Prologue #2
Annoyance prickled through me. Michael had said something along those lines. But that didn’t mean anything. Michael was like a brother to me. We’d lived in the same condo building for the last couple of years, and we bonded over our love for pickleball and OREOs.
We loved the cookies so much, we made videos ranking our favorite OREO flavors, testing out each new one as it hit the shelves and debating whether it was worthy of love or immediate rejection.
Some of those posts had tens of thousands of views and comments.
Probably because Michael was a hottie doctor.
Which reminded me.
“Many women adore Michael. He has a new date practically every week. Never once has he asked me out.”
Thank goodness. That would be awkward. While Michael was attractive and probably the nicest guy I’d ever met, I didn’t have any romantic feelings for him. Not even one spark.
My revelation did nothing to wipe the smug look off Jack’s face. His expression only deepened with amusement.
“Does he ever see any of these women more than once?”
I bit my lip, reluctant to answer. If I admitted he didn’t, Jack would feel way too satisfied. But then I straightened my shoulders and stood tall—well, as tall as you could get when you’re five foot five.
“Well, no, but that’s because he’s focused on his work and his charitable causes.”
Jack leaned in ever so slightly, as if he were delivering a final blow. “Or he’s just waiting for you to come around.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe this conceited stranger. I didn’t care if he’d starred in some Netflix films and a few canceled sitcoms.
“Absolutely not. We’re just friends.”
Jack turned, a smirk playing on his lips. “I think I’ll have to agree with Oscar Wilde on this: ‘Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.’”
He quoted it like it was his personal mantra. (He still does, by the way.)
I crossed my arms. “Oscar Wilde didn’t say that. One of his characters did.”
Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“It also doesn’t mean that it is. It’s a work of fiction.”
“Men and women being just friends is a work of fiction,” he countered.
I let out a short laugh. “Well, maybe in your world, Jack Holiday. But we mortals are just fine with the concept.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I’ll prove it to you.” The words slipped out before I fully thought them through.
Jack’s eyes danced in the mirror’s reflection, practically taunting me. “And how do you propose to do that, Ivy?”
I hesitated, scrambling for an answer. The need to prove him wrong swelled inside me, threatening to spill over. It was irrational to feel this way toward a stranger, but something about him crawled under my skin—like an itch I couldn’t ignore. And I needed to scratch it. Badly.
The man, as far as I was concerned, needed to be knocked down a few notches. And why I thought I should be the one to do it? I had no clue. But someone had to.
In my sea of irrational thoughts, this brilliant plan popped into my head and out of my mouth: “You know what, Jack? We’re going to be friends. Just friends.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Jack’s fine features, like he hadn’t heard me or simply didn’t understand.
Oh, please let him not have heard me. I regretted the words instantly. I didn’t want to be friends with someone like Jack. Surely, he didn’t want to be friends with me either. I couldn’t imagine we had anything in common.
But then . . . something lit up in him, like I’d offered the challenge of a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass it up.
“All right, Ivy. I can’t wait to prove you wrong, friend.”
My stomach dropped to subbasement level. But little did he know, I liked a challenge too. Hello, youngest child of four here. Scrappiness was my specialty.
“Oh, I so can’t wait to prove you wrong, friend.”
And that was how it happened. That was how I became best friends with the most endearingly arrogant man on the planet. To this day, I love that I’m still proving him wrong. And the plan is to keep doing it until death do us part.
(PS: Michael did want to be more than my friend, and Jack never let me live it down.)
Jack
Hey, Jack here. Did Ivy just tell you the story of how we met and became friends? Yeah, I thought so. I probably better clear a few things up.
First, I’m not that arrogant. Above average arrogance? Maybe. But nowhere near an egomaniac. And I don’t make people call me Mr. Holiday. I just started saying that for fun at the beginning of my career, and it stuck. Now it’s my brand and my thing.
And it’s not my fault if people naturally want to call me that. After all, it rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?
Secondly, I was only teasing Ivy when I told her she could refer to me that way. It was my way of trying to break the ice. I’d been into Muse and Mane a dozen times before—trying, failing, and trying again to get the woman’s attention. Each time, I came up empty handed. Until that day.
The day Ivy came into my life.
She clearly wanted nothing to do with me, and it was maddening. And not because she seemed to be the only woman immune to my charm. Okay, maybe that was part of it.
However, there was something about her—something intriguing I couldn’t name. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to put it into words, searching for the right way to explain how deeply connected I feel to Ivy. I come up short every time.
Yes, she’s amazingly gorgeous. Honestly, I’ve never been attracted to someone as much as I am to her. Which has been pure hell for seven years. A beautiful hell. But torturous all the same.
But it’s more than her looks. It’s that way she laughs with her whole heart and how she bites her lip when she’s thinking or hums absentmindedly when she’s happy or cutting my hair. I love the way she listens to understand me and even calls me on my crap when I need to hear it.
I’ll tell you this: There’s nothing better or worse than being in love with your best friend.
Sometimes I swear she knows I am, and she revels in tormenting me.
Other times, I can’t believe how clueless she is to my feelings.
But I’ve been biding my time, playing by her friendship rules, because I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as her.
And I can’t stand the thought of not having her in my life.
It’s so obvious we’re good together—perfect, even. But she’ll never admit it. She’s hellbent on proving me wrong.
The thing is, I know I’m right. For years, I’ve had more-than-friendly feelings toward Ivy. And so did her friend Michael. Called that one.
Anyway, I have a plan to stop all this friendship nonsense between us. I’m going to prove to Ivy that we belong together, even if that means celebrating my least favorite holiday—Christmas. And if all goes according to plan, this will be the last one Ivy spends thinking we’re just friends.
Merry Christmas to me.