Page 36 of The Holiday Games

She beams. “Nice. If it offended that many people, it must be art.”

“Art isn’t here to make friends,” the woman agrees with a sage nod. “Art is meant to inspire emotion. Positive and negative.” She takes a bite of her pretzel and chews thoughtfully.

Caroline shoots her a wide-eyed look.

With a curse, the woman turns to spit the bite over the railing into the water.

By the time we assure Harriet, as she tells us to call her, that she isn’t going to die of a seagull-born illness, help her down to the main deck to buy a water from the snack bar, and get her settled in a seat near the windows, it’s nearly time to deboard.

Caroline and I hover near the exit doors, grinning at each other like we have a secret.

“You have to show me your art,” she whispers. “I’m so curious.”

“Only if you show me yours,” I say, loving the way her eyes darken as she replies, “Oh, I’ll show you mine. I’ll text Kayla and ask her to take some shots of the elves. If you play your cardsright, I might even have her slip one into the mail for you as a holiday treat.”

I would much rather haveCarolineas a holiday treat, but I nod and thrust a hand her way. “It’s a deal.”

She takes my hand, and I squeeze her fingers, deciding the sway of the ferry as it docks is a good enough excuse to keep holding on as we wait for the gangplank to open.

I’ll have to let go eventually, but not now.

Not right now…

fifteen

. . .

Caroline

The island is pure holiday magic.

The massive lawn between the abandoned military housing blocks—Governors Island was once a Coast Guard installation—is packed with crafters of all kinds. Leo and I grab a hot cider and wander in circles under the lights strung overhead, admiring hand-poured candles, jewelry, ornaments made of found materials, and charming oil paintings of the city in winter.

I select a pair of dangly, moon-and-star earrings connected by whisper-thin silver threads for myself, and Leo buys another hat—a sock cap this time. I try to pay for it, but he brushes me off, shouldering me out of the way as he extends his credit card toward the clerk.

While he’s distracted, I slip across the lane to purchase a watercolor of a cranky-looking ginger cat in a peppermint-striped scarf that I saw earlier. It’s a pretty penny, but it’s perfect, and I want to do something to thank Leo for this perfect day.

When I pull it from my purse on our way to the food trucks later, his expression softens, “Wow. It’s Satan if he loved the holidays.”

I grin. “Looks just like him, right? I couldn’t resist. Happy Hanukkah!”

“I love it,” he says, looking visibly moved.

And a little sad…

I loop my arm through his and give his bicep a squeeze, telling myself I’m doing it because I want to offer him comfort, not because the feel of his powerful body beneath his clothes does fizzy things to me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to miss your cat, Fenton. You know we can always call off the move if you need Greg here with you. That’s totally fine.”

He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not a chance, Cane. He’s yours. It’s just… My friends aren’t the kind who exchange gifts, and I don’t have much family anymore. It’s been a while since I got a Hanukkah gift. Especially one this nice. So…thank you.”

Chest aching, I promise, “You’re welcome. And consider yourself on my holiday gift list for life. Or until you tell me to stop sending you crap every December. Fair warning, I usually give prank gifts. The holidays start to feel stressful if I take the gift-giving too seriously.”

“I’m a comedy writer. Who better to appreciate the glory of a prank gift? I would be honored to be on your list.”

I smile. “Good. Then it’s a deal. I’ll put your address in my book before I leave.”

Leave…

It was the wrong thing to say. Our festive vibe dips, making the late afternoon air feel cooler than it did before. But soon, we reach the food trucks, where vintage holiday tunes blast from speakers above the picnic tables and bonfires crackle in cozy fire pits. The smell of fried dough, freshly grilled meat, and mulled wine cheers us, and by the time we’ve eaten our way through three countries, we’re both smiling again.

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