Page 47 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Fuck,” he grumbles, shuddering as he takes a step back. “Okay, from now on, we’ll be good.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I could help if you want.”

We walk across the parking lot. He glances at me, the glacial glow of his eyes flitting to my legs like he can’t help himself. I’ve never been uber-proud of my body. I’ve also never been ashamed, either.

When he looks at me, the scales tip toward the proud side. Feeling wanted by my Secret Santa—if it is him—is so addictive.

“How?” he asks when the butterfly doors of his sports car flip open.

“I could start an argument.”

He chuckles. “About what?”

“About your double date.”

His laughter falters. “Don’t give me that crap, Snowflake. What was I supposed to say when he asked? We’ve betrayed him so many damn times. We betray him every second we’re together. Over and over, we’re betraying him. He asked me for a favor. I agreed. That’s all there is to it.”

“Good.”

He turns and stares down at me. “It shouldn’t begoodor anything else.”

He’s the one who wants to meet me in the park tomorrow. The one who wants to make our Secret Santa not so secret.

“We should hit the road,” I say.

“That date means nothing,” he snaps.

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Yeah, yeah …”

Brianna sits beside me in the church before the toy drive starts, wringing her hands. Guilt emanates from her every pore. “I hope this isn’t too much of a bother.”

“He’s happy to do it,” I say.

She looks at me in shock, and I wonder if I should’ve said that. I don’t want to put words in Asher’s mouth. His mouth is useful for other things …

For a Christmas elf, I sure am being bad.

“He said that?” Brianna asks.

“No, but you know Asher. If he doesn’t want to do something, he won’t. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to do it. I know you’ve got … history.”

“History,” Brianna repeats bleakly. “That’s one way to phrase it. I was an awful mother. Poor Asher. There were so many times I let him down. I expect nothing from him now. I hope he knows he doesn’t owe me anything.”

“The past is the past,” I say, laying my hand on hers.

She smiles, squeezing onto me. “Thank you, Holly. You’re a lovely girl. You always have been. My memory is hazy, for obvious reasons, but I always remember your big smile behind your camera.”

“That reminds me.” I reach into my bag. “Do you mind if I get some footage of the toy drive?”

“You’ll have to ask Asher, not me. I’m not sure he’ll want anybody seeing him in the Santa outfit.”

I smile. “I think he might find his Christmas spirit, slowly but surely …”

“If he is, he has you to thank for that.”

I try not to let the compliment fill me with too much pride.

---