25. Holly
25
HOLLY
Winter in Chicago has a special kind of sting, like a sassy old grandma side-eyeing you and muttering about how, “back in her day,” people enjoyed losing feeling in their toes. But the snow’s fresh, sparkling like powdered sugar over gingerbread streets, and for the first time in forever, I actually feel the Christmas spirit. And that’s saying something, considering last year’s “festivities” involved a Miami beach house, blasting reggaeton, and my granny’s new husband proudly sporting a Santa hat and a surfboard—and nothing else.
Yeah. Don’t ask.
Then, somewhere down the block, I spot Mia’s little Honda, valiantly rattling its way around the corner. She pulls up, her cheeky grin already flashing at me, with neon-painted nails dancing on the wheel as she rolls down the window.
“Girl, are you trying to freeze to death before we even get to the spa?” She tilts her head, a mockingly concerned look in her eye.
I shrug, grinning. “Just getting the full ‘real Chicago’ experience, you know?”
“Oh, sure, ‘real Chicago.’ Maybe one day you’ll ‘experience’ the warmth of a vehicle that’s actually yours? You keep hitching rides like this, and you’re bound to end up in some rom-com meet-cute with a cab driver.”
Laughing, I climb in, slamming the door shut against the wind. “Please, like I’d have time to meet anyone with you and Lauren hauling me around every weekend.”
She snorts. “Right. If you’re ever late anywhere, I’m just blaming it on your ‘nonexistent car rental’ budget.”
My cheeks warm. “Didn’t think I’d stay long, so, you know, cutting costs and all.”
The words hang between us, a little too serious for the moment, until Mia gives me one of those knowing looks, eyebrow raised. “And now?”
Now, staying is suddenly not a question but a reality. This place has somehow managed to be everything: new friends, a job that’s actually going somewhere, and well, Ethan . My lips tug into a grin that Mia catches immediately, because nothing escapes the sharp eyes of Lauren and her sister. She raises her brows, smug and grinning like she’s won something.
A grin sneaks up on me. “Now? Chicago’s amazing.”
Mia doesn’t need it spelled out; she reads my face like a juicy novel with all the mushy parts underlined in pink. “And by ‘amazing,’ we mean a certain six-foot, brooding hockey star?”
I burst out laughing. “No! I mean—yes, Ethan’s great, but the city, my job, you guys… everything’s been amazing.” I wave a hand toward the snowy streets outside, the whole winter scene like it’s mine to rule. “I mean, Chicago has its own Christmas culture! People actually love eggnog. Back home, it’s all beach Santas and surfing elves.”
Mia chuckles, tapping her neon nails on the wheel as we turn toward Lauren’s street. “See, this is why we wanted you to stay. Besides, who else could make those boys eat their kale?”
“Oh, please, don’t let Ethan hear you say that,” I joke, picturing his horrified face. “He’s convinced he’ll turn into a rabbit if he has one more salad.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Girl’s in love with a man, the city, and, dare I say it, even the snow. This is big news. Guess that means we’re keeping you, huh?”
Guess so.
The car falls into a comfortable silence as we pull out, but Mia’s phone soon buzzes, lighting up with an unfamiliar number. Her face does that immediate eyebrow-raise, clearly intrigued.
“Hello?” she answers, shifting her tone to the “hmm, is this trouble?” pitch. “Oh, Liam ! So, now you’re actually calling, huh?”
There’s a dramatic eye-roll from Mia, a soft laugh slipping out as she leans back in the seat. And suddenly, I’m all ears, watching her shift from her usual sarcasm into that “I’m pretending not to be totally into this” tone. Apparently, a hockey player’s charm has melted her icy stance.
When she finally hangs up, Mia’s trying—and failing—not to blush.
“Well, that sounded promising,” I say, glancing over with the best “I need details now” expression.
She smirks, crossing her arms, and practically scoffs. “Promising? Oh please, it’s Liam . We’re still talking about the man who thinks that wearing a wrinkled blazer counts as dressing up.”
“But?”
She shrugs, her expression slowly giving way. “But, well, he did ask me out. Officially. For, like, an actual date.”
Ah. So, Mia’s finally admitting her crush on the wrinkled-blazer-wearing charmer.
“Well, finally ! I was about to intervene myself. You’ve had your ‘I’m too cool for this guy’ act on since, what, Thanksgiving?”
She waves me off. “Just doing my due diligence. Besides, someone around here has to make the guys work for it.”
Mia’s laughter fills the car as she pulls up in front of Lauren who’s waiting on her porch, scarf swishing in the wind like she’s about to take flight.
A second later, Lauren practically skips out to the car, her oversized scarf trailing behind her like a superhero cape. She slides into the back seat, grinning like the official captain of today’s “Girls’ Day Out” trip.
The moment she climbs in, the day’s plan unfolds in one breathless spiel:
“Alright, ladies, let’s hit the spa,” she declares with a flourish. “Mani-pedi, massages, and an obscene number of snacks are in our immediate future.”
I’m not usually one for spas, nails, and all the “girl time” fluff, but Lauren and Mia make even the pinkest nail polish feel like a badge of honor.
The spa lobby is pure bliss wrapped in white walls, scented candles, and a soft, magical music that drifts over us like we’ve somehow wandered into a cloud. The whole place has that hush, the one that tells you people here are very serious about relaxation. Mia flops into a lobby chair, stretching like a cat as if she’s just claimed the entire spa as her personal relaxation zone, while Lauren’s eyes are practically sparkling as she peruses the service menu, flipping pages with the kind of glee most people reserve for dessert menus.
“This place is heaven,” she sighs, looking at us with a grin. “I mean, look at these options! Do you think we can do all of them?”
I snicker, reaching over to nudge her. “Lauren, we’ve only got so much time before they boot us out. Don’t go getting us banned for spa gluttony.”
“Spa gluttony,” she repeats with a dreamy look. “If I get kicked out for that, I’m fine with it.”
Before we know it, an attendant appears, guiding us into the changing rooms where we wrap up in robes so soft I feel like I could sink into one and stay forever. We’re then led down a quiet hallway to dim, lavender-scented rooms, and I can already feel my worries dissolving with every step.
Within minutes, we’re stretched out on massage tables, every little bit of tension melting away under the hands of miracle-working masseuses.
“Why don’t we do this every week?” Lauren’s voice drifts over, muffled and drowsy from the table next to me. In this moment, it doesn’t seem remotely impossible to just … live like this. Stress? What stress? There’s only peppermint-scented relaxation and the fantasy of a world where massages are just part of the weekly routine.
Mia snorts, though it’s softened by the total relaxation only a spa could create. “Because not all of us have rich uncles with private jets and connections. Some of us have to budget.”
“Hey, same!” Lauren protests, sounding scandalized. “I’m just saying I’d like to.”
“Yeah, until you remember what more rich uncles mean at Christmas dinner.” I chime in. “No, thanks. There’s only so much passive-aggressive ‘So, what do you do again?’ I can handle in one year.”
Our laughter dies down as we’re led to the manicure and pedicure room, where Mia immediately swoops down on the plushest chair in sight. She stretches out with a satisfied smirk, raising an eyebrow at us like she’s some sort of spa queen.
“Ladies, you may now serve me,” she says, waving a mockingly regal hand as she settles in.
Lauren rolls her eyes but grins. “Please, Mia, they’d have to pay you to get out of that chair.”
The nail technicians set to work, and we fall into a cozy rhythm of conversation that’s as soothing as the spa treatments. We chat about our plans for Christmas—and I tell them about my family’s annual Christmas party, complete with the traditional fruitcake nobody ever eats. Mia shares her mission to throw the city’s best New Year’s party, and Lauren brings up her holiday plans, which mostly involve avoiding the Chicago Blizzards captain, who she’s surprisingly now warming up to.
Then Mia, eyes twinkling with mischief, breaks into the conversation. “Alright, serious question: if you’re in trouble and you have to call someone for help on the Chicago Blizzards, who would you call?”
Lauren perks up, considering. “Ryan, for sure. But only because he’s built like a tank.”
“Oh, definitely,” I laugh. “Maybe there’s something more going on between you and Ryan than you’d like to admit.”
“And who would you call?” Lauren scoffs.
“Ethan … maybe? But only because he’s all calm under pressure.”
The mocking tone I bark out the latter sentence with sends us laughing again. The banter keeps up as our nails are shaped, buffed, and painted in shades of holiday red and winter white. Each of us gets a mini arm massage with lotions that smell faintly of peppermint and sugar cookies, and I almost feel like I’m dissolving into the chair by the time we’re done. The world feels a little shinier, our nails are officially flawless, and it’s been deemed a certified success of a spa day.
Later, we grab our coats and head out, trekking to a nearby movie theater within a mall, where we fully stock up on popcorn and soda. We plop into our seats, pulling our jackets tighter as we settle in for the cheesiest holiday movie on the marquee.
“Alright, ladies,” Mia whispers as the previews roll. “Predictions. How many montages? How many misunderstandings? And how many near-miss kisses?”
“Montages,” Lauren replies, grinning. “Three, minimum. Near-miss kisses, two. Misunderstandings … too many to count.”
The lights dim, and we sink into the soft glow of the screen, the movie’s holiday magic washing over us. As cheesy and predictable as it is, it’s exactly the kind of holiday fluff we’re here for.
And we’re in our own little world, laughing and playfully roasting every cliché and predictable plot twist. By the time the credits roll, we’re all smiling and a little teary-eyed, thoroughly wrapped up in the comfort of cheesy holiday movies, freshly painted nails, and a perfectly indulgent day.
All three of us are laughing as we traipse back to the car. I feel a little lighter, a little happier, and sporting the most holiday spirit this side of the North Pole.
We are about to climb back in when I realize just one earring dangles from my left ear. Cue the mental scramble. Last seen? Movie theater. Probability of finding it? Close to zero. But it’s a favorite—a simple, silver hoop that feels like a good luck charm. So back inside I go, hoping for a mini-Christmas miracle.
Inside, the mall is still pulsing with frantic shoppers. But something else grabs my attention—a sight I wasn’t prepared for.
Ethan, in all his casually rugged glory, stands in a corner of the lobby. And beside him? A blonde who’s all sultry angles and dangerous curves, dressed like she’s ready to walk into a Hollywood gala.
She’s wearing a cocktail dress that hugs every inch, glossy gold tresses falling in waves, lips painted the kind of red that commands rooms. They’re standing close—closer than two strangers need to be, speaking with a warm aura that suggests familiarity.
The moment feels like someone pressed pause. Ethan hadn’t mentioned her . He’d said he’d be with the guys. That little detail becomes a thorn, sharp and persistent, as my mind runs wild with questions and theories, each one worse than the last.
But this isn’t some rom-com where people start a scene in public. With every ounce of willpower, I turn back toward the exit, my head spinning, hoping the sight of her slips away as fast as it came.
Mia and Lauren are in the car, their chatter and laughter grounding, familiar. Lauren’s gaze flickers to me, eyebrow raised, concern sneaking into her eyes.
“Everything okay?”
A small nod. “Yep, just ... lost that earring, I think. I’d like to go straight home now, girls.”
They share a look but none of them say anything as they drive straight for the house. Back inside, the day’s magic feels oddly out of place against the backdrop of an empty, silent house. A glass of wine seems the best distraction, but even the boldest red can’t erase the scene replaying in my mind. The hours drag on, and every creak of the door feels like it should be him, returning with some logical explanation.
When Ethan finally steps through, I’m practically at the door. He wraps me in a hug, his smile warm and teasing as he says something about “missing him” so much I had to get home early. A half-hearted smile tugs at my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“So, where were you?” I ask, hoping it sounds casual, though my heart’s doing double time. His answer’s nonchalant, vague. “Just out with the guys, nothing special.”
The thorn twists, sharper now, and a part of me knows I can’t keep this inside. But voicing it? Asking about the woman? Somehow, it feels raw, like exposing something that could backfire.
As night falls, I retreat to my room, my mind swimming in worst-case scenarios, remembering past betrayals that now seem all too close. Liar. It feels like a drop of cold water has landed right in the pit of my stomach, and my mind loops back to every inch of makeup and designer dress that mystery woman was wearing.
Hours later, after a torturous evening of sidelong glances and questions that burn behind my eyes, Lauren calls.
She’s on me like a hawk. “Spill. What’s wrong? And don’t give me that ‘everything’s fine’ crap.”
Sighing, I finally admit, “Saw him at the mall. He was with someone else, Lauren. Some glamorous woman I’ve never seen.”
“Did you ask him about it?” Her voice is cautious, urging patience.
“Not directly,” I say, shrinking a little under the weight of my own insecurities. “He didn’t mention the mall, so maybe ... maybe he just doesn’t think it matters?”
Or maybe it’s just like Jake all over again, my brain whispers, throwing gasoline on the smoldering fire of doubt.
“Talk to him,” Lauren says firmly. “You’ve got history, sure, but it’s different now, isn’t it? You’re different now.”
True. But past fears have an uncanny ability to curl their claws right around the heart, and tonight, those claws are digging in deep.