Page 21 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“The worst,” Ivy agrees. “Matt, my friend’s ex, is a frat guy.”
“Of course he is.”
Oliver laughs and looks affecionately down at Larry, who leans her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lar, I plan to mess with him as much as possible.”
“I hope so, Ollie.”
All at once, Ivy can’t stifle a yawn. “We’re intruding and keeping you up!” Larry says. “We should leave you to get settled. Before you know it, the roosters will be crowing and waking you up.”
“Roosters?”
“Out on the beach. You get used to them,” Larry says.
“Not a bad alarm clock, honestly,” Oliver adds. “I like to get out on the ocean as early as I can, though, so I count on those roosters to get me out of bed. Okay, so the key is on the table…”
“And we’re just downstairs,” Larry finishes. “If you ever need anything, one or both of us are here for you. The bar I own is in Hanalei, a fifteen-minute walk. Come by for a drink tomorrow evening? It’s called the Black Pearl.”
“Okay, I will. And this place really is great. You two are the nicest.”
“I’d make a reference to it being the season of giving andall, but apparently that’s a sore spot for you.” Oliver shoots her a final lopsided, one-dimple grin and runs a hand through his already tousled dark-blond hair, making it even messier—until Larry reaches up and smoothes it for him.
“See you tomorrow, Ivy. Sweet dreams,” she says on their way out the door.
Then they’re both gone, and Ivy stands still for a moment, letting it all sink in. She doesn’t have to leave Hawaii. She has a place to stay—a great place. Hot Bartender Oliver has an equally hot girlfriend—and that’s not a bad thing, either. She’d have to be dead inside not to be attracted to him, and she can’t spare the time or emotional energy for that.
After a fast, restorative shower, Ivy wraps herself in the fluffy white towels she finds in the bathroom and climbs into a bed with sheets that smell like they were dried on a line beside a hibiscus bush. She pulls out her phone and reads over her text exchange with Holly from earlier. When her friend had asked what the hotel was like, Ivy froze. How was she supposed to answer without lying to her best friend? She had finally typed a simpleIt’s great, but knew that only told half the story. Holly doesn’t even know she’s not staying at the hotel now, and how is Ivy supposed to tell her that without also telling her friend the truth about Matt—which is sure to crush Holly even more?
Ivy flops back against her pillow and groans, letting her phone drop to the floor. How could Matt do this to Holly—and, in turn, toher? Because this is the worst feeling. Ivyhas never lied to Holly; it was a promise they made to each other the first night they met, at the Christmas keg party almost a decade ago. And now she’s breaking that promise against her will—and it’s sure to get worse as the two weeks go on.
“Damn you, Matt.” Ivy flops back and forth on the bed, struggling to calm herself, to settle into the assured embrace of the mattress. In the moonlight now flowing through the window, the cluster of ocean photographs on the wall across from the bed are gently illuminated. She finds that looking at them calms her, helps her to become more aware of her surroundings. The frenetic pace of her heart slows.
She can hear the sound of the ocean waves outside her window, smell the salty tang in the gentle breeze. There’s the low rumble of a voice downstairs—Oliver’s—and then the soft sound of laughter—Larry’s—in answer.
This is a good place, Ivy tells herself.I can’t fix the Holly-and-Matt situation right now, so I might as well try to enjoy it as much as I can.
6
Holly
December 19
Hudson Valley, New York
Holly is dreaming that a woodpecker is tapping on her frozen heart, attempting to crack it open.Tap, tap, tap.Her heart is a block of ice.Tappity, tap, tap.“It’s no use,” she says to the woodpecker. “Just give up. It’s too frozen.” Still, the tapping continues until eventually Holly realizes it’s not a dream—the knocking noise is real. What’s also real is the freezing cold. She’s under a pile of duvets, and she still can’t feel her toes.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Holly! Are you in there? Everything okay?”
Oh,crap. Holly hops out of bed and sees from her vantage point in the sleeping loft that Aiden is standing on thesnow-covered front deck, in the morning sunlight filtering through the evergreens. She checks her watch: 9:15. She overslept, and now Aiden is here with the new rental contract.
“Sorry!” she calls out, hopping on one foot, then the other, as she pulls on her socks. “Be right there!” She finds a scrunchie and pulls her hair into what she hopes is an artfully messy bun, but has a feeling is just chaotic-looking, then climbs down the ladder.
It’s only when she’s nearly at the door that she remembers which pajamas she pulled on in the darkness the night before: A gift from Ivy for Holly’s most recent birthday, they’re printed with photos of a young Holly in various poses with her childhood cat. There’s eight-year-old Holly and Mr. Snuggles dressed as twin pumpkins for Halloween. Holly grinning with braces, holding Mr. Snuggles over her head like he’s Simba fromThe Lion King. Holly and Mr. Snuggles during their “adventure cat” phase, taking backpacked walks along the Brooklyn Bridge or at Coney Island.
“Good morning!” she says brightly, hoping to draw attention away from the pajamas. Luckily, the temperature inside does that instead.
“It’s just as cold in here as it is outside,” Aiden says as he steps through the door. “What happened with the woodstove?”
