Chapter 11 #2
Grace threw her arms up in defeat. “Well, at least bring a mustard packet with it.”
“Coming right up.” Holly tugged at Nick’s arm, jostling his coffee. “Let’s go.”
He fell into step beside her—it was either that or let his shoulder get pulled out of socket—as they rushed through the crowd, away from her family. “Where’s the fire, Cindy?”
“Cindy?” Holly faltered. “Oh. As in, Lou Who. Got it.” She kept going, expertly weaving around the light-strung tents laden with various holiday wares.
Children in pom-pom hats with funnel cake powder smeared on their cheeks ran past them in a game of chase.
Overhead, Bublé’s voice had transitioned into Taylor Swift’s.
“Just be glad I’m not mean enough to use the nicknames Ryan told me you hated.” Nick sidestepped to avoid a woman pushing a double stroller. A double take confirmed it didn’t hold babies so much as it did her purse, an assortment of gift-wrapped packages, and a dachshund.
“Ugh. He didn’t.” Holly groaned, covering her face with her gloved hand. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe.” Nick saluted her with his cup. “Even though you probably have it coming after the Frosty stunt you pulled.”
“What stunt?” Holly smiled innocently up at him, her green eyes dancing. “I was just trying to spread Christmas cheer.”
Nick scoffed. “To a guy who doesn’t like celebrating Christmas?”
Her steps slowed as they rounded a taco food truck and her family faded from view. The scent of fajita meat and something cinnamon drifted through the air. She seemed to relax as she looked back up at him. “Frosty can change anyone’s mind.”
“By terrorizing them into submission, I assume.”
She laughed, a carefree, genuine Holly laugh— not the Cindy Lou, love fern kind. It sounded nice.
In fact, he kind of wanted to hear it again.
Holly lifted her chin. “He’s not scary. He’s a beloved—”
“You mean, mostly tolerated. ”
She continued. “…family heirloom…”
“Ancient torture device.”
“…that’s been an important part of the Sinclair family for decades.” She rushed the end of her sentence.
“To be fair, he’s probably far less startling when he’s in the yard, as God and man intended.” Nick tapped his chin. “Not hovering over one’s bed.”
Holly planted her hands on her hips, highlighting the curve of her waist. “You make him sound like a ghost.”
“He almost turned me into a ghost.” Nick held Holly’s gaze, working to hide his smile. “You know—because he almost killed me?”
“I got it the first time.” Holly chuckled as they resumed walking. “You know, the beauty of subtext is in letting your audience figure it out for themselves.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Funny how naturally their paces matched—especially when Holly wasn’t rushing ahead to manipulate some kind of Christmas explosion.
He took a long drag from his espresso, breathing in the richness of the coffee and something vanilla and sweet drifting off Holly. Maybe this whole tree lighting thing wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Or maybe the caffeine was just doing what it was supposed to.
“To answer your question, no fire. I just wanted to get away because there’re a few gifts I still need to buy.
” Holly stopped at a booth overflowing with crafty-looking Christmas items and rummaged through a stack of monogrammed kitchen towels.
“I didn’t realize all my siblings were coming, so I only brought gifts for my parents and Ryan and Lydia—and the kids, of course.
We always do that even on the years we don’t get together. Mom mails them.”
“Speaking of, I need to find something for my parents too.” Nick moved to the other side of the green velvet–draped table and spun a revolving rack of ornaments.
“Is your family easy to buy for?” Holly asked.
It seemed she’d retired Cindy Lou for a few minutes, a fact that almost made Nick even more nervous.
He couldn’t predict Cindy Lou’s next Christmas-crazy move, but something about Holly being real—walking with him, joking around, laughing—felt way more dangerous.
Though infinitely more enjoyable.
Nick spun the rack to the next side, the displayed ornaments gently clanking together. “Not exactly.” He hesitated, then he decided to take a chance. “My mom loves Christmas décor, but it’s impossible to know what elaborate theme she’ll have year to year. Makes it hard to get it right.”
Not that it mattered. He’d get it wrong even if he did know her theme.
“Ah, I see.” Holly shrugged, pausing in her towel search. “I like shopping for people—I just don’t know how good at it I am.”
“I hear you. A lot of my gifts over the years ended up in storage. Served their time on a shelf before inevitably meeting their demise in a closet purge.” Nick chuckled, though it was far from funny.
Just more evidence of his missing the mark of perfection in one way or another.
No wonder he’d exploded that one Christmas. Lashed out and broke the law.
Hard not to fail big when you are terrified of failure your entire life.
His stomach tightened. You’re not that guy anymore. You don’t have to be perfect. Your parents’ issues are their own. All the facts the counselor had drilled into him as a teenager filled his mind, but it didn’t stop the triggers from squeezing all the same.
He missed his ramen bowl.
Nick cleared his throat, not lifting his gaze from the display until he was certain his expression was neutral. “I always wondered if shopping for siblings would have been easier.”
“I’d be more than happy to let you find out.” Holly grinned and held up a leopard-print beach towel. “What do you think? For Chloe?”
The towel was gaudy. Obnoxious. And perfect. “Absolutely.” Nick handed her the ornament he’d just browsed past—a glittery, bedazzled cellphone. “There. Done.”
“Hey, you’re good at this.” She wrapped the ornament in the towel. “Now help me with Olivia.”
“Hmm.” He perused the booth, letting his eyes drift over the various items as he took another sip of espresso. Leather journals, bookmarks, jewelry…none of it felt right for the big sister of the family. “What is she into besides her kids?”
“Telling people what to do.”
Then he saw it. A white trucker’s hat with GO ASK YOUR DAD emblazoned across the front in teal cursive. He plucked the cap off the pegboard and handed it to Holly with a grin.
She read it and burst out laughing. “Nailed it.”
The rush of pride he felt at her impressed smile was surely just his caffeine high, not a red flag.
Okay, so it was nice to choose an acceptable gift, for once—one that wouldn’t automatically get a pity thanks and end up on a closet shelf.
It kind of made him want to buy something for Holly, too, and see if he could get that right.
No. That was a red flag.
Nick pawed through a basket of hair clips. Not that his mother would be caught dead in something so cheap, and none of these seemed to be Grace’s style. But at least the effort gave him somewhere to look instead of at the back of Holly’s head as she paid for her gifts.
Enjoying her company…this was new. Reminded him of when they connected on the porch when he’d first arrived. Holly was nice to talk to when she wasn’t upchucking Christmas and fake-smiling. It made him want to talk more…even about things he hadn’t in years.
He moved from the hair clips to a stand of hand-painted Christmas yard signs.
Maybe being at the Sinclair farm for Christmas hadn’t been the worst idea after all.
He was starting to see the other side of the holidays—the side that wasn’t glittery and commercial, but homemade and genuine.
Cookies that weren’t baked evenly but were shared over real laughter.
Scratchy fake trees with mismatched ornaments meant to remember, instead of expensive themes meant to impress.
The only downside to the genuine was the spotlight it shone on the counterfeit.
Missing something you never had was a strange feeling.
His gaze drifted back to Holly, who looked through the impulse items at the table as she laughed with the store clerk.
Speaking of missing something he’d never had.
These glimpses of the real her kept intriguing him—confirming his original interest in being her plus-one when Ryan had asked.
Anyone would be lucky to take the funny, laid-back, pretty woman he’d met last year on a date.
So why had he gotten stuck with this runaway roller-coaster version? They still hadn’t had a chance to discuss why Holly didn’t like the holidays—and maybe even more importantly, why she suddenly seemed to now.
Nick frowned as he watched her interact with the clerk, at the way her hands impatiently shoved her hair out of her face, how she tugged self-consciously at the hem of her sweater.
Had she overcome years of holiday trauma that quickly?
Did she just wake up one day and make the decision to stop hating Christmas?
Or was she pretending to not hate it for a reason he didn’t know?
Holly turned and caught his eye, offered a quick smile.
He smiled back, and their gazes held. Whatever this was, he wanted to know her why.
Wanted to know how growing up with a family as great as the Sinclairs, in the snowy, Hallmark-y small town of Point Bluff, could ever lead anyone to anything other than adoring the holidays.
One thing was sure—Holly had her own thing she was fighting, just like he did. But, for better or for worse, shopping together seemed to have put a pause to her Cindy Lou Who–ness for now. Maybe he’d get a reprieve awhile longer and get to hang out with the real—
Her expression flickered and she abruptly straightened, dropping eye contact. “Look!” She reached inside the store bag the worker was packing and pulled out a light-up Christmas bulb necklace. It blinked an erratic pattern of red, green, and gold so bright he winced.
“I got us each one, so we can be festive at the lighting ceremony.” She slipped it over her head and shot him an exaggerated wink before turning back to the clerk.
Maybe not.
He was going to need more coffee.