Chapter 12
12
Holly
December 22
Hudson Valley, New York
Buy something short and hot. Forget Matt ever existed, even if it’s just for one night.
Holly can’t text her best friend about the school dance, but she knows exactly what Ivy would say. She pushes open the door to the thrift shop and is immediately greeted by the familiar, slightly musty smell of secondhand stores everywhere, as well as the festive-sounding tinkle of a door chime made of tarnished silver bells tied with red ribbon.
“Hellooooo?” calls out a high-pitched voice, and a person wobbles around the corner carrying a pile of Christmas sweaters so high they’re completely obscured. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you!” the voice trills, and the person totters past with the sweaters. “I’m Bebe. If you need anything at all, just holler. And if you want to try anything on, there’s a changing room—more like a changing closet , really, but we make do—at the back, just to the left of the rain slickers and galoshes.”
“Thank you,” Holly says to the walking pile of sweaters.
She flicks her way through flannel shirts and leather jackets in varying shades of red, teal, taupe, and gray. There are garage coveralls with names like “Bob” and “Annie” emblazoned on sewn-on name tags, caftans, cardigans, and, finally, festive-looking garb: sequined tank tops and faux leather jeggings, cocktail dresses that have seen better days, and a few dresses that look more suitable for a prom. Holly takes out one of the sequined tops and a pair of the faux leather pants.
“Good choices, good choices.” Bebe has materialized behind Holly. Now that she isn’t carrying a mountain of sweaters, Holly can see that she has curly white-blond hair and twinkling amber eyes. She’s holding a pair of black, high-heeled, pointed-toe booties. “And these would be adorable with that outfit. You don’t happen to be a size-eight shoe, do you?”
“I do, actually,” Holly says, taking the boots. “I mean, none of this is what I’d usually wear, but—”
Bebe waves a hand at her. “ But it’s the holiday season! Sparkle, shine, and pleather leggings with the perfect boots are exactly what’s called for.”
Holly steps out of the dressing room moments later feeling like a different person—feeling more like Ivy than herself. Bebe is now holding a shiny black claw-clip, which she effortlessly uses to secure Holly’s long hair in a surprisingly sophisticated, soft updo. “Perfection,” she breathes.
“You’re good at this,” says Holly.
Bebe shrugs, but looks pleased. “I used to be a stylist in the big city, then I traded in my Prada for a simpler life here in Krimbo. I don’t miss it, but it is fun to get clients glammed up once in a while. I assume this is an outfit for the Snowflake Dance? Only event for miles that requires any sort of fashion sense—and most people in this town don’t seem to get the memo.” She adds a rhinestone cuff bracelet to the ensemble and steps back, nodding her head. “You’ll be the belle of the ball. Give me two shakes, and I’ll steam the clothes for you, freshen them up a little.”
Once Holly has changed back into her sweats, Bebe disappears into a back room and quickly returns with the outfit and accessories tucked into a garment bag.
“Twenty even,” she says. “Cash preferred.”
“I can’t believe all this is only twenty dollars,” Holly says. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely positive. Now, you enjoy—and I’ll probably see you there at the dance. I’ll be the one in the golden caftan pushing the punch on everyone! Happy holidays!”
As Holly returns to her car, her phone chimes its text notification. She smiles because it’s Aiden: Did Bebe sell you on the gold caftan she had in the window last week?
Holly smiles and texts back, Nope, she’s saving that for herself. She pauses, then types, What time are you picking me up?
See you at seven , he replies within seconds.
Can’t wait. As the reply text whooshes its way into oblivion, she feels that electric frisson again—and instead of fighting it, she decides to go with it. Just for now , she tells herself, I’m going to live in the moment and see where it takes me.
The Snowflake Dance theme is “Winter Wonderland”: Ropes of tinsel crisscross the high school gym ceiling, each one woven with a bounty of fairy lights. The floor sparkles with glitter that appears to have been tossed everywhere, and there are real Christmas trees in every corner, filling the gym with the festive scent of pine. “Wow,” Holly breathes. “This is just…magical.”
Aiden smiles. “Isn’t it? The rest of the year, it’s just a regular school gym, but the dance committee really goes all out every year, and they do an amazing job of transforming it.”
“Are those trees from George’s?”
“Absolutely. A group of us went out there to help cut them down and drive them into town in our trucks. In the spring, we’ll plant seedlings and start the process all over. And we’ll mulch these trees, use them for people’s gardens.”
She smiles at his obvious excitement.
“Gorgeous, just gorge-ee-usss!” a familiar voice trills. Bebe is approaching, her golden caftan resplendent in the holiday lighting. She’s carrying a large, cauldron-like bowl. “Holly, wonderful to see you. And you, too, Aiden. I’ve just finished mixing up the first batch of snowflake punch. Try a glass, let me know if I’ve missed anything?”
Aiden puts his hand lightly on Holly’s back as they follow Bebe to a large table covered in Christmas cookies. There’s a space in the middle for the punch bowl, and Bebe sets it down, then reaches for two glasses, which she fills to the brim. Holly accepts a cup and so does Aiden. He taps his glass against hers and raises an eyebrow.
“Brace yourself,” he murmurs.
Holly takes a sip and has to force herself not to sputter it out.
“What do you think?” Bebe chirps.
“It’s…incredible. Really. What’s in it?”
“Trade secret. But do you think it’s missing anything?”
“It is absolutely not missing a thing,” Holly manages.
“Wonderful. Punch is up, everyone! Come and get it!”
“Take a cookie,” Aiden says in a low voice. “Actually, take two. You need a base of something in your stomach before you have any more of that punch.”
“What is in that punch?” she asks before she takes a bite. “Mm- mm .” She tastes the soft yet flaky cookie in her first bite, the sour and unexpected tang of the melted Jolly Rancher filling in the next.
“Good, right? And I don’t think the question should be what is in the Snowflake Dance punch, but rather what’s not in it. Pretty sure Bebe just goes around town asking people for whatever they don’t want in their liquor cabinets, then dumps it all in a punch bowl and adds a few cloves, cranberries, and cinnamon sticks. She insists she uses a recipe, but every year it tastes different.”
Holly ventures another sip. “I think I taste brandy? But also gin.”
He takes a sip, too. “Definitely brandy and gin. Possibly also Kahlúa?”
“Frangelico. Crème de menthe. How many of these do you think it’s safe to drink? Because it’s actually kind of growing on me.”
“Honestly, probably zero. But it’s the holiday season.” He takes another sip, then puts his down on the table. “I’ll make you a deal. You can have as many as you want. I’ll be the designated driver and make sure you get home safely.”
All at once, Holly hears the familiar opening bars of Smokey Robinson’s “Christmas Everyday,” and she freezes.
“Holly? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Holly struggles to regain her composure. This is the song that she and Matt had been practicing a cute ballroom-style choreography to for their first dance as a married couple. She looks down at the punch glass in her hand and, slugs it back, then reaches for his.
“Whoa, Holly. Do you want some water?”
“No,” Holly says, feeling her head grow pleasantly fogged from the strong drink. “I want to dance. Do you want to dance?”
She leads him out to the dance floor and finds herself feeling bold and sexy in her glittery top, formfitting pants, and high heels. She forces the choreography out of her mind and dances in a different way, swaying her hips and looking up into Aiden’s eyes. “I just love this song,” she says. “I haven’t heard it in a while.” The uncertainty in his expression disappears, and soon he’s dancing along with her, and they’re laughing. She grabs both his hands in hers and shimmies her hips, and he does the same. And then the song abruptly changes, and all at once, Judy Garland is singing mournfully about having yourself a merry little Christmas.
“Martin McLaren from the sports shop DJs every year by putting his iPod on shuffle,” Aiden explains. “You really never know what you’re going to get.”
Holly isn’t quite sure how it happened, but she and Aiden are now close, staring into each other’s eyes. Aiden’s hands are on her waist, and hers are around his neck. What her best friend insists is the saddest Christmas song ever has suddenly become incredibly romantic. A lock of Aiden’s hair has fallen into his eyes, and Holly finds herself reaching up and smoothing it away from his forehead before she even fully realizes what she’s doing.
“Sorry,” she says. “I hope that wasn’t too…” But she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Perhaps it’s the two glasses of punch, but she’s feeling lightheaded and happy. She holds tighter to Aiden’s shoulders and his presence steadies her, as does his gaze.
“You all right? You downed that punch pretty fast.”
“I’m really good,” Holly says, and knows this is the truth. She’s happy right where she is, with Aiden close. His touch, his smell. “Aiden, I…” She presses her lips together. What should she say? How does one do this? Should she be doing this? Just days ago, she was engaged. Now she’s in the arms of a man from her past, someone who has quickly become a touchstone in her life. A source of joy. A friend—but more than that; she’s smart enough to know this. She likes him. A lot. Suddenly, it’s as if a mini version of Ivy is standing on her shoulder, whispering in her ear, Then tell him that, silly.
“I like you,” she blurts, then feels herself blushing. “Oh, wow, that sounded so high school of me. I’m mortified.”
“Well, we are in a high school gym,” Aiden says. “And we did go to high school together. And…maybe you’re just going along with the vibe you’re getting from me. Because I like you, Holly. The truth is, I always have.” He pulls her a little bit closer. “In fact, I have a confession to make. I had the biggest crush on you in high school. To the point that I wrote you an incredibly sappy Christmas card and slid it into your locker.”
Holly stops dancing and stares up at him in shock. “Wait a minute, that was you ? I still have that card! I swear, those were the sweetest things anyone has ever written to me! I memorized it!”
“Please tell me you did not. I think it was a bit maudlin.”
“It wasn’t. It was sweet.” She closes her eyes. “?‘I’m writing to wish you a very Merry Christmas—and to profess my deep affection for you.’?” She opens her eyes. “That was really you?”
“It was me. I did think you were the best girl in the entire school. I thought you were really pretty, and I was a teenage boy, so of course I focused on that.” He smiles a sweet smile. “But you were so much more. Not just smart, not just kind…but totally unique. You were funny and kind of weird. And yet also sophisticated. There was no one like you. There still isn’t.” He has her in his arms again, and they’re swaying to the music.
“It was really special to me, Aiden. That card made me feel like I was someone other than just…Holly Beech. I always wondered who wrote it. Always. I can’t believe it was you .”
His shoulders are broad and firm beneath her fingers. His appealing scent, of soap and cedar and wood shavings, is all around her. His hands on her waist, his touch, send tingles in every direction, over every inch of her skin. What she wants, she realizes, is to kiss him. And she very much does not want to do that in front of an audience that includes almost all of Krimbo.
When the music switches gears again, this time to “Frosty the Snowman” by the Ronettes, Holly says, “Do you want to get out of here, by any chance?”
“Let’s go,” Aiden says, and there’s something in his voice that warms her to her core. She can barely resist reaching up and pulling his face and lips to hers right then, but instead lets him take her hand and lead her from the gym without a word to anyone else.
“What would you like to do?” he asks once they’re outside the gym and in the bracing cold air. Holly doesn’t think twice about it. With her high heels, she doesn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to reach his full, warm lips. She tilts her head and reaches for him, pulls him close and parts her lips.
“Kiss me,” she whispers, and he does. His lips are smooth and firm, and he tastes like cinnamon, sugar, a hint of mint. His tongue is gentle at first, then more exploratory, and she finds her hands exploring his body, too, running her fingers over his muscled back, down to his hips, over his ripped stomach.
“Aiden,” she whispers, “I like kissing you.”
“I like it, too,” he says, his smile both shy and sexy as he looks down at her, then pulls her in for more. She wants more, to go further. Would it really be okay to tell him so? She knows Ivy has done this many times; that if her best friend wants something, she asks for it, makes her needs and wants very clear. Holly has always gone a different route. A safer route.
What would it be like to act like someone different?
“I want you,” she murmurs, and is excited by the way this causes him to kiss her more deeply, to pull her closer. “Let’s go somewhere.”
He pulls himself back and looks down at her, his expression now searching. “Go where?” he asks.
“Show me your place? I haven’t seen it yet. I want to.” She hopes he gets her double meaning—because she knows she does want to. That she doesn’t want to think ; she wants to just feel, and do . Yes, she’s had two strong glasses of snowflake punch, but she’s not drunk, just buzzed—and it’s giving her courage. Aiden is the one who wrote her that card, all those years ago. The one she has cherished without even knowing who it was from. His words have always reminded her that once, someone really saw her. It’s even more intoxicating than the punch. She reaches for his hand, and they walk toward his truck. He opens the door for her—but before she can climb in, he takes her hand and tugs her back, pressing her against the open door, one hand cupping her cheek and the other firm on the small of her back, pulling her tightly against him. He slowly lowers his mouth to hers, millimeter by millimeter, until she shivers, from anticipation and desire and from the cold of the night.
“Let’s get you warm,” he says, brushing his lips against hers, just once, before helping her up into the truck. He goes around to the driver’s side, gets in, and turns on the engine, then the heat. She scooches across the seat toward him and reaches for him again, and he lets out a low groan. “Holly, you’re driving me crazy. You always have, but especially tonight.” They move closer and closer until she throws caution to the wind and straddles him, steering wheel at her back, hands in his hair as they kiss with abandon. She feels the hard ridge of him pressing against her. She is certain she has never in her life wanted anyone more—but then the sharp honk of the truck as she accidentally digs into it with her backside startles her and she collapses into his shoulder, laughing.
“I guess we really aren’t in high school,” she murmurs, flopping back onto her own side of the seat, breathing hard, “and therefore might be past the point of making out in cars?”
“It was incredible, though,” he says, his eyes intense, pinning her to her seat.
“Let’s go,” she breathes. “Your place.” It feels good to say what she wants. To know what she wants. He keeps one hand on her thigh during the drive, but they don’t speak. She’s not sure she can—not sure that anything she wants to communicate to him now involves words at all.
Aiden lives in a large log cabin just outside of town, all barn beams and warm-stained wood, masculine furnishings like a red plaid couch, flannel blankets. His smell is everywhere, intoxicating her even more. “Do you want anything to drink, maybe a snack or something…?”
“Aiden. I want you .”
She takes his hand and pulls him toward the couch, but he shakes his head and says, “Holly Beech, you are not a couch girl.” He leads her down a hallway, to a bedroom with a large window overlooking acres of snow-draped pines.
She pulls him down on the bed, relishes the feeling of his body on top of hers. Finally. She thinks she says this in her head, but realizes she has said it aloud. Realizes she has been waiting a long time—her entire life—to feel this way. Swept away. Levitating. “Aiden…” She reaches down to unbuckle his belt, to slide her hands past the waistband of his boxer shorts, to feel the length of him in her hand. He’s sliding her pants down her waist, and she helps them along, then lifts the sequined top over her head and tosses it to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so now she’s in the center of his bed in just her underwear. And he’s staring at her, his eyes intense, hungry.
“You’re so perfect,” he says. “So beautiful. Just the way I always imagined. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Holly. All of you.”
He touches her hair, runs his hand down the side of her face, her neck. “Your hair,” he says. “Your skin.” His fingers run along her shoulder, the side of her arm, and she feels all the hairs stand on end, feels her body electrified by his touch. “All so perfect. Your lips.” He kisses her, and she pushes him down on his back and straddles him, looks down at him from this new position, feeling sexy and beautiful and powerful and wanted . And she wants in return. Needs him. She kisses his lips, nibbles his ear, runs her mouth along his neck and to his chest as he groans with pleasure.
He asks her softly, “Do you want this?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? Because you had a lot of the punch…”
She laughs. “Two glasses—but I swear, I am in full control here.” She knows the Holly she usually is probably wouldn’t be in Aiden Coleman’s bed with her clothes off if she hadn’t had those two glasses of punch—but she also knows it’s true that this is what she wants. That she’s in control. That she’s not going to regret this.
“I’m sure,” she says. Then she pauses. “Are you?”
He laughs, and it’s a sexy, ragged sound. “I am so fucking sure,” he says, his voice a low growl. “But just one second.”
As she lies still, waiting for him, she feels her body practically vibrating with longing. He rummages in his bedside table and comes back with a condom. He rips it open, and she takes it from there, sliding it along the length of him before wrapping her legs around him—knowing she’s exactly where she wants to be, doing exactly what she wants to be doing. He’s staring into her eyes, his expression full of pleasure. She’s on top of Aiden now, and he’s reaching forward, sliding his hand down and touching her, turning her pleasure into a quest just as important as his. His touch electrifies her, makes her gasp and moan along with him. She moves her hips against his. He doesn’t stop touching her, or looking at her in that hungry way. She can see the pleasure she’s giving him, the want she’s fulfilling. And he’s doing that for her, too. She feels lightheaded, sees stars and sparks and fireworks. She’s so close—and then he gasps and shudders beneath her, and she realizes what has happened.
It’s instinctive for her to say, “It’s okay, I’m fine, that was great,” the way she always had with Matt. But he holds her fast when she tries to open even an inch of space between them, slides his hand down again so it’s between their bodies, and continues to touch her, gently at first, then with a sultry intensity as the pleasure that had already been building reaches its steamy crescendo. “Aiden,” she moans, and the shooting stars and fireworks are back, and she’s glad that all that’s outside his window are trees, because she’s quite sure she has never been so loud in her life. Her cries ring out in the room; her body floods with pleasure—and when she looks Aiden in the eye after her orgasm, he has the sexiest, most triumphant look on his face, as if he derived just as much pleasure from giving her satisfaction as he did from getting it.
She falls back on the pillow. “That was…”
He turns and buries his face in her hair for a moment, then falls back on his own pillow. “Unbelievable,” he says, kissing the side of her head, then leaning up on his elbow and kissing her lips. His breath is still coming fast. He’s staring into her eyes with that searching expression of his. “Holly?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Were you about to say to me that it was okay, that you were fine, after I came?”
She feels suddenly embarrassed, and he clocks her expression and says, “No, no , please don’t think you did anything wrong, because you did everything right—but I just need you to know this: When you’re with me?” She nods. “It’s never going to be okay for you not to get just as much out of it as I do. Ever. Got that?”
Holly laughs and pulls him to her. “Aiden,” she says, “maybe you really are Superman.”
He looks confused. “Superman?”
“Never mind, that was the punch talking.” She pulls him to her again, and their kisses soon become just as exploratory and full of desire and passion as they were earlier in the night, outside the school gym.
“You know,” he says, rolling her on her back and beginning a tantalizing trail of kisses down her body, toward her navel. “It’s lucky for you that I had hardly any of that punch. I could go all night if you want me to.”
She pulls him close and wraps her legs around him again. “Oh, trust me, I want you to.”