Page 58 of Holiday Hostilities

AARON

“What happened in here?!”

Olivia’s standing in my doorway, packed suitcases at her feet, and her mouth is hanging open as she surveys my handiwork. She looks…

Appalled. Straight up appalled.

I know my tree decorating skills are not exactly on par with The Rockefeller Center’s, but up until this moment, I was quite proud of the ten-foot Fraser Fir I whacked down myself at the Cooper Christmas Tree Farm. It was too big to fit through my front door, so I helped the delivery guys drag it through the French doors around the back of the house.

It was also a pain in the ass to put up. My living room might have vaulted ceilings, but it was a struggle to get the massive thing to stand upright. But after I hauled out a step-ladder—making a mental note to never let Coach find out I was on a ladder, lest I be hung, drawn, and quartered—and covered the tree with twinkly lights and ornaments, I have to say it looks pretty damn festive.

Obviously, though, Olivia disagrees. Looking at her face right now, I’m reconsidering my actions—I’ve never before seen a freaking Christmas tree conjure up so much horror.

I flash her a teasing smile. “Not sure you’re aware, but we’re past spooky season. We’re now closer to a holiday called Christmas. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Involves a baby in a barn and some sheep and a trio of kings and whatnot?”

Her horrified expression quickly changes to a flat glare, leveled my way. “I have heard of it, yes.”

“Good, good.” I take off my Timberlands and place them in the closet, and then hang up my coat. “Well, you might also be aware that many people choose to put a tree up in their home to commemorate this holiday.”

She doesn’t reply, merely flicks her eyes heavenward.

“Your resting Grinch Face is showing, Liv.” I chuckle.

“And your Holly Jolly Weirdo Face is showing, Marino.”

“Olivia Renee Griswold. I did not peg you for one of those Scroogy miser types who can’t stand good cheer,” I chide, teasing.

“Christmas is just so….Christmassy,” she grouches, and I’m about to retort when I catch a flicker of something in her eyes.

The memory of her shifting uncomfortably in my car when I put on Christmas music suddenly pops into my mind. And another memory; of Jake saying that she prefers to spend Christmas alone. Which I thought was a little odd, but I’m now wondering if there’s more to it.

Does she actually not like the holidays or something? Is that why she prefers to spend them by herself?

Our eyes hold for a moment, and she looks away.

“We can redecorate the tree to be less Christmassy,” I propose. “We can even get some little hockey player ornaments in my likeness that you can deface in any which way you prefer.”

She smiles like a Cheshire Cat. “That sounds like my kinda festive. Sign me up.”

I grab her suitcases in each hand. “Shall I show you your room? I’ll get the rest of your stuff from the truck after.”

Without waiting for her response, I start walking towards the stairs. But she doesn’t follow. I look back to see her gawking at me.

“You coming, Lil Griz?”

“How on earth are you doing that?” she asks in lieu of answering my question.

I raise a brow at her. “Doing what?”

“Holding an entire freaking suitcase in each hand like it’s nothing!” She looks almost indignant, and I smile.

“Thisisnothing,” I snort, although I’m not gonna lie, I do flex my biceps a little. For effect, obviously. “What does a suitcase weigh, like fifty pounds?” She rolls her eyes at me, and I wink. “I could lift this in my sleep.”

“Bully for you,” she says, but I don’t miss her glancing at my flexed biceps for a glimmer of a moment.

This only spurs me on. I can’t get enough of that addictive, annoyed spark in her eyes. Even if it means summoning every bit of inner jackass I have in me. “If you want to be really impressed, after we get you settled in, we could go to the gym and I’ll show you what I can actually lift.”

“Your ego is bigger than that damn Christmas tree.” She groans, but she’s laughing as she passes me on her way to the stairs. “This way?”

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