Page 45 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
“Right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’ll be…fun.”
It would be—for me. Because he was stuck, and he knew it.
Though Mom’s holiday party would be a lot more fun if Nick had actually wanted to go with me in the first place.
The reminder sucked a little bit of wind from my victory sails and I cleared my throat, backing away, smile fading. Frozen leaves crunched under my feet. I wasn’t pathetic, was I? No, I was a woman on a mission. A woman with a plan. I lifted my chin. Operation: Naughty List would see me through. I just had to stick with it.
But I needed more. Needed bigger…something more effective than an ugly sweater. My eyes scouted the woods around us, the melting ice and crunchy grass. Surely I’d think of something.
And in the meantime…I looked back at Nick. “Ready to get that tree?”
“I was born ready.” But Nick’s eyes didn’t match his smile anymore.
I was pretty sure mine didn’t either.
The screen door slammed behind Nick as he followed Thomas into the backyard toward the barn. The older man’s flashlight bobbed across the shadowed ground as an icy wind cut through the neck of Nick’s coat. In the distance, a coyote let loose a mournful howl.
“Feel that?” Thomas shot a smile over the shoulder of his bulky Carhartt jacket. “The temp must have dropped fifteen degrees since we left the woods earlier. I wouldn’t be surprised if we wake up to a few more inches of snow.”
“The kids would love that, I’m sure.” Nick kept pace as they made their way toward the rows of stacked firewood. Like everything else around the farm, they were neatly organized and well-tended, protected from the rain by the outbuilding’s overhang.
“Just the kids?” Thomas’s beam of light swept over the barn, highlighting the worn but sturdy red structure. “Are you not a fan?”
“I appreciate snow, but it usually means more work.” Nick laughed. Then he quickly corrected. “Which I’m not afraid of.” The last thing he needed was to make the Sinclairs think he couldn’t handle managing their beloved property.
Thomas didn’t seem to notice his slip. He aimed the light on the wood pile between them, the motion casting angled shadows across his expression. “Holly always loved it growing up. She’d be the first one out each day to make snow angels.”
“Really?” Nick leaned one shoulder against the beam supporting the overhang. It wasn’t hard to picture her sprawled across the ground as a little girl, red hair bright against fresh snow.
“I’m pretty sure she asked Santa for a white Christmas every year.” Thomas rubbed his jaw with his hand. “Guess she hasn’tdone that in a while. She stopped making Christmas lists in middle school, I think.” He shrugged. “Guess she outgrew it.”
There was more to it than that, surely. Kids didn’t just start hating Christmas as teenagers. The bigger question was, why had she suddenly jumped back into the spirit of things with a vengeance?
Nick squinted. Vengeance. The word niggled in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t connect it.
“Anyway, thanks for helping me carry this in.” Thomas tucked the flashlight under one arm as he gestured toward the half cord of wood before them. “Grace loves a cozy living room while trimming the tree.” He shook his head with an indulgent grin. “Almost as much as she loves having her kids home to help her do it.”
“It’s no problem.” Nick moved to gather a bundle from the rack. “You already cut down an entire tree today—it’s the least I can do.” Thomas operated like a man nearly half his age. Even now, the biting wind whistling through the air didn’t seem to be affecting him, short of reddening his whiskered cheeks.
“Well, to be fair, I also wanted an excuse to talk to you privately.” Thomas straightened his shoulders as he met Nick’s gaze.
Nick swallowed, forcing himself to hold the intimidating eye contact. This was surely about Holly and their upcoming date. Was Thomas mad he hadn’t asked permission first or—
“What do you think of the property?” Thomas spread one arm to encompass the sprawling land around them.
Right. The farm. Nick shook his head to regroup. “It’s, uh, honestly, it’s perfect.” He relaxed with a smile. Every day was one step closer now. “The woods are beautiful, and all the outbuildings seem ideal for the goals I have for the youth. There’s even a perfect spot to pour a slab for basketball.”
Thomas held up one finger. “About that…”
“Oh. I mean, I don’t have to.” The words tripped over themselves leaving his lips. “It was just an idea. I thought it’d be a good outlet for the kids’ pent-up aggression and stress. But if you don’t want me to pour concrete I don’t—”
“Follow me.” Thomas waved the flashlight, the beam arcing across the yard as he started around the far side of the barn.
Uh-oh. Nick set down the wood he’d picked up, then hurried after Thomas. His chest burned from the cold, but he didn’t mind. It was the type of cold that came from marching across property that could very well be his in a few short months. More exhilarating than uncomfortable.
Assuming he hadn’t just offended Thomas by wanting to pour concrete on the man’s oasis.
“To get your bearings—our hike for the Christmas tree was on the north ten acres.” Thomas pointed, his light slicing through the shadows where they’d been that afternoon. “Now we’re heading east. I can’t believe Ryan hasn’t shown you this side of the property yet.”
