk more, I’m sure.” The look in his eye was more that of a father sizing up his daughter’s first prom date than a man simply considering selling his house.
Oh no.
Nick sucked in a breath, trying to force a calm smile as Grace headed back to the kitchen, Lydia on her heels. Holly must have told her dad that Nick was here to be her date. But Thomas and Grace already knew that Nick was here to connect with them and talk about the property.
Did that mean they thought he was leading Holly on?
He and Ryan probably should’ve prepared for that white lie to make its way to the Sinclairs.
But Nick couldn’t set that straight without looking manipulative.
Maybe it was best to leave it alone for now, to not assume.
After all, he was very much looking forward to being Holly’s date, so nothing was actually a lie.
But what about Ryan? Though he knew Nick was here to talk to his parents about investing, he had no idea his mom and dad were already very interested and were considering selling Nick their family home.
Another misconception Nick didn’t have permission to clearup.
“Yes, sir.” Nick swallowed, his gaze darting from Holly’s slightly guarded smile to Ryan’s impish grin and finally back to Thomas, who pumped his hand again. “I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
Enough for two Christmases, at this point.