Page 41 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
Nick picked up the next ornament in the tub, a coloring page image of the manger scene glued onto a felt green circle. He flipped it over and read the black Sharpie written on the back. “Olivia, second grade.”
“See? You’ll find about twelve of hers if you keep digging.” Holly rocked back, drawing her knees to her chest. Her gaze landed on Lydia and her mom still exclaiming over the star. “Probably more.” Her quiet voice wasn’t bitter so much as resigned.
Nick set the manger scene ornament in the box. Maybe this was it—his chance at real conversation with her before she flipped back into Cindy Lou Who mode. “I don’t think my mom saved any of the stuff I made over the years.”
“No?” Holly raised a brow.
“No.” He eased into a sitting position next to her. “I’m pretty sure she threw away all the projects I brought home from school.”He turned over a felt snowman with a missing nose.Olivia, 3rdgrade.“Our trees were always professionally decorated with a color theme. I tried to help once when I was five or six, and well—that went poorly.”
Wow. He hadn’t thought of that memory in a decade or more.
He set the snowman down, his chest tight. Images of white fluffy trees and glitter-dusted silver paint flitted through his mind. Powder-blue icicles hanging next to golden beads. Red bowls filled with jeweled apples. Ivory candlesticks in brass holders. The theme might have changed over the years, but the marketing focus never did.
Christmas wasn’t about family or a baby in a manger. It was about sales and popularity and numbers. The bottom line.
Holly’s voice was even quieter when she spoke next. “Getting dismissed—even unintentionally—is kind of the worst, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.” Nick turned to look at her. Their gazes collided.
And another one of those knots loosened.
Her steady stare burned into him, like she reallysawhim. Which was terrifying—and not because she looked like a wizened old elf with those ridiculous ears. He really should stop sharing about his childhood.
But it was like she’d started a snowball rolling that he was helpless to stop.
“We never had manger scenes anywhere.” He broke eye contact to point at Olivia’s homemade creation in the box. “I guess it’s harder to make a profit when you point out the real reason for the season.”
Then a new thought pricked. Wasn’t he guilty of the same? He didn’t exactly focus on the manger when eating his annual Christmas Eve ramen.
He drew a deep breath. Enough about him—he’d started this conversation to help Holly. “You know…whatever it is you’re thinking about Lydia and your mom is probably—”
“Yo, we need more hooks out there.” Axel burst into the kitchen, thankfully sans shirt ornaments.
Holly jerked forward, then blinked. She shook her head a little, andboom—there was the fake smile again. “Goodness, we’ve wasted so much time! These aren’t going to hang themselves.” She hauled herself to her feet and adjusted her ears.
And just like that, the spell was broken. Nick lumbered to his feet. It’d been nice while it lasted.
Axel found the hooks on the counter and saluted Grace with the box. “I must say, your daughter really knows how to decorate a tree, ma’am. She’s pretty rad.”
“Which one?” Grace laughed as she handed the topper to Lydia. “Certainly not my Chloe, though she always tried her best. Never could seem to fill in the gaps evenly.”
“Oh yeah, totally. I meant Olivia.” Axel tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Chloe’s got other skills.” He pressed his free hand to his heart and went exaggeratedly limp in the knees.
Ryan’s face purpled and he lurched forward. Lydia grabbed his arm as Kat maneuvered smoothly between them.
Grace’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m, ah, I’m glad you think Olivia is doing a nice job with the tree, dear.”
Holly turned toward the decoration box again, a noise emitting from her throat that sounded 50 percent like a laugh and 50 percent like a goat drowning.
“I’m reaching all the tall spots for her, don’t worry.” Axel drew himself up to his full height, despite the fact he wasmaybean inch taller than Olivia.
“I’m sure you’re doing great.” Grace directed him toward the door, patting his back. “Let’s go check on it, shall we?”
She scooted him out of the room just as Ryan wiggled free of Lydia’s grasp. “That’s it. Surfer Boy has to go.”
“Oh, come on. Of course they kiss, Ryan.” Kat squared off in front of him, blocking his escape to the porch. “Calm down.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to flaunt it.” Ryan growled as he shoved up his sweater sleeves. “That’s my little sister.”
