Chapter 19
“I still can’t believe you punched me.” Nick shifted on the hard bench in the mall’s security office, but no position he tried made the stained beige seat comfortable—or the ache in his jaw lessen. Did cops not keep ibuprofen?
Ryan, who’d refused to sit and had chosen to pace the holding cell instead, sheepishly shoved his hands into his back pockets. “You were supposed to duck.”
“That script would have been nice.” Nick gingerly touched the bruise on his jaw, not sure if he was glad it was in roughly the same place as the bruise from his fall the other day.
Probably would have hurt less in a different spot.
But at least he wouldn’t have a second area of his face purple for the holidays.
“I’m so sorry.” Ryan winced and his glasses slipped down his nose. Part of Nick wanted to yank them off his face and toss them into the mall’s fountain they’d passed while being escorted by two security officers. Make Ryan fish them out among the wads of chewing gum and tarnished pennies.
And the other part of Nick felt he had it coming. Maybe not from Ryan. But in general, for all the lies and half-truths and misunderstandings hovering around the Sinclair home—all revolving around him.
Ryan craned his neck to see down the hallway through the barred door, then turned back to Nick. “I was trying to play along, like you suggested. Make Holly think I’m mad about you two being together.”
“Oh, I think you made it clear.” Nick shifted his jaw to the side, testing the tenderness.
Not that bad. Ryan’s fist had glanced more than landed, though it’d caught them both off guard.
Lydia had screamed. Holly’s face reddened deeper than her hair.
And then both women had launched simultaneously at Ryan like the first bout in an MMA fight.
“Holly’s strong, man.” Ryan shook his head with a little laugh. “I’m sort of shocked she and Lydia aren’t locked up in here with us after their reaction.”
Nick smiled, then flinched as the motion tugged at the fresh bruise. “Honestly, if I were a mall cop, I wouldn’t want to deal with their level of hysterics.”
“Fair.” Ryan snorted. “My ear still hurts from Lydia shrieking in it. Gonna take me a while to live this one down.”
Nick leaned back against the cell wall, then thought better of it and moved to rest on the edge of the bench instead. “I’m going to have to come clean with Holly.”
“Please do.” Ryan sighed. “After how I’ve been acting toward Axel, I have no idea if Lydia would believe this was all a prank without you backing me up.”
“I will. As soon as we’re alone.” Nick grimaced. “She’s not gonna be happy about it.”
“Neither will Lydia.”
They sat in commiserating silence for a moment, the only sound the muted buzz of an intercom as an announcement was made over the mall speakers. Faint strains of Christmas music drifted from the front desk area they’d passed on the way in.
How had it all come to this? Nick leaned forward and braced his head in his hands. Wasn’t the main reason he’d agreed to come to the farm to prove to the Sinclairs he was worthy of their consideration? That his dream and his character were noble enough to invest in?
Now he sat in a public holding cell. Because of a misunderstanding, sure, but to say this had gone too far was an understatement. He’d done nothing but pretend and lie since he’d gotten there. To both Thomas and Grace.
To Ryan.
To Holly.
To her entire family, really.
It was time to face the truth and be honest—starting with Holly. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too upset with him once he explained that he couldn’t do any more operations. Because the only thing worse than losing the Sinclairs’ trust would be losing Holly’s friendship.
Nick ran his hands down his face, taking care with his sore jaw.
But he didn’t just want friendship, did he?
He told Ryan yesterday he’d wanted an excuse to keep getting to know Holly, but he didn’t want that anymore.
What he wanted now was a real, approved, valid reason to put his arm around her.
To share inside jokes and roasted pecans.
To laugh and trade Christmas traumas and absolutely butcher famous pop hits on a karaoke machine.
He wanted to date her.
“Mr. Sinclair?”
Nick jerked his head up. The policeman on the Segway, who’d been the first to zip over to them after the punch, stopped in front of their door and looked between the two of them.
Ryan raised his hand. “That’s me.”
“Well.” The officer crossed his arms over his uniformed girth, a file folder dangling from his fingers. His thick mustache, speckled with gray, twitched as if he were trying not to laugh. “Looks like your family has a long-standing record here.”
Nick stood to join Ryan, trying to keep his own smirk off his face. They kept records that old? Of children fighting? Small towns were something else.
“I’d like to point out that incident had nothing to do with me.” Ryan held up both hands. “And like we said earlier, this wasn’t real. We’re co-workers and friends. It’s all a joke gone wrong.”
The cop frowned. “No one else knew it was fake. You still disturbed the peace.”
Ryan held eye contact. “With all due respect, sir, I think the ladies disturbed it a little more.”
The mustache twitched again. “Lucky for you, they validated your story. Said there was no way you were actually fighting and had to have been joking around and missed.”
“Thank goodness.” Ryan tilted his head back and released a sigh. “So we can leave? Is there a fine to pay, or anything?”
“Nope. Call it an early Christmas gift.” The guard pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. “Or call it even—because you’re still going to have to deal with the two of them on your way home.” The smile escaped his mustache this time as he swung the cell door wide.
Ryan hesitated to step through. “Could I pay a fine to stay longer?”
“Come on. ” Nick practically shoved him through the door. “Thank you, sir. This won’t happen again.”
“Merry Christmas.” The officer dipped his head as they filed past him down the hall toward the security desk. “Your phones are in a tray with Marcie.”
Ten minutes later, they were standing with Lydia and Holly in the parking lot near the decorated Santa’s Workshop entrance, under an arch dripping with evergreen branches and red ribbon.
Holly’s unruly hair whipped in the breeze, her cheeks flushed pink. “I think this is my fault.”
“No, it’s definitely Ryan’s.” Nick rubbed his jaw, unsure how to act as he paused in front of her. Like a boyfriend? Like a friend? She looked like she could use a hug regardless.
Honestly, so could he.
He tugged her into one before either of them could think twice. Apparently a good call because she immediately nestled in and wrapped her arms around him. His heart pounded as her head rested against his chest, and the memory of their kiss washed over him, warm and inviting. His thoughts churned.
She smelled like roasted pecans and vanilla.
Was she going to be mad at him for telling Ryan?
How did she always smell so good?
Was this the last time he’d ever get to touch her?
Okay, maybe he could use a punch in the face. He gently pried her arms free and inched back. She shot him a questioning look. He understood the confusion. But maybe he could clear that up once and for all.
Lydia, meanwhile, glared at Ryan. “Okay, what is going on? You’ve never so much as wrestled with Mason or your father. Why are you suddenly trying to pretend fight people?”
“I’ll explain everything.” Ryan caught Nick’s eye and dipped his head. “But I think we should talk privately. And so should Holly and Nick.”
“That makes even less sense,” Lydia mumbled as she allowed Ryan to tug her away from the entrance.
“We’ll be in the car!” Ryan hollered as they walked away. “Text me when you want me to pick you up.”
Holly faced Nick, tucking her hair behind her ears. She shivered, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her in close. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that again under a false pretense.
He shrugged out of his jacket. The cold air immediately bit through his thin shirt, but he wrapped the coat around Holly’s shoulders anyway. “I’d suggest we go inside, but I think they would frown at that right now.” He laughed.
Holly didn’t. “I’m so sorry. I thought maybe Ryan was getting a little upset about us, but I had no idea he’d punch you. You two are friends.” She frowned. “And then Lydia said something to the police about it being a joke but she didn’t know why. I don’t understand.”
“That’s my fault.” Nick tugged her arm, drawing her farther under the arch, into the corner of the building where the wind didn’t whip. “I’m just glad your parents didn’t see that.”
“I can’t believe my family has been banned for fighting in this mall twice now.” She bit back a laugh, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry. It’s really not funny. I’m sure that hurts.” She touched his jaw and he shivered for a completely different reason than the cold.
“He grazed me, is all. Just happened to be the same spot from my cowboy adventure the other day.”
Amusement danced in her eyes, and then she slowly lowered her hand back to her side as the teasing light faded. Her arms crossed protectively over the borrowed jacket, clutching it tight around her. An SUV drove past them, blasting a holiday song. “So what do we need to talk about?”
It was too cold to beat around the proverbial bush. He took a steadying breath. “I hope you’re not mad, but…I told Ryan about Operation: Jack & Sally.”
“I figured you would while you guys were in there.” She nodded her head toward the mall entrance.
“No, I mean, I told him the other day. It seemed like it was all going way too far, and…I don’t know.” Nick shrugged a little, watching a parade of emotions march across her face. “It just felt wrong to keep it up. I’m sorry.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I understand. It was time.” She frowned. “So him hitting you today was meant to be pretend? Like, he was playing along because he knew?”
Nick winced. “Yeah…”
Holly groaned. “Piper was right. This was a horrible idea, wasn’t it?”
“Again…yeah.”
“Ugh.” She buried her face in her hands. “I feel stupid for even starting all this. It’s been so confusing. And you got hurt. ”
“Hey.” He tugged her hands apart, bending down to peer through them into her freckled face. Good grief, she was pretty. “I’m fine, I promise. And there’s really no harm done. But I do think we should stop the charade now.”
“You’re right.” She pulled her hands from his grip. “I guess it stopped being fun and games when Mason called you ‘uncle’ and my brother hit you in the face.”
Definitely then.
“That wasn’t all I wanted to talk about though.” Oh boy. No turning back now. He opened his mouth.
The unmistakable sound of a trombone split the air.
Holly blinked at him. “What?”
He shook his head. “I was trying to say—”
And there were the drums. “What in the world?” He spun. Behind them, across the parking lot, strode a full marching band, complete with red jackets and gold tassels and shiny instruments.
“Oh, right. There’s a parade here later today.” Holly raised her voice over the snare. “They must be practicing!”
“No kidding.” The exuberant march continued, the bass pulsating inside Nick’s chest.
“What were you going to say?” Holly shouted a foot away, hands cupping her ears.
He glanced toward the rows of synchronized high school students, and he hesitated. Was that a sign that he shouldn’t tell her how he felt?
Then he looked back at her wide eyes, her gaze half expectant, half guarded. No. She deserved to know. The truth had to come out.
Even if that meant it came out accompanied by a tuba.
He took another breath as the band continued filing past the arch. “I like you.”
“What?” She tilted one ear toward him as the song switched to a drum-heavy version of “Jingle Bells.”
That was hard enough to say the first time. Nick shuffled his feet, stepped closer. “I like you!”
She blinked at him again.
Oh, for crying out loud. “I LIKE—”
“No, I heard you that time. I was just…processing.” Holly’s crossed arms slipped to her sides, Nick’s jacket nearly tumbling off her shoulders. She caught it, her expression glazed. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Nick wanted to take her hands, but he still couldn’t tell how she was interpreting the news. “I mean…of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Because I’ve been kind of awful.”
“You’ve been adorable.”
“I’ve been annoying.”
“You’ve been creative.”
“I’ve thrown Christmas in your face over and over—including PTSD from your childhood.” She shook her head, brow furrowed. “I forced you into tricking your best friend, who punched you in the face.”
“Coerced, maybe.” He took a step closer to her, dared to brush a windswept curl from her cheek. “Not forced.”
The thump-thump of “Jingle Bells” blessedly grew quieter as the band marched to the far end of the mall.
“Not to mention I’ve made a complete fool of myself multiple times.
The ugly sweaters! Oh my gosh.” She buried her face in her hands again.
His jacket slipped from her grip and landed on the pavement.
Nick stepped over it, closing the distance between them. “Holly?”
“Yeah?” Her voice was muffled beneath her hands.
He fought back a smile. “Can I be the one to decide how I feel about you?”
She peered between her fingers. “Seems fair.”
“It is.” He took her hands, threading his fingers through hers. His heart thudded. “I like you. Mostly because of all those things you just listed, not despite them.”
She scrunched her freckled nose. “That seems impossible.”
“Call it a Christmas miracle, then?” He tugged at their joined hands, resting them against his chest. She still hadn’t given him any indication she felt the same way, but…she wasn’t running away. Good sign, right? “I have to admit, it’s getting much harder to hate the holidays lately.”
“Same.” Her voice escaped as a whisper.
Thank goodness. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Holly cast a quick glance up at the concrete ceiling of the entrance’s alcove. “There’s no mistletoe.”
Definitely a good sign. His smile slipped free. “None needed.”
And then, to the resounding, slightly pitchy honk of a French horn, he kissed her.