Page 22 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“Oh…I guess I slept so late it went out.”
“You might want to use the main fireplace and then add the pellets after for long-term burning when the weather is like this. I should have mentioned that last night.”
“I’ve got it. Just a sec.” Holly clumsily works at relighting the fire, determined to prove she is still the capable, high-achieving girl he met in high school.
“A little kindling and some crumpled newspapers will probably help,” he finally ventures.
“Kindling. Right.” There’s a box beside the stove filled with twigs. She reaches for a handful of it and throws them into the woodstove’s maw. There’s another little box filled with newspapers, so she starts crumpling up sheets and stuffing them in.
“That should be enough,” Aiden says eventually. She holds the lighter to the pile until some of the newspaper catches, then the kindling. Moments later, the woodstove is ablaze, and she lets out a little cheer.
“Second time I’ve ever done that,” she says—and sees him frown. “Aiden, I have to admit something to you. I have never stayed in an off-grid cabin or lit a fire in my life.”
He smiles now, still looking bemused. “So I was gathering. I love seeing someone so happy to get a fire going, though.”
“A true accomplishment for me. If we were still in high school, I probably would have tried to turn hybrid stove lighting into some kind of competition. You were very kind yesterday, but I was a little…intense as a teenager.”
He’s looking at her closely. “I didn’t see you that way,” he finally says. “However,” he continues, “the Holly Beech I knew in high school didn’t really seem like the roughing-it type.”
“And she still isn’t. But I won’t be a burden to you while I’m here. I promise. Now that I’ve figured out how to light a fire, I’m pretty much set. I don’t really plan to do much for the next couple of weeks except…”Wallow. Attempt to cry.“Not much.”
Now he tilts his head, quizzical. “But it’s the holidays.”
“I know it seems unorthodox to be spending the holidays alone, but I…”I was supposed to get married a few days ago, and be spending my honeymoon in Hawaii right now. Except the night before our wedding, my fiancé dumped me for another woman named Abby, and if I can stop myself from googling her today, I’m going to reward myself with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Netflix & Chill’d.“…am a Grinch,” she concludes. This is not exactly true, but she can’t confide in him about her sorry situation. “Christmas is justmeh. I’m fine being on my own.”
“Does a person who thinks Christmas is justmehdress her cat up as Buddy the Elf and herself as Jovie?”
Her cheeks blaze. She’d almost forgotten about the embarassing pajamas. “I wasnine,” she says.
Aiden takes a step back so he can look at all the pictures, while Holly wishes she could slide through one ofthe tiny gaps in the wooden floorboards. “Is that Mr. Snuggles?”
“How did you know that was his name?”
“I’m pretty sure everyone at our school knew your cat’s name. Your junior-year science fair project?”
“Right.” For the project, Holly had created a series of multicolored buttons on an electrically powered mat; each one played the sound of Holly’s voice naming a different emotion, need, or desire when Mr. Snuggles pressed it. After months of training, she was quite confident she had successfully tapped into her cat’s deepest thoughts and emotions. In front of the entire school, in the auditorium, Mr. Snuggles had hit the buttons for “I’m bored” and “I’m hungry” before sounding the “I’m getting angry” button ten times in a row, then hissing at the principal. Still, despite the drama, she’d won the gold medal for what the science fair judges called “potentially pioneering research into the inner lives of animals.”
“Sadly, he died a few years ago—but Mr. Snuggles lives on in these pajamas, which were a gift.”
As Aiden’s eyes roam up and down her pajamas, Holly feels her cheeks flush deeper and her heart rate accelerates. Is she ever going to get used to the fact that Aiden Coleman had a serious glow-up? To cover her nervousness, she keeps talking. “When Mr. Snuggles died—he was eighteen—Ivy and I took a road trip to spread his ashes on Cape Codbecause I thought he would be happiest living out his eternal life with access to so much fresh fish. That’s my best friend—the one who originally rented this place from you.”
He looks up. “Right. Speaking of which, let me just have you sign this new contract and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“You’re not in my hair!” Self-consciously, she raises a hand to her messy bun. “I mean,somethingmight be in there, a bird’s nest, maybe. But you can come by anytime.” She fans her hot face as subtly as possible while he fishes a pen out of the pocket of a soft-looking flannel under his jacket, then hands her the contract.
Holly walks over to the breakfast bar and places it down to read it quickly—the lawyer in her won’t let her sign anything without reading it first, even those incredibly long privacy updates for cell phones and social media accounts. Eventually, she signs on the dotted line. “There we go,” she says, handing the contract back to him. “All sorted. Again, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you it was going to be me here and not Ivy.”
“It’s no trouble, really. It’s been nice to see you again after all these years.”
“It has been.” As he starts toward the door, she calls out. “Wait—you said last night there’s a grocery store in Krimbo, right? Is it open on Sunday?”
He frowns. “There’s a grocery store in town, but it snowed all night and is still snowing now.”
She gazes out the window. “You’re right. It’s so pretty out there.”
He shakes his head. “I noticed you don’t have winter tires on your car. I don’t think driving in this weather is the best idea.”
“I really need groceries,” Holly says. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”
