Page 1 of Holding Holly

1

JAMES

Damn – that’s a lot of lights. Pretty sure the people on the International Space Station are looking out the window, wondering what the heck is going on down here.

Snow crunches under my boots as I stroll around the parks and main streets of Holly Valley. The air is thick with the holiday spirit. Like, seriously thick. You could probably cut it with a knife. Or scoop it with a spork, like they’re giving out with the chocolate peppermint ice cream samples.

My hometown of Old Hemlock Valley is just as beautiful, but our tourists come in the summer since it’s a much more rugged part of the mountain. Over the past few years, Holly Valley has become overrun with people admiring and photographing the decorations. This year they decided to extend the annual Walk of Lights from one night to a full week.

Because this is, hands down, the most Christmassy town you’ll ever see, from the Holiday Singalong in the park to the Christmas Eve Eve Ball. Yes, that’s what they call it, because they have it a day early so people can see their neighbors on the twenty-third, and their families on the twenty-fourth.

Stepping around two couples taking artsy photos of the lighting displays with their phones, I can’t help but feel restless. I’ve been here many times over the holidays to visit extended family. But I’ve always come alone.

I’m almost glad I’m leaving tomorrow, before the main events start kicking in. Visiting is always nice for a few days, but that’s quite enough. Although… There’s an old wives’ tale that if you dance with your sweetheart at the Christmas Eve Eve Ball, the two of you will end up getting married. And holiday wishes made here at the town treedohave an above average rate of coming true.

Staring up at the top of the enormous tree, I breathe in the rich pine scent and find myself wishing for…ridiculous. I’m just lonely and the holidays have got me sappy.

“James!” My cousin Maggie rushes at me and practically tackles me in a bear hug. “You’ve been here for five days, and I’ve only seen you twice. What the hell?!”

I chuckle. “Oh, you know me. Lots of friends and family to visit.”

She laughingly smacks my shoulder with her red mitten. “More like I know your legendary metabolism. You’ve been dropping by for lunch and dinner all over town, haven’t you?”

My hands go up as I try to fend her off. “Hey now. First off, I’m pretty sure there are rules about beating up a police officer?—”

“Not your town. No jurisdiction here, buddy.”

“Whatever. And if I do happen to drop by when hosts have a wonderful spread laid out, it would be rude not to taste all their holiday wonders and praise their efforts…right?”

Maggie laughs, smacking me again. “Dude. You could eat a small country out of existence.”

“That’s what the gym is for.”

Her eyes roll and she laughs. Then she suddenly grows serious, looking around and stepping closer. “Listen. I have a favor to ask.”

I smile, reaching for my wallet. “How much?” Maggie is twenty-one, has completed one year of art school, and worked a series of odd jobs. In other words, she’s not exactly rolling in it. I always slip her some cash over the holidays.

“No!” She hesitates. “Well…” I hand her a fifty, which instantly disappears into her green vinyl Christmas tree purse. “Thanks. It’s a different favor, though.”

“I’ve already put my wallet away.”

“You’re driving back to Old Hemlock Valley tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She beams. “I have a friend who needs a ride there. She has a house-sitting gig lined up, but the buses are on their weird holiday schedule already. Since you’re going there anyway…”

“She’s a friend of yours. Does that mean she’s…weird? Flaky?” My hand waves over the half dozen sparkly snowflake clips tucked into Maggie’s blonde curls. “In the habit of wearing funny things in her hair?”

“She’s actually pretty quiet,” Maggie says earnestly. “Kind of shy. We only had a few classes together, and she mainly kept to herself, but she’s a hard worker, andreallynice. She could keep you company, and I’d know she had a safe ride.”

My lips purse as I glare dramatically at her, barely holding back a laugh. “You want me to let one of your freaky artsy friends into my precious truck? What if she…” Maggie’s gaze snaps to the left, and I see a young woman walking toward us.

I’m instantly hit with a wave of pressure across the center of my chest. Not like last year’s heartburn from hitting eight Christmas meals in one day. Not the delicious but intense heat of Mrs. Gupta’s amazing vindaloo chicken. This feels like a laser piercing my heart with a beam of pulsing warmth.

My God, she’sbeautiful.

Wide, hazel eyes under thick, dark lashes. Porcelain skin. Medium long, dark chestnut hair, held up in a casual twist with a small black clip. She’s dewy fresh, the mist after a storm. The delicate, pink light of a sunrise stains her cheeks and lips.

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