Chapter Five
“Can men and women really just be friends? I do not think they can without one of them, or quite often both parties, developing a romantic intention or interest at some point.”
Iyabo Ojikutu, MD
Ivy
I snuck into the kitchen early the next morning, fully ready for the day, hoping to get a moment alone to breathe and sip some hot cocoa.
There was just something about being up before everyone and taking in the sleepy kitchen of my childhood home.
It felt magical, lit up with the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights shining in the corner.
I almost hated to flip on the rest of the lights to reveal the cavernous, yet vintage-inspired kitchen decked out with top-of-the-line appliances and an island so large it could fit all of us around it.
I tried to let the magic of the moment settle my soul. Sleeping in the same room with my best friend—who everyone thought was my boyfriend—was weirder than I’d expected. Probably because Jack was too good at this. He’d effortlessly slipped into the fake boyfriend role like he was born for it.
The worst part? He was so good, I almost believed it myself. And honestly, it wasn’t fair having the most attractive man in the world pretending to be in love with me. Every touch, every sweet word was already getting to me, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.
He just sounded so dang sincere. He sounded like Jack. Not Mr. Holiday. And I wasn’t a robot exempt from a sexy man’s touch.
I’d wondered from time to time over the years what it would be like to be more than Jack’s friend.
Of course, I’d quickly doused those thoughts, knowing how dangerous they could be to our friendship.
But now, I was getting a supersize sample of the situation, and I wasn’t as immune to it as I’d thought I’d be.
It didn’t help that last night he’d looked freaking amazing, waltzing out of the bathroom in just pajama pants, showing off his chiseled chest with the perfect amount of hair, wearing a come kiss me good night grin like I was one of his costars in a steamy scene.
And dang if I didn’t want to take a taste, just to see if the rumors—that Mr. Holiday’s kiss could make you forget where you were in space and time—were true.
But then I remembered that I valued our friendship too much to play with those emotions.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well, berating myself for even thinking about crossing the line, and I might have scrolled on my phone and caught some pictures of me looking way too cozy with Jack at the airport.
Some comments painted me as a man stealer, while others were impressed that a regular girl like me could get someone like Jack.
One woman said it gave her confidence that she, too, could find her own famous Prince Charming. I guess I could take comfort that I was giving regular girls everywhere hope. Too bad it was false hope.
I opened a cupboard and grabbed my favorite holiday mug, which looked like a pink gingerbread house.
“Hey, sis,” my brother Shane croaked in his morning voice, startling me.
It sounded eerily like Dad’s—gravelly, half-asleep, and somehow still commanding.
I spun around, clutching my mug with one hand and my heart with the other. “Oh, my gosh, you scared the crap out of me. I didn’t think anyone else was up.”
Shane ran a hand through his mussed ash-brown hair, blinking like he hadn’t quite committed to being awake.
“I had a hard time sleeping on the guest room bed. It’s not as comfortable as mine at home.”
Being back this time around, it began to hit me: my goofy older brothers had quietly evolved into actual handsome men.
Both had stylish hair—thanks in part to me—and solid builds that came from years of gym memberships and weekend warrior hobbies.
They definitely took care of themselves, even if they still acted like overgrown teenagers sometimes.
Shane was the closest to me in age, though still five years older. My siblings used to tease me for being the “oops baby.” My parents preferred “unexpected blessing.” So, yeah—total oops. But they never made me feel like one. If anything, I was probably the most spoiled of the bunch.
Not that I’d ever admit that. Even under torture.
“Why aren’t you and Poppy sleeping at home?
” I asked. “You live like ten minutes from here.” Poppy was his darling ten-year-old daughter and my niece.
Shane and his ex-wife Angelina had divorced a few years ago, and he had moved back to Aspen Lake.
He was an architect like our father and worked for Dad’s firm.
Shane grabbed the copper kettle from the gas range and walked it over to the sink.
“You know Mom. She insisted we both stay here for the holidays. And how could we pass up staying with your famous boyfriend?” he teased. “How were the bunk beds, by the way?” He smirked.
“Oh, ha ha. They were fine, thank you very much.” They were so not fine; every time I rolled over, they squeaked.
My siblings were so going to think we were . . . well . . . amorous. Very amorous. I searched the pantry for Mom’s canister of homemade cocoa.
“So how are you and Poppy?”
I needed a change of subject. Stat. And I worried about Shane. His divorce had been kind of ugly, and Angelina had pretty much disappeared from Poppy’s life.
“We’re getting by. Poppy loves her school, and she’s made good friends here. Actually, she’s best friends with Eden’s daughter, Sophie.”
I leaned out of the pantry, nearly dropping the cocoa, stunned by this revelation.
“Eden, as in your ex-girlfriend, the woman I really wanted you to marry? That Eden?”
It had devastated my teen-girl heart when Shane had broken up with Eden.
She’d always treated me like her little sister, and I’d adored her.
Angelina, not so much. Honestly, I never really got her appeal, although we’d all tried to love her for Shane’s sake.
And I would never bad-mouth her since she was Poppy’s mom.
Shane filled the kettle with water and nodded. “Yeah, that Eden.”
“I heard she’d moved back to town. I follow her online.”
She had a huge following—like, over a million—on her social media channel, A Dance in the Kitchen, where she blended her two passions together. Eden was an amazing dancer and cook. In fact, Shane had actually been her first dance partner.
“Of course, you do.” Shane grinned and shut off the water.
“Is she as gorgeous in person as she is online?”
“Even more so,” Shane sighed with what sounded like a lot of regret.
He’d never really explained why he’d broken up with Eden. We’d all been shocked when he did.
“Ouch. So do you ever talk to her? She’s divorced too, right?”
Shane set the kettle on the stove and lit the burner.
“Yeah, she’s divorced, and we only say a few passing words when we have to.
I think she does her best to avoid me. Not that I blame her.
Poppy and Sophie don’t even know that we dated.
It seems to be an unspoken rule between us to keep that secret. ”
I met him at the island with the cocoa and nudged him. “Then my lips are sealed. But I have to know: Why did you break up with her?”
Shane leaned against the island and shook his head.
“I don’t know. It seems so pathetic now.
I just didn’t want to hold her back. She wanted to be a professional dancer, and I didn’t.
And I knew she wouldn’t take another partner besides me if we were together.
She was just larger than life, and she needed someone other than me.
At least, that’s what I told myself. Truthfully, I think I was afraid. ”
“Afraid of what?”
“That I wasn’t good enough for her, and she’d figure it out sooner or later.”
I hadn’t expected that admission. Shane was one of the best people I knew. Sure, he could be an annoying big brother, but he always had my back. He was an amazing dad, and his architectural skills were second to none. He created the most beautiful homes and office buildings.
“Honestly, I don’t think she would have ever seen you that way. She loved you.”
“Yeah, well, I screwed that up.”
“I mean, she went on to marry a ridiculously hot Italian guy and won every prestigious dance award under the sun—so maybe she thanks you,” I teased him.
“Thanks for making me feel better, sis,” he groaned.
“I do what I can,” I chirped.
By the time the kettle whistled, several family members began filing in.
Mom was the loudest and cheeriest among them, all decked out in her Cookie Crew sweater—the same one all of us were wearing, per Jaquelyn Wells’s schedule.
There was no escaping this tradition. Not even Jack would be left unscathed.
Mom always had extra sweaters made. And she owned her own embroidery machine just in case.
I cringed, thinking about someone snapping and posting pictures of my Christmas-crazy family all dressed alike.
Those in Sienna’s camp would probably say things like, Blink twice, Jack, if you need help.
Maybe all the regular girls cheering me on would say something like, Ivy, please tell us how to live the Hallmark dream with our own Mr. Holiday.
Believe me, this was no dream. It was more like The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Ugh. I just wanted a nice, quiet Christmas, not a sweater scandal.
Normally, I loved the matching sweaters, but I’d never been on public display before.
I wondered what Mom would do if I staged a coup and we all dressed normally out in public.
But I didn’t think I could break Mom’s heart that way. Dang Jack.
Speaking of my fake boyfriend, he came waltzing in, showered and wearing the sweater. It was unfair how good he made it look. He strode my way and wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my cheek.
“Good morning, darlin’.”