Page 74 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
I sang louder, turning to face him. He didn’t even need a mic. We belted out the lines in each other’s faces with exaggerated fervor as Mom and Dad clapped along. Axel, clearly recovered from the shocking truth of Taylor beating Mariah, shouted something encouraging, but I couldn’t tell what over my pounding heart.
We slid into the next verse, Nick performing backup. His hair flopped over his forehead and he shook it back, using the remote control now as his own mic. “I won’t even wish for snow…”
I shook my hips to the beat—Taylor would have beenproud—and tried not to revel in the way Nick’s eyes laughed at me even as he continued singing in perfect pitch. Chloe whistled through her fingers. Oddly enough, I forgot to even look at Ryan until halfway through the song. But his neutral expression gave nothing away. He didn’t seem any more annoyed than he did anytime one of his sisters forced him to listen to them sing.
Way too soon, and not nearly soon enough, we reached the last chorus. I went hardcore for the high note, which made Olivia clamp her hands over her ears and Axel tilt his head back and howl. Dad shook his head while Mom grinned. Lydia clapped politely.
Near the end now, Nick and I slowed our erratic dancing to a somber sway. We sang the last several stanzas, dramatically facing each other like an off-Broadway duet as the closing lines ran across the screen.
And that was when the full impact of the lyrics hit me like a bag of coal.
Nick sang directly at me, eyes full of hot chocolate and spice and everything I suddenly didn’t hate so much about the holidays. He was a good actor. “All I want for Christmas is you…”
The microphone shook in my hand and it was all I could do to maintain eye contact with him. To smile and keep the show—keep thegame—going as a realization became painfully clear.
I wanted this to be real.
Once the original energizing motivation of revenge for both operations stopped fueling me, I was left with one bottom-line truth. One that Mariah Carey apparently knew, if no one else in the room did.
All I wanted for Christmas was Nick Kinsley.
Four Days Before Christmas
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Nick finished cutting out the star he’d drawn on a scrap of yellow felt and held it up to Holly. “It’s crooked.”
“That makes it even better. Ugly sweater, remember?” Holly dotted the back of a red pom-pom with glue. “We’re going to win.”
“I kind of feel like I’ve already lost.” But complaining felt more like a habit at this point. Because sitting across from Holly at the kitchen table, surrounded by glitter glue and arts and crafts materials while yet more cookies baked in the oven, wasn’t all that bad.
Ironically, neither was karaoke the other night. Nick frowned as he reached for another piece of felt. Though the most ironic part about hating Christmas tunes was when one realized they were falling for someone while singing society’s most annoying Christmas hit.
Theoretically, of course.
He glanced at Holly. At the smattering of freckles she hadn’t bothered to cover with makeup, at the fact that her hair seemedto have a mind of its own, and at the way her green eyes narrowed in concentration as she cut out a—Was that acat? He fought to cover his smile. There was something appealing about a woman who could embarrass herself so shamelessly in front of her family and a near stranger who’d already humiliated her once.
But they weren’t near strangers anymore, were they?
He forced his eyes back to his project. “Pass the sprinkles.”
“It’s called glitter.” Holly handed him the container. “We’re not baking cookies.”
“Speaking of, are they done yet?” Nick’s stomach growled as he craned his neck toward the oven, as if he could see inside from this far away. Maybe he had issues with the holidays, but he sure didn’t mind the food at the Sinclair farm. “Do you think she put chocolate chips in them again?”
“The kids helped her, so you can guarantee there’s as much sugar crammed into that dough as possible.” Holly pulled another pom-pom from the package, then paused to cover a yawn with the back of her hand.
Nick fought one of his own. Last night the family had stayed up late playing charades after eating dinner at a local burger joint and then caravanning around Point Bluff to look at Christmas lights. “The block party is tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. That’s why Mom has been baking extra today.” Holly frowned at her sweater. “I’m hoping the glue holds out long enough to get through the contest.”
“Like I said, I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Nick rubbed one hand down his cheek and then winced as he remembered the glitter. That’d be fun to coax out of his beard later. “I thought once Operation: Naughty List ended I’d be off the hook for ugly sweaters.”
“New operation, new plan.” Holly sprinkled more glitter onto her heap of already-sparkly glue without breaking eyecontact. “We can’t let Lydia and Ryan beat us at a couple’s contest. How would that look?”
Normal, probably. Nick picked up the fabric tape. This was important to Holly, so he’d play along.
Even though he fully planned to set his sweater on fire when the party was over.
“So why the permanent Christmas grumpies?” Holly uncapped a Sharpie. “I never heard your story.”
