Chapter 6 #2
“I’m serious. She’s not herself.” Olivia gestured again, sending a spray of crumbs onto the floor. She kicked them under the island with her socked foot, then winced. “Oops. I forget that’s rude to do in someone else’s house.”
“And kinda lazy to do in your own, by the way.” I went to the pantry for the hand broom and dustpan, where it’d hung as a set for decades near the third shelf.
The nail was sagging from the wall again, next to the doorframe where all the Sinclair kid height measurements were scribbled in pencil.
My line was scrawled a full inch under Kat’s, despite my being older than her.
When had we measured last?
I quickly grabbed the sweeping supplies. No time for nostalgia—that felt too Christmasy—and I was on a mission. I shut the door and shoved the dustpan set across the island to my sister. “Here.”
“I’ll get it.” Nick stood from the table, brushing his hands on his jeans. Flecks of flour stuck to the denim, though thankfully, the icing was gone from his face. Not that it would have mattered. He was my enemy. He was a jerk. He was…
…kneeling on the floor to clean my sister’s mess.
I swallowed, switching my attention back to Olivia, who stood with raised brows as she pointed to Nick’s turned back. She widened her eyes at me and dramatically mouthed the words husband material.
I frowned and shook my head. Then something—disappointment, maybe?—chose that moment to wedge itself in my windpipe. I coughed, which only made my throat tickle for no reason at all. Rubbing my throat, I coughed again, harder, turning away from the cookies on the counter.
Oh, how embarrassing. I continued hacking, like that time in church when I was roughly ten years old. The more my mom had tried to shush me, the fiercer that dry tickle became, until Pastor Hough’s wife finally passed a bottle of water down the pew.
This might be worse than that.
“Are you okay?” Nick sprung to his feet, still holding the dustpan of crumbs, his eyes on full alert. He started toward me—to do the Heimlich?
Fresh panic seized in my chest, and it had nothing to do with the coughing. Operation: Naughty List would hardly make for good revenge if I disgusted Nick right out of the gate. Thanks for trying to save me, but I’m not choking on anything more than my own spit here.
He couldn’t reject me while I was busy trying to reject him.
Backpedaling across the floor, I bumped into the refrigerator, clutching my throat as I coughed and waved a desperate hand to keep Nick at bay. My words weren’t cooperating, refusing to leave my raspy throat. I just needed privacy, or maybe another bottle of water from Mrs. Hough.
I definitely did not need this man’s arms around me.
Olivia jumped out of the way as Nick pushed past her, his gaze fixed firmly on me. It would have been somewhat romantic, having a man’s undivided attention that way, had I not had spit bubbles forming on my lips.
The dustpan clattered to the floor, sending the freshly swept crumbs scattering again. From the table, Lydia gasped. Ryan shoved his chair back.
I shook my head harder, knowing my face was burning red and equally confident the redness wasn’t from all this non-choking. That was the downside to being a redhead who easily blushed. You turned into a hairy tomato real fast.
But my animated silent protests must have sent Nick the wrong message, and now the refrigerator was blocking any further escape attempts.
Nick was in front of me in an instant, his firm hand landing on my shoulder and spinning me away from the fridge.
Before I could even regain my balance, his arms banded around my middle.
His chest was warm behind me, his grip solid, forearms corded with muscle.
Good heavens, was the man secretly a professional athlete?
The scent of cedar and pine and something else, something fresh—like a forest after a snow—rushed my senses.
His hands locked together across my midsection, and I realized with a jolt this was my last chance to confess. A broken rib was going to hurt a lot worse than my busted pride. “Wait!” I barked.
Nick paused, but his grip didn’t loosen.
If there had been other circumstances—literally any other ones—I might have appreciated the moment.
Might have daydreamed about candlelit dinners and lingering goodnight hugs.
Might have turned in his arms and studied the haze of stubble lining his strong jawline and reached up to—
“Um, Holly?” Ryan, Lydia, and Olivia all stared at me, their faces varying degrees of surprise, concern, and confusion.
Behind me, Nick tensed, then lowered his arms to his sides. I immediately missed their warmth, and that was when I realized I’d stopped coughing and my throat didn’t tickle anymore.
“I was trying to say”—I executed a quick turn away from Nick, then straightened my hat and searched for my faux holiday smile—“I wasn’t choking.”
“Oh.” Nick’s solitary word dripped with embarrassment. I almost felt bad for him, until I remembered the trick he and Ryan were attempting to play on me.
“Don’t the experts say if they’re coughing, they’re not choking?” Lydia asked as she capped a bottle of edible gold balls.
“Yeah.” Ryan slowly sat back down. “I’m not sure that rule is reliable across the board, though.”
“Regardless…” I squared my shoulders and smiled brightly at Nick, who looked away. “You’re handy to have around in an emergency.”
That part was true, even if it annoyed me to say so. Perfect. Now I had chemistry with a handsome, capable man who liked to clean and told lies. And who was apparently modest and uncomfortable with high praise.
One of these things is not like the other.
I cheerfully clapped my hands together, more to drown out my own thoughts than to get everyone’s attention. “Who’s ready for a fresh Christmas playlist and more sprinkles?”
“Well, that does it.” Olivia bit into another cookie, her eyes darting between me and Nick and back again. “Mom’s not the only weird one around here today.”
She had no idea.
Holly had somehow transitioned from a reserved, slightly klutzy, adorable girl-next-door type who he was looking forward to getting to know…
Into an elf on crack.
Nick carefully opened the door that separated the bonus media room from the living room hallway and peered through the sliver of an opening with one eye. Wearing knee-high Christmas socks, Holly challenged Mason and Janie to a sliding contest across the hardwood floor.
Giggles resounded as all three took turns sliding and crashing into the wall and each other. Kat stood at the end of the hall with her cellphone, still wearing her ball cap and a wide grin as she filmed. “Come on, Janie. Holly’s winning.”
Janie ran faster and raised her arms as she slid next, her face bright. Her pigtails bounced as she narrowly missed crashing into Kat’s legs. “There! Beat that!”
“Why don’t we just beat Mason? Girls against boys.” Holly took her next turn as Mason protested. Besides the Santa hat, the green icing streaked across her cheek, and the reindeer on her socks, Holly looked…normal. Like a fun aunt enjoying time with her niece and nephew.
So what was all that in the kitchen earlier?
Nick frowned, adjusting the angle of his neck to keep watching as Holly leaned down to whisper in Janie’s ear.
How did a woman go from hating Christmas and, from what he understood, reluctantly coming home for the holidays, to this ?
It felt…forced. Like maybe she thought that was how he wanted her to act?
But Ryan had told her Nick felt the same about Christmas as she did, so if she wanted to impress him, that didn’t add up. Granted, nothing about this trip added up.
Especially not the way Holly had felt in his arms earlier.
His hands tingled. He’d panicked, worried about her choking but not so much that he couldn’t help but think how well she fit in his embrace. Her head came to the perfect spot under his chin. And her—
“Are you hiding from my sister?”
Nick jumped. His heart leapt and landed somewhere near his toes. Guilt pressed against his chest and he drew a deep breath as he stared at Ryan. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I was in the closet, stashing Lydia’s Christmas gift.” Ryan joined Nick at the door and craned his neck to see through the slit. “ Aha! Told you. You’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.” As if to prove his point, Nick moved away from the door to the leather lounge chair where he’d left his suitcase next to the TV and gaming console.
His gaze skimmed over the speakers and game options as he settled in the chair.
Pretty good system, if a little outdated.
Maybe the Sinclairs would consider throwing it into their real estate deal.
“I didn’t want to get roped into playing, that’s all. ”
“I think it’s too late for that.” Ryan grinned as he took the chair next to Nick’s.
“What’s that movie?” Nick leaned forward as he looked at his friend. “You know, where the blonde was pretending to date a guy and then went all wacky and bought him a love fern?”
“ How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. ” Ryan reached for the remote control. “Lydia made me watch it with her one night, and it was a surprisingly great film.”
“Well, that’s your sister right now. Instead of a love fern, though, it’s Santa cookies and Christmas music.” Nick shuddered. “What happened? You said she hated the holidays.”
“She has for years.” Ryan shrugged as he attempted to power on the television. He tapped the remote against his palm to jostle the batteries. “Maybe she’s just caught up in everything festive now that she’s home. Or…maybe it’s because you’re here.”
“I wondered. But I don’t want to listen to Michael Bublé or eat snowmen cookies any more than she should want to. No offense.”
“None taken. Besides, I’m the one who assured you things would be low-key, and they’re starting to shift a little.” Ryan winced. “My bad.”