Page 18 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
I moved toward my bulging duffel that sat in the middle of the bed, the duvet now a light gray instead of the neon floral print I’d grown up with. I’d shared this room with Olivia for several years, until she moved to college. Then it became solely mine, much to Kat and Chloe’s dismay.
The stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars had long been removed from the ceiling, and while most of the oak furniture remained, the walls now boasted a light cream instead of lavender. Momhad never let me paint them black during my angsty stage—a good move on her part.
I unzipped my bag and braced for an explosion of underwear. But the crammed contents only seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. I dumped my socks into the top dresser drawer, then paused to run my finger over the initials I’d cut into the wood when I was eleven years old:
HS + ZE
I chuckled. Zac Efron never knew the depth of my preteen crush, and neither did Chad Michael Murray, whose initials were carved somewhere on a tree at the back of our property. Dad had caught me out there with his pocketknife and gently explained that Chad was too old for me. That I didn’t need to worry, that one day I’d meet the right guy and everything would line up the way it should. Then he traded me the knife for a cookie.
When I allowed them to surface, there were a lot of good memories on this farm.
I unpacked the rest of my clothes, folding sweaters and tucking my bras around my socks. Dad had been acting weird, too—sort of stilted—ever since I told him about Nick being my date. Was he still in protective mode? Not that I planned on carving HS+NK into a piece of furniture anytime soon, but I had to admit, this Christmas was lookingwayup.
Voices sounded from outside. I moved to the window, peering out as Ryan and Nick headed toward the barn. He was probably giving Nick the grand tour while Lydia regaled Mom with stories of her adorable fourth graders.
I lifted the window all the way up and breathed in the fresh air streaming through the screen, appreciating the view below me.
And I didn’t mean the winter landscape.
Nick hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans as he ambled slowly, head down, across the sun-streaked backyard. He was a good inch or two taller than my brother, and he’d shed his jacket. His hunter-green Henley pulled nicely across his broad back.
Good heavens, but that man could melt snowdrifts. I leaned over, resting my elbows on the ledge as I watched. Why didn’t I remember him looking that good last year? Of course, I’d been in Ryan’s office, and in a hurry to get to lunch. Maybe Nick’s physique simply didn’t demand the same measure of attention in work clothes.
Somehow, I doubted that was true.
Ryan’s voice carried loud and clear to my window, despite the low tone. “Remember, man, not a word. Holly cannotfind out that you aren’t really here to be her date.”
I froze.
Nick’s response was muffled. I leaned closer, pressing my cheek and ear against the screen, to no avail. What did they mean?
Ryan stopped, turning to face Nick. “I know, but if she finds out you’re just doing me a favor, she’ll kill me. It won’t be a white Christmas—it’ll be mylastChristmas.”
Ice pricked my veins in warning. Nick was doing Ryan a favor?
Wait.
WasIthe favor?
Every rom-com I’d ever watched as a teenager about fake dates and losing bets flitted through my brain. I’d always laughed at them, found them cringy and ridiculous.
But this wasn’t television. And it wasn’t funny. My heart stuttered.
Pieces of Nick’s response drifted to my room: “…won’t tell her anything. Besides, I don’t mind…”
Don’t mind.I pressed my fingers between my eyes. That was a far cry from the “he’s totally into it” language Ryan had used.
I backed away, shutting the window with a soft thump. What an idiot. I should have known better. Ryan had caught me last-minute and distracted while shopping—probably on purpose—otherwise I’d surely have realized that Nick’s sudden interest in me, an entire year later, seemed a little out of reach.
I mean, look at the guy. He obviously wasn’t struggling to get a date.
Me, however?
I turned away from the window as my stomach rolled. Apparently, it was just as obvious that I needed help getting one.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
“Et tu,Ryan?” I whispered as my heart slid into my knock-off UGGs. Growing up, we’d always been a team, ganging up to prank Kat and Chloe, and dodging Olivia’s tattletale nature to get away with stuff. Now that Ryan was married, in his eyes I was apparently just someone single to be pitied. How dare he?
