Page 19 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Who said anything was wrong?”

“You didn’t have to say,” he mutters as we leave the city and enter residential streets. “You’re seething.”

“I’m notseething.”

“You are,” he says. “But if you want to deny it, that’s fine with me.”

I roll my eyes. “I just don’t think you need to be so hard on yourself for experiencing, you know,emotionsall the time, Asher. You had a tough childhood. Your dad left. Your mom hadissues. It makes sense that you’d feel anxious and scared. It’s natural that you’dfeel.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he mutters.

“Jerk.”

I stare out the window and fold my arms. We’re quiet for a few minutes, but then he sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Holly.”

I turn to him with a wicked smile. “Asher, can you pull over? I think somebody spiked my cocoa. I’m hallucinating.”

He smirks. “Jerk.”

“Touché.”

His smile falters. “It’s this song … Mom played it one year when she said she would get clean. She ran around the house, clearing out the booze and her other crap. I believed her. It made me a little obsessed with the song. I started playing it all the time. On Christmas Eve of that year, Mom was out. I knew where and what she was doing, but I tried to lie to myself. I was listening to that song when she stumbled up the driveway with a man I’d never seen before.”

“I’m so sorry, Asher.”

“I used the song to drown out what they did in the next room. Mom was screwing him for her fix.”

“Asher …”

“I know,” he grunts, stopping outside her house. “This isn’t very ‘happy holidays’ of me, is it? It isn’t very ‘this is the most wonderful time of the year’ of me either. It isn’t very Hallmark or what you’d expect during a fun trip to decorate a Christmas tree. If I laugh away my feelings and pretend I don’t have any, it’sa survival mechanism, Snowflake. Now, I’m going to fake it until I make it.”

He quickly climbs from the car. I stare after him as my mind whirs. I need to chill.

Fake it until you make it.That’s a common phrase. It doesn’t mean that my Secret Santa is Asher. If there’s such a thing as Christmas spirits, maybe they’re having fun with me.

I follow Asher up the path. He slams his hand against the door, knocking hard.

“Asher,” I whisper.

He glares at me. “What?”

“Just try to relax.”

He lets out a breath, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re right.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, Snowflake.”

It’s an innocent nickname, no big deal, no reason to lose my mind. The door opens, and Brianna Mitchell greets us with a smile. She’s got a fuller figure than I remember, which is natural. She’s wearing an apron with little snowmen on it.

“Welcome, welcome,” she says, ushering us into the house. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Asher stuffs his hands in his pockets. It’s like he’s in physical pain. It’s horrible to witness. It hurts.

“It’s no problem,” he mutters.

“Thank you so much for inviting me into your home.” I plaster a big smile on my face, gesturing to the decorations. “It’s so warm and inviting in here.”

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