Chapter 8 #2
Alexander follows my gesture, studying the bustling activity with interest. “This weekend?”
“The Holly and Ivy Festival,” I explain, unable to keep the nostalgia from my voice.
“There’s a parade, live music, food trucks, dancing.
It starts Sunday at noon with the Holly and Ivy Race.
As soon as the race is over, the stalls for the Christmas Market open.
Town square will be completely transformed with these European-style stalls selling crafts and treats.
It runs all the way through Christmas Eve. ” My smile softens.
“Race, you say?” His eyebrow arches.
“Everyone wears the tackiest, most ridiculous Christmas sweater they can find, and we all run through town. There are prizes for the ugliest sweater, the best runner, the most creative theme.” My smile falters slightly. “It’s tradition. I used to participate every year.”
“What’s stopping you now?” The question is so simple, so direct, that it catches me off guard.
I hesitate, feeling stupid even as I say it. “It’s a couple’s race. Chase and I used to do it together. It was our thing. We’d spend weeks finding the perfect matching ugly sweaters, planning our strategy, making it this whole production.”
“Then we’ll do it together.” He says it like it’s already decided, like there’s no other possible outcome.
I stop walking, pulling us both to a halt as I stare up at him. “You don’t have an ugly Christmas sweater.”
“Then let’s go find one.” His smile is slow and devastating, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Are you serious?” I can hear the disbelief in my own voice. “You want to participate in the Holly and Ivy Race? You, Alexander Castellano, CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, want to wear a tacky Christmas sweater and run through a small town in North Carolina?”
His smile widens, and he leans closer, his voice dropping to that low register that makes my stomach flip and my knees weak. “Why not? I’m on vacation, remember? And besides—” His eyes lock with mine, intense and unwavering. “—I’m not letting Chase have any claim on your traditions. Not anymore.”
God help me, but my traitorous heart does a full somersault in my chest, and I have to remind myself to breathe. This is just part of the act. He’s just being thorough like he is in everything he does. He’s helping me move on from Chase, nothing more.
But the way he’s looking at me right now doesn’t feel like pretend.
“Come on,” he says, already steering us toward the shops lining Main Street. “Let’s go find the ugliest Christmas sweaters Silverbell Hollow has to offer.”
As we walk, his hand slides from my elbow down to my hand, fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that feels far too natural. His palm is warm against mine, his grip firm and sure, and I find myself not wanting to let go.
* * *
The bell above the door chimes cheerfully as we step into Second Chances Thrift & Treasures, and I immediately feel myself relax.
This place has always been my sanctuary—the smell of old books, the soft glow of fairy lights wound through exposed beams, the gentle ringing of vintage ornaments hanging from the ceiling.
“Mom?” I call out, unwinding my scarf.
“In here, honey!” Her voice comes from behind a tower of boxes near the register.
I start toward her, but Alexander has stopped just inside the door, his gaze moving over the shop with genuine interest. He looks completely out of place—this polished Manhattan CEO in his expensive coat, standing among secondhand treasures and Christmas kitsch—but there’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten. He actually looks charmed.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, heading to help Mom with the boxes.
“Oh perfect timing!” Mom says when I reach her. “The shipment from the Carver estate finally arrived—three boxes of vintage Christmas items. Help me get these to the back room so I can sort through them? I need to price everything and get them on display before the weekend festival crowd.”
“Sure,” I say, hoisting one of the boxes. It’s heavier than it looks, packed tight with wrapped items. I look towards Alexander worriedly.
“He’ll be fine browsing,” Mom assures me with a knowing smile, nodding toward Alexander. “Let him explore. Men like their space when they’re shopping.”
I follow her into the back room, which is really more of a large storage area with a worktable, shelving units, and a small desk where Mom does her pricing and inventory. The familiar scent of old paper and lavender sachets fills the space.
Mom immediately starts unwrapping items from the first box—delicate glass ornaments, ceramic figurines, vintage tinsel. “Oh, look at these! Mrs. Carver had the most beautiful collection. This angel alone is worth—”
The shop bell chimes again, cutting her off.
Through the partially open doorway, I can see into the main shop. My stomach drops when I hear Amber’s voice.
“Aunt Carol? Are you here? Mom said you had that ceramic nativity set she wanted to borrow—Oh.”
Mom’s expression tightens.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She sighs, setting down the ornament she was holding.
“Ever since Chase cheated on you with Amber, things have been uncomfortable. Your Dad’s not happy, more so because Frank keeps trying to change the narrative that this was somehow your fault.
And Amber keeps bragging about what she’s done and insulting you.
The last two family dinners did not end well. ”
I frown. “Do you want me to tell her to leave?”
My mother sighs. “I don’t want you to face her any more than you have to.”
She straightens up to go out, but I grab her wrist, shaking my head. “Amber is my problem. I’m more than capable of dealing with her. Besides, Alexander is out there, remember?” I give her a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
Mom hesitates, then nods, squeezing my hand. We both move closer to the doorway, staying in the shadows where we can see but not be seen. Through the gap between the door and frame, partially hidden by the angle, I have a perfect view of the shop floor.
Amber has spotted Alexander alone, and her entire demeanor turns flirty. Shoulders back, chest forward. She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear in that practiced gesture I’ve seen her use on every guy since high school.
Mom makes a disgusted sound beside me, low enough that only I can hear. “That girl...”
“Shh,” I whisper, watching.
“Hey,” Amber purrs, moving closer to Alexander.
“Hello,” Alexander replies, his voice completely flat as he continues studying a music box without looking at her. I press my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. The absolute disinterest in his tone is magnificent.
“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Amber tries again, practically batting her eyelashes.
“Really?” Alexander doesn’t even glance her way, carefully turning the music box over in his hands. Mom squeezes my hand, her lips pressed together in disapproval.
“I’m Amber Morrison.” She smooths down her designer coat—deliberately, like she wants him to notice the label. “My father owns Morrison Motors. Largest dealership in three counties.”
Alexander sets down the music box with careful precision, his expression unchanged.
Amber takes his silence as encouragement.
“We’re very established here, the Morrisons.
Old money on my mom’s side, you know.” Her gaze sweeps dismissively around the thrift shop.
“My family hosts the annual charity gala every year—the real social event of the season. Not like the little craft fairs and bake sales some people organize.” The jab at Mom’s shop and community involvement is clear. I feel Mom stiffen beside me.
Alexander moves to examine some framed architectural drawings, putting distance between them.
“We’re on the town council,” Amber continues, following him.
“We know everyone worth knowing.” She pauses, then adds with false sweetness, “Of course, Olivia probably didn’t have the chance to introduce you to anyone important.
She’s been away so long, and her family.
..” She trails off meaningfully. “Well, they’re more the working-class type.
Very salt of the earth. But they’re family so we’re generous towards them.
” The condescension in her voice makes my blood boil.
“My parents would love to have you over for dinner,” Amber presses on.
“We have connections throughout the region—business leaders, real estate developers. The kind of people who could actually be useful for someone in your position.” Another pause.
“Much more your caliber than, well...” She glances around the shop again with barely concealed disdain.
Alexander finally looks at her, and I watch his eyebrow raise slightly—not impressed, just mildly curious, like he’s examining an interesting but ultimately insignificant specimen.
“I have to say,” Amber adds, her voice dripping with false concern, “I’m surprised someone as handsome and well-off as you would go for Olivia.
I mean, she’s ambitious, I’ll give her that, but she always had to work so hard for everything.
Some of us just... have it naturally, you know?
” My stomach drops. Mom clicks her tongue angrily.
Alexander goes very still, then slowly turns to face her fully, his expression cooling several degrees. “Someone like Olivia?”
The shop bell chimes again. Chase walks in, looking uncomfortable in his veterinary scrubs. Why isn’t he at the clinic? It’s barely noon.
Amber’s smirk widens, emboldened by his presence. “Chase told me that Olivia is like a dead fish in bed.”
The words hit me like a slap. My face burns with humiliation and fury. Beside me, Mom gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Amber, I didn’t—” Chase starts, his face flushing red.