Chapter 8
I needed elf ears. I dug through the overflowing box of Christmas décor stashed in the media room’s walk-in closet and blew a strand of hair out of my eyes as I peered at my sister. “Find them yet?”
If Mom had kept her props after that brief volunteer stint as an elf at the senior citizens’ home a few years ago, the ears would be in there. And they’d make the perfect addition to Operation: Naughty List.
“Man, this is a weird Christmas.” Olivia, sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor next to me, tugged a string of lights from a second tub and set it aside.
“How is that an answer?” I pawed beneath a pile of fake greenery, making a mental note to use some later to adorn Nick’s sofa bed. Chloe’s unexpected arrival with her even more unexpected boyfriend only further highlighted my single status.
And if that was getting elevated, so was Operation: Naughty List.
Olivia shifted to a squat. “It’s an answer because you’re all eager beaver about the holidays for the first time since…oh, I don’t know…ever. And because I know I’m right about Mom. I can sense it.”
My sister could also “sense” when her kids had a fever and was usually paranoid and wrong about that too. But I needed allies, not enemies. I moved a pile of mistletoe out of the way. “Look, you heard what Kat said. Let’s not panic until we talk to Ryan.”
I kept rummaging through the boxes. I agreed with Olivia that something was up, but I also agreed with Kat that it was too soon to assume anything dire. Besides, I didn’t have time to worry about hypothetical problems when I had so many actual problems.
One Christmas crisis at a time.
“So, what’s with the sudden transition?” Olivia squinted at me with her all-knowing, big-sister eyes. “Did you overhear a bunch of Whos singing?”
Ha. “More like I overheard Hans Gruber scheming against me.”
“Wait.” Olivia dropped the stocking in her hand. “Don’t tell me you, of all people, think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?” Her mouth gaped.
I shrugged. “I don’t think about Die Hard at all, honestly.” Though I’d never admit that to my brother. I think that was the first question he’d asked Lydia when they met through a dating app.
Although, wait. I was mad at Ryan. I could insult Die Hard all I wanted.
“Who was scheming against you?”
Oops. Olivia couldn’t know, or she’d go into mom mode and tell everyone the truth. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Whatever.” Olivia handed me another string of lights. “Let’s just take all this stuff to the living room so we can start on the tree for Mom. I’m sure the elf ears will turn up.”
“Got ’em.” I pulled the ears free from a tangle of garland and grinned as I slipped them on. I held my hands under my chin in a modeling pose. “How do I look?”
“Weird. Like everything else around here.” Olivia stood with a groan and a pop of her knee. “At least Mom wants to decorate now.”
“Wants?” I attempted to stand without similar knee-creaking—thirty wasn’t here yet. “More like commanded. She sure made a one-eighty, huh?”
Olivia sighed. “Exactly my point. Weird. ”
“I think you’re reading too much into everything.” After Olivia’s dramatic announcement, Mom had come out of the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee and sweetly insisted that since everyone was finally home and settled, we could start decorating—much to my siblings’ relief.
Not so much to Nick’s. I’d watched his face wax a bit pale, but that could have been from Olivia’s assumption of Mom’s health. Which had to be inaccurate. I mean, if Mom was sick, she’d have told us, right? Not just gathered us all home to hang wreaths.
“Reading too much into it?” Olivia planted her hands on her hips. “She said she was waiting for Chloe and didn’t even know Chloe was coming home. She’s confused.”
“She’s fine. ” I grabbed the string lights and draped them over my arm.
“It’s just a big task, putting up all of these trees.
” One in almost every room of the house my entire childhood—thankfully all fake, except for the grand tree that held court in the living room by the picture window.
That one required a trip to the back acreage of the farm, which worked perfectly for Operation: Naughty List. “I don’t blame her for waiting till she had help. ”
“My point is that she’s never needed help before. It was always done before we arrived.” Olivia hoisted the tub of ornaments onto her hip. “Not to mention all the holiday stuff is in the closet now, and it used to be in the attic. Face it. Mom and Dad are getting older.”
“Okay, Sherlock. I see what you’re saying. But older doesn’t equate to ill. Besides, none of this would hold up in court. It’s circumstantial. Or coincidental, at the least.”
Olivia sniffed, unconvinced. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Why not? You believe in essential oils.”
She huffed as she switched the tub to her other hip. “Those work wonders for preventive health—”
“You ladies need any help?” Nick appeared in the closet doorway. I’d forgotten we were essentially in his room. Which was good. Because I’d already spent way too much time since our early-morning run-in thinking about how he’d looked opening his door all sleepy and pajama’d.
“Holly needs a lot of help,” Olivia muttered.
I opened my mouth to protest, but honestly, at this point, she was right. However, I was in too deep to stop now. I positioned my hair to show off the elf ears and flashed Nick an “all is merry and bright” smile.
“I mean, really, what good is being a big sister if no one listens to you?” Olivia started past Nick, and he quickly stepped aside to give her and the box clearance. She paused in front of him. “Do you have sisters?”
He held up both hands, as if to apologize. “Only child.”
“Well, that must be peaceful.” Now out of the closet, she turned to face us, gaze zeroing in on Nick. “Do you think I’m right about Mom?”
Panic flashed in Nick’s eyes. “I’m, uh—I don’t think I know Grace well enough yet to make that call.”
Olivia harrumphed. “That’s pretty wise, actually.” She raised an eyebrow at me and then jerked her head toward Nick. “Remember what I said.” Then she took her box and left the room.
Husband material. Oh, I remembered. But my sister didn’t know the Hans Gruber side of this man, the side that kept jolting me back to reality every time I got a little too aware of his coffee-brown eyes and his masculine presence.
Like now.
Alone.
In a closet.
Nick furrowed his brow at me. “What did she mean by that?”
“Don’t mind Olivia. She just needs her peppermint oil.” I reached up and draped the strands of twinkle lights around Nick’s neck, brightening my voice. “Look at you, all adorned. Now you just need a star!” I bopped the end of his nose with my finger.
The color drained from Nick’s face, but to his credit, he kept his expression neutral. His bobbing Adam’s apple gave him away, though, which I considered a win.
I picked up the box full of stockings and tree skirts and shimmied my hips. “Ready to get your Feliz Navidad on?” Man, I was good at this stuff.
“If by that you mean trim the tree, then absolutely.” Nick straightened his legs, as if bracing for impact.
I knew the feeling. I wasn’t looking forward to sorting through endless homemade ornaments from my siblings’ childhoods and only finding one or two with my name on them.
I guess we were both pretending not to hate Christmas at this point…
a fact that once again had me questioning if this charade was worth it.
But I hadn’t been pretending when I’d agreed to be Nick’s Christmas date, or when I’d literally tripped all over myself while meeting him on my parents’ front porch.
And clearly, he had been pretending.
I squared my shoulders, matching his solid stance. “You know there’s going to be a tree in almost every room of the house, right?” Darn it if he didn’t smell like a forest right now.
He dipped his head. “As there should be.”
“It’ll take all day.” I shifted my weight, adjusting the tub of décor in my arms. “And Mom is really particular about where everything goes, so get ready to follow a lot of instructions and fail miserably.”
Nick took the box from me and easily tucked it against his side. His voice dipped low. “I love a challenge.”
Oh boy. It was my turn to swallow. “Lydia made a new playlist.”
“I hope it has something from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.”
This guy was good. “And Josh Groban.” Forget it. My voice was losing its faux festiveness. Maybe I needed that peppermint oil. “Let’s go.” Go get it over with, anyway. I started forward, thinking Nick would move out of the way.
But he didn’t. He remained rooted to the beige carpet, still wearing the lights and holding the box of décor he’d chivalrously taken from me, leaving me nothing to do except stand there and try not to accidentally inhale his snowy-pine scent.
“I need to ask you something.” His eyes deepened to espresso as he leaned in a little closer.
I fought the urge to back up a step. And if I were honest, I also fought the urge to launch forward into the pine-scented forest.
His brow crinkled. “It’s a little personal.”
I kept my smile locked in place, even as he leaned closer still, and prayed my thumping heart wasn’t evident in this tiny room. “Oh?”
He hesitated, as if gathering his courage.
My eyes widened. Was he going to ask if I’d overheard him and Ryan yesterday?
Had he figured this whole thing out? My stomach dipped, and not just from his proximity—though there was plenty of that.
If he apologized, it’d ruin my entire plan.
I couldn’t get revenge on someone who was sorry.
No, I very much needed to keep believing that Nick was not a great guy.
Maybe he had some good qualities, but the bad ones had to keep outshining them.
Because otherwise, that would mean this whole pity date trick really was about me.
That I was truly pitiful.