Page 17 of Their Christmas Miracle

Holly

The look on Josh’s face when he sees the drinks stacked in front of me is priceless. He’d had this stiff smile on his face when he came back from the bathroom — perhaps relief at emptying his bladder — but that slides away like a glacier.

“And this?” he asks.

I take one of the shooters — one with lots of pretty layers — and bring it to my lips. “Come on.”

“Holly, I—”

“What, do you drive?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then what’s your problem?” I tip back the glass, grimacing when it burns the back of my throat. It tastes a bit like strawberries and pennies, but hey — it costs forty-five dollars a pop, so who’m I to complain, right?

Josh picks up a glass — sniffs it, I’m not even fucking with you — and then tosses it back.

“God, that’s awful.”

“Right?”

Well, that’s a first: we agree on something. I pick up the next, already expecting the limp-wristed wave he sends my way. My two beers and the tequila are already making merry in my brain — I giggle at him and sit forward, our knees bumping again. He glances down, lifting his head back up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.

“It’s just a shooter.”

“I have a project to work on tomorrow, Holly.”

I shiver.

I can’t help it — it comes and goes so fast there’s no time to stop it.

He notices, and his eyes crinkle with concern. “Are you getting cold?”

“No.” I put the shooter glass to my lips, but I don’t drink.

I’m not about to tell him that it was him saying my name that did that to me. Fuck, that wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re sure? I can ask them to—” He’s turning away from me, searching the restaurant for our waiter.

But I want his eyes on me. I like the way he looks at me — like I’m a puzzle box he’s trying to open. I tap his knee with mine, my smile widening when he turns back to me, startled.

“Fine, I’ll up the ante.”

I pick up his glass, holding it out to him. He stares at it, but his eyes flash to mine a second later. He doesn’t take it, caution in his eyes.

“What do you—”

“Take this shot with me and I won’t send that pic to my dad.”

His face remains frozen for a moment. And then, ever so slowly, his expression slides into blank shock.

“You wouldn’t,” he breathes.

I cock an eyebrow at him and lift the glass a few inches higher. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Instead, they flicker over my face. I manage to suppress another shiver.

God, maybe I am cold.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice thick. “It was perfectly innocent.”

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