Chapter Twenty-Six
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”
Winnie-the-Pooh
Ivy
I kept grinning at Jack as we perused the boutique toy store downtown, like we’d just met and were drunk on new infatuation.
I stayed close, brushing against him every few steps.
If anyone still thought this was fake, they could ask the plethora of butterflies pirouetting in my stomach, fluttering every time Jack’s hand grazed mine or he leaned in to whisper something that definitely didn’t belong on Santa’s nice list.
It was very real.
I’d never felt like this before.
Jack was different. I had just refused to see it for so long.
No man had ever given me a handmade history book. No man had ever loved me the way Jack did. Loved me enough to wait seven years.
Just the thought made me smile as I breathed in a piece of my childhood. The store smelled like old cedar and peppermint, sweet and warm. Every shelf twinkled with hand-painted ornaments, plush animals, and delicate toys that clicked, spun, or chimed softly when touched.
As a little girl, I’d sworn this place was Santa’s real workshop. And now, here with Jack, it felt even more magical—even if the faint clatter of photographers outside threatened to remind me otherwise.
I still felt shaky taking them on. But the sooner the world believed us—and caught Sienna in her lie—the sooner we could date in some semi privacy.
I understood what dating Jack meant. It meant Mr. Holiday was part of the package and that my life, from here on out, was fair game for public consumption.
It didn’t seem fair.
But he was worth it.
He was safe.
. . . Mostly.
He was ready to tie the knot.
Whoa.
Like, whoa, whoa. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Jack had asked me to marry him. Not that I hadn’t known that was where his heart was headed, but still—he’d said it. Out loud.
I figured we should probably get through the scandal and the holidays first before tossing around the M word.
Jack picked up a wooden music box like it was some ancient artifact and turned the crank. The soft chiming notes of “Carol of the Bells” trickled into the air, warm and oddly cinematic. I guess it made sense, since he was a movie star.
“When I was a kid,” he said, tone casual but a touch wistful, “I thought stores like this only existed in the movies.”
I nestled against him. “Would you like to talk about it?”
It felt like we should—at some point—have a real conversation about his past.
Jack kissed the top of my head. “We will. Later.” He held up the music box. “Do you think Emma would like this?”
I let him off the hook for now. We were in public, after all, and every eye seemed to track our every move. And how adorable was it that he would pick a pink hand-painted music box for my niece?
But as magical as it felt to be here with Jack, wandering through a piece of my childhood dreams, I couldn’t shake the sensation of being a fish in a bowl.
And the looks? They weren’t just curious or swooning over Jack.
Sure, a few women were eyeing him with MA-rated daydreams flashing behind their lashes.
But most were silently suggesting I find a new tank to swim in.
Translation: Leave your cheating boyfriend.
They probably thought I was a doormat.
They didn’t know the truth. Not yet.
But they would. Hopefully.
All I needed was for Paige’s terrifying tenacity to work its dark magic on Tae Cho—ideally before tomorrow, Christmas Day. Was that too much to ask?
Santa had already gifted me the sexiest man alive—maybe I was being greedy.
And wishing for Sienna to be caught mid-make out with Callan in a ski lodge lobby? Possibly a smidge over the line as far as Christmas wishes went. But still. A girl could dream.
I glanced toward the windows. Some of the paparazzi from outside my parents’ house hadn’t followed us here. I hoped that meant they were off hunting bigger prey.
Like Sienna.
“So, what do you think about the music box?” Jack’s voice tugged me out of my vengeance-fueled reverie.
I blinked a few times, the scene around me coming back into focus. “I think Emma would love it.”
“Great. I’ll pay for it, and then we can hit a few more stores before we head back for the hot chocolate contest.”
It was a Wells family tradition, dating back years, for every person to come up with the best cocoa concoction on Christmas Eve, and then everyone would do a blind taste test, and the winner would be honored by having their cocoa served on Christmas morning.
If that wasn’t amazing enough, you also got to wear a sash with frilly gold lettering that said Cocoa Champ with a tiny, embroidered cocoa mug with steam curls rolling off it.
Yes, the sash existed. Yes, my mother had made it herself. Only Jaquelyn Wells could dream up such a thing.
“By the way, I fully intend to win.” Jack’s arrogance was back in full force.
Not that it had ever gone anywhere.
“This I know, Jack Holiday: You are the worst cook ever.” I smirked.
“Yeah, but I played a barista once, and I learned from the best. And do you know what they also sell at coffeehouses? Hot chocolate.”
Dang it. I’d forgotten about that.
But I wasn’t going down without a fight. “Yes, but I’ve been a cocoa aficionado practically since birth.”
Jack shrugged off my bravado. “Bring it, Wells.”
“I’m not going to lie. While totally arrogant, that was a little sexy.”
That earned me a smile and a quick kiss.
“If you think that’s sexy . . . ,” Jack crooned, but didn’t get to finish his thought.
As we walked toward the checkout counter, the door chimed, and Cami Cullen and her husband Noah walked in. Noah was a man like Jack. Almost too good looking to be true. Even in the dead of winter, he waltzed in with a tight tee, no coat, showing off his barbed wire tats.
Cami’s eyes widened as they landed on me, then flicked to Jack, then back again, her brows lifting with an interest that was almost polite but mostly laced with concern. She grabbed her husband’s hand and made a beeline for us.
“Babe, this is Jack Holiday. Why don’t you tell him how much you loved his last movie? I need to talk to Ivy for a minute.”
Before anyone could say anything, she looped her arm through mine and pulled me to the side like we were sorority sisters escaping to gossip. I looked back to see Jack and Noah both rubbing the backs of their necks, probably unsure of what they should be doing.
I mouthed, Sorry, before Cami abruptly halted near a display of pastel stuffed unicorns.
“Ivy,” she whispered urgently. “I just want you to know that if you ever need help, there is an Ex-File chapter in Austin. They’re super supportive and will help you through your breakup.
Or just call me. I’ve been in your shoes, and there’s no shame.
You’re strong enough to walk away. And tell your family I will send them two sets of proofs.
One will already have Jack cropped out. You know, because, well . . . you know.”
I almost laughed, but it only sharpened the reality—Jack and I had an uphill battle ahead. One that involved convincing people he wasn’t the scum of the earth and that I wasn’t just some sycophant, sticking around because he was Jack Holiday.
“Um . . . thank you. But really, Cami—Jack didn’t cheat on me. That was all staged. Sienna Davenport set it up.”
Cami gave my arm a gentle, pitying pat. The kind reserved for someone clinging to delusion.
“Well, if you believe it.” She leaned in like we were swapping secrets. “Just be careful. And here, take this.” She dug into her designer bag and pulled out a business card, pressing it into my palm.
“My personal cell is on there. Call anytime. I’m here for you. Merry Christmas.”
Yeah. Merry Christmas.
She flitted back to Noah and Jack, who were apparently getting along just fine—laughing, relaxed, completely unaware that I’d just been referred to an emotional support hotline and given a subtle invitation to a breakup club.
Apparently their conversation was far more pleasant than mine had been.
“Hey, Cams.” Noah slung an arm around Cami. “Jack here says he’s in for your family’s annual polar bear plunge on New Year’s.”
Cami narrowed her eyes at Jack with a look that clearly said, Buddy, I don’t think you’ll be around by then.
But her lips smiled. “That’s so fun. We always love it when the Wells family joins our parties.” She turned to Noah, slipping easily into sweet wife mode. “We should hurry. I don’t want to leave the baby for too long, and there’s no telling what our son has talked my parents into by now.”
“It was good to meet you, man.” Noah offered Jack a solid bro handshake.
“Same,” Jack replied easily. “Looking forward to seeing you again.”
I slid back to Jack’s side just in time to see Cami mouth, Call me, like she was on a rescue mission I hadn’t signed up for, before she turned and floated toward a handcrafted race car track lined with vintage cars.
Jack took my hand, our fingers threading effortlessly. I squeezed, trying to ground myself.
“What did Cami want to talk to you about?” Jack whispered.
“Oh, you know, just how I should probably break up with you.”
Jack stiffened. “The truth will come out, Ivy. I promise.”
“I know.” But when?
Jack pressed a kiss to my temple. “Sadly, there will always be more lies printed about me, about us. It’s the nature of the business. Heartache sells more than happiness.”
“That’s just sad.”
“Only if we choose to consume it. We have to choose happy. I chose my happy. You.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I never pegged you as a sappy boyfriend. But I love it.”
“You haven’t seen how sappy I can get,” Jack groaned into my ear, making my knees feel like limp noodles. But his next words were a mic drop. “Don’t let strangers steal this from us.”
He was right. I wrapped my arms around him and stared at our reflection in the window. A dozen cameras stared right back at me, some with voices behind them calling for Mr. Holiday. But I let his words sink in and focused on what I knew to be true about him, about us.
They all knew Mr. Holiday. But they didn’t know Jack.
The Jack who bought period care packages.
The Jack who’d taken me to the emergency room when my appendix had burst two years ago and never left my side—not only at the hospital, but for days after.
The Jack who loved me enough to wait for me.
Or even the Jack who currently wore a Santa sweater just to keep my mom happy.
Tori’s words about controlling the narrative rattled in my brain.
Maybe it was time for me to tell the truth. Maybe I should narrate this story. It was, after all, Jack’s and my story. Why was I letting other people tell it? People like Sienna and the vultures outside. Even well-meaning friends and neighbors.
I’d been wanting to get Jack one more gift. Something meaningful. I had an idea now of what that should be—
The truth.