Page 16 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
“Should we get the elephant out of the room right away?” Nick glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Or yard, rather.”
“Elephant?” I raised my eyebrows. Did he mean my single status? Was he going to just come right out and—
“You know, about strongly disliking…Christmas.”
“Oh!” I laughed. “That.”
“What—is there an entire herd I didn’t know about?” He looked around again with exaggerated fear.
“No herd.” Except the one galloping through my stomach. “I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about…later,” I added as Ryan approached with the hamper of gifts.
“Can’t wait.” Nick smiled, dimple still locked and loaded. “I’ll just grab my bag.”
I nodded, casually. Calmly. Like I wasn’t being stampeded internally. “See you inside.”
I even kept my smile as normal as possible and my weak knees from sinking back onto the steps as Nick jogged toward his truck, his movements lithe and athletic.
Whew. I might hate the holidays, but my brother sure had given me quite the Christmas gift.
Nick’s memory and the old family photo on Ryan’s desk at work—not to mention the social media profile pic he’d stalked on Holly’s private account—didn’t do the woman justice.
As he and Ryan off-loaded their luggage in the foyer, Nick tried to keep his gaze from resting yet again on Holly by instead focusing on the homey atmosphere and aroma enveloping him. He shifted his attention to the beams crossing the tall ceiling, to the updated canned lighting and the narrow windows overlooking the acreage outside. The farmhouse aesthetic was modern with a rustic twist, exactly as he’d expected. Beautiful, really.
Though apparently not enough to distract him from the brightness of Holly’s smile or the good-natured spark in her eyes or the curve of her waist in those jeans…
He quickly turned toward the kitchen. Ryan would kill him if he caught Nick gawking at his sister, even if he was supposed to be her date.
Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“You ready for this, man?” Ryan straightened from setting Lydia’s monogrammed suitcase by the couch.
“Ready for what? You said it would be a low-key Christmas.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest as he returned his friend’s smile. “Freshly fallen snow and sausage balls, remember?”
“Oh, there will be sausage balls.” Ryan laughed. “Though I can’t guarantee the snow, unfortunately.”
“I’d like a refund, then.”
“Nice try. You’re in this now.” Ryan nudged his own suitcase out of the walkway. “Just remember you committed, is all I’m saying.”
A wave of doubt washed over Nick. What did he—
“There you all are!” An elegant woman with wavy, shoulder-length silver hair bustled into the living room, all smiles. She untied a snowflake-printed apron from around her slender waist and draped it over the back of the recliner before holding her arms open to Ryan. “You made it!”
“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Ryan returned her hug, then half-jumped aside as Grace nearly trampled over him to get to Lydia. Holly eased backward, crossing her arms over her middle as the two women embraced.
“Marriage looks lovely on you, my dear.” Grace held Lydia’s rosy-cheeked face in both hands before planting a kiss on her forehead. “So glad you could come.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it.” Lydia beamed as she tossed her blond braid over her shoulder. “I’m hoping you can teach me one of your holiday tradition recipes.”
Nick tilted his head. Did Holly just roll her eyes?
Grace turned her welcoming smile toward him. “And you must be Nick.”
Nick hesitated as he stepped forward into her hug. Grace hadn’t greeted Holly yet. But Holly had been there before them,so they’d probably already talked for an hour. “Yes, ma’am.” The woman smelled like powdered sugar and nutmeg. “Thank you for having me.”
“I’m so glad you accepted Ryan’s invitation.” Grace clasped her hands in front of her chest and drew a deep breath. Her wise, gray-blue eyes sparkled. “Now tell me, do you have any allergies? I should warn you, I cook up a storm during the holidays and this year will be no except—”
“Hey, Mom.” Holly’s voice broke through her mother’s animated pitch.
