Page 31 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
She grabs the first T-shirt she can find, one Ivy bought her as a souvenir from her last art retreat—it’s as bright pink asthe interior of a watermelon and says “Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner” on the front, and “Catskills, NY” on the back. She pulls on her one pair of yoga pants that sort of,maybedon’t look like yoga pants. She didn’t bring any makeup, just skin-care products, so she swipes on lip balm and smoothes it over her brows, too. “This is not a date,” she says to the mirror. The woman staring back at her may or may not agree.
She hears abeepfrom her phone and picks it up. It’s her brother, Ted.Checking in, sis. You surviving out there? Have you gone full-on Laura Ingalls, built your own smoker, are you out hunting on the land for protein sources?
Ha ha ha, she texts back.For your information, I managed to bag a hoagie today. Roughing it isn’t that bad.
A pause.You’re okay, though? Sure you don’t want to come back and join us for Christmas? Mom’s pretty agitated about the whole thing.
My Christmas present from you is that you handle Mom this year. I’m staying where I am. And I’m fine. Ivy and I have a big table booked at Alice on NYE. You and Ming can come to that, and I’ll see you then. xx
She’s in the cabin’s little kitchen performing the minimal amount of prep work required to make the dish she’s planning—chopping ginger and garlic, washing and chopping spinach and kale—when she hears Aiden’s truckrumbling up the snowy driveway. As the pace of her heartbeat picks up, Holly tells herself she’s just excited to see another person, that’s all.
“Hello!” Holly opens the door wide and invites Aiden in. He takes off his snow boots and jacket, then holds up a little cloth bag. “I come bearing gifts. ’Tis the season, after all.”
“I’m the one who owesyou. That’s what this dinner is for.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Holly,” he says, his expression suddenly grave.
“Well.” She finds herself caught off guard. She’s used to Matt, she supposes, who always makes a joke of everything, who voices his every fleeting thought, even if it’s inappropriate or rude. She can tell Aiden never does that. “I’m still very grateful.”
“I was happy to help.” He follows her toward the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure what would go with what you were making, so I brought craft beer.” He pulls a six-pack from the bag. “This is from my favorite local brewery.”
“Looks great.”
“But then I also didn’t necessarily peg you for a beer person, so I also grabbed a pinot gris”—he pulls out a bottle—“from a winery in the Finger Lakes, not far from here.”
“This is far too generous of you.” She picks one of the beer bottles out of its cardboard case. “I feel like I have to try a beer called the Kringle Krusher, don’t I?”
He laughs. “Right? They also have an Abominable Winter Ale, but the Krusher is my favorite. And I brought a jar of hot sauce made by my grandma’s friend Nell.” He reaches into his cloth bag again and holds up a jar hand-labeled Nell’s 5-Alarm Sauce. “She also has twelve-alarm,” he says. “But no one in town has ever tried it except Nell’s husband.”
“That’s perfect. I’m making Dr. Ramen, and it always needs hot sauce.”
“I’ve heard of Mr. Noodles, but…”
“It’s a recipe Ivy and I came up with in college. It involves doctoring up Mr. Noodles with…” She uses her fingers to count off the ingredients. “Ginger, garlic, butter, sesame seeds, soy sauce, and a ton of spinach, kale, or whatever greens you have on hand. Hot sauce or chili crisp and a frizzled egg on top. Elevated ramen.”
“That actually sounds pretty good.”
“Well, you’re about to find out.”
Holly pours them each a beer, then takes a sip. She looks down at the label. “I have a soft spot for festive alliteration—I met Ivy at a college keg party called the Columbia-U Christmas Kegger, which is playing fast and loose with the concept of alliteration, I guess.” Briefly, she tells the story of how she and Ivy met—but finds herself leaving Matt out of it altogether. “By the end of the night, we knew we were meant to be. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“I’d love to meet her someday,” Aiden says. “Where did you say she was spending the holidays?”
Holly’s throat goes dry, and she takes another sip of her beer. “Hawaii,” she manages. “Artist’s retreat.”
She slides a small dish of pistachios toward him. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of appetizers to go with our cocktails, sorry. Pistachio?”
Aiden laughs. “Cocktails,” he repeats.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know. We’re in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere drinking beer, but I guess you’re more used to fancy cocktail parties.”
“I wouldn’t say I like them, though. This is much more fun.” She isn’t sure what has happened, but she feels suddenly off-kilter. She hasn’t seen Aiden since high school, but it feels like he knows her well.
“So, tell me more about your life in Krimbo,” she says, hoping to distract from her blushing cheeks, disconcerted by how frequently being near Aiden is making her feel this way. “Your grandparents and parents were out here, your sister followed suit, and you…?”
“I didn’t mean to move here, actually. It just sort of…” He thinks for a moment, but all he says is, “…just sort of happened. I’ve been officially living out here for a year.”
