Page 20 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Thank you, Holly,” Brianna says. “When Asher told me you were coming, he said you were very bubbly and vivacious. I can see he was right.”

I bite my lip, looking at Asher. Did he say that? He shrugs.Well, it’s true. That’s the message I get from his gesture, almost like he’s texted it right into my soul.

There I go again, thinking silly thoughts.

“Who wants some cocoa?” Brianna asks cheerfully.

“You can never have too much cocoa,” I say.

She leads us into a well-kept kitchen. I laugh in delight when I see the photo that dominates the room, a large print of Asher in his late teens. He’s sitting on the muscle car he bought just before he moved away to make his fortune out west. His eyes stare broodily at the camera.

“Wow, look at you, Asher.”

“I look like a little punk,” he mutters.

“I think you look cute as a button,” Brianna says. “You could be on a magazine cover. You should hear what the ladies from my bingo group said when I invited them for tea!”

“I bet they wereall overyou, Asher,” I say, caught up in the moment.

Asher stares at me like he’s angry, interested, maybe curious, or thinking about me being all over him instead. I made a jokeabout my cocoa being spiked, but I’m wondering if it actually was.

We sit at a small table overlooking the quaint backyard.

“I’ve saved the tree until last,” Brianna mutters, glancing at her son. Asher stares out the window. He seems fixated on a small bush outside, the branches threadbare due to the weather. “I wanted to do it as a family.”

“I hope you don’t mind me intruding,” I say, smiling.

Brianna hesitates, replying to me but still looking at her son. “No … of course not.” She turns and looks at the small bush as well. “The yard could use some work.”

“I think it looks lovely, Brianna,” I say, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

Brianna stares at the brush. It’s like they’re both fixated on it. I don’t understand what’s going on, but something definitely is. There’s a suddenly uncomfortable energy in the air.

“Have you already bought the ornaments and the other decorations for the tree?” I ask.

“Yeah, they’re in the living room.”

“Isn’t that good, Asher?” I say. “Everything’s ready for us.”

When he doesn’t reply, I touch his arm lightly. It’s a last-ditch option. He looks as if he’s lost in a trance.

He flinches and looks down at my hand. A look of gratitude crosses his features instead of anger at my touch, almost like he wants his Snowflake tokeeptouching him and do it in various circumstances with added meaning. Okay, that train of though got out of hand quickly.

“What?” he mutters.

“Your mom’s very well prepared. After our cocoa, we can start decorating the tree.”

He stands up. “I-I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t do this.”

He suddenly rushes for the door without a look back.

“It’s fine,” Brianna murmurs, but she’s got tears in her eyes as she stares down into her cocoa. “I don’t deserve it.”

She cuts a sad figure as she sits there, consumed with sadness.

“Let me talk to him.”

“It’s true. He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s already given so much.”

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