Page 54 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ivy
“Youokayoverthere?”Jack asked as we crossed over into Aspen Lake’s city limits. “You’ve been quiet.”
I stared out the passenger window. The falling snow danced in the light from the streetlamps. The sight always made me feel like I was living in a magical snow globe. But right now I felt anything but magical. My period had come early, bringing with it cramps and bloating, andthen there was all the stress brought on by fake dating my famous best friend and watching my life play out online like a slow-burning car wreck. Not to mention being spied on by paparazzi. It kind of put a damper on the holidays.
Even tonight at the shelter, we had been on display. Smiling for cameras as we handed out gifts and worked the soup line in our elf hats and sweaters. I couldn’t wait to see what the world had to say about that. Some would no doubt think we’d scripted out a holiday special and were only doing it for show. Others were probably still worried that Jack was being held against his will by my holiday-crazed family.
Sure, some people would find it charming and praise Jack for giving back. They would say we looked festive and so cute together. It was going to give the regular girls out there way too much hope. But the critics would unfortunately be the loudest voices in my head, especially those questioning why Mr. Holiday was with me and not a leggy lingerie model—or Sienna.
Ugh. I tensed just thinking of her and what she was going to do next. No way had she given up yet.
“I’m fine,” I lied, resting my head on the cool glass.
Jack reached across the console, his fingers finding mine, easily and naturally, like this was normal for us. It was anything but, yet I took the comfort, feeling guilty about how much I liked it—and the kissing.
Oh, the kissing. There’d been plenty of it today in front of my family and at the shelter. Nothing wild—just sweet little pecks here and there.
Okay, except for the moment under the mistletoe Mom hadstrategicallyhung in the kitchen entryway. Jack couldn’t resist the spotlight. And my mom had practically squealed every time we leaned into the act. But that kiss?
It wasn’t cute.
There was nothing adorable about the way Jack’s tongue had skimmed my lips, or the way he’d then proceeded to thoroughly, unapologetically devour my mouth, all while dipping me like I was his leading lady.
It was freaking hot.
And shamelessly, I couldn’t wait to do it again. To feel the heat of his mouth on mine. I felt like such a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater. I was full-blown cheating on our friendship now.
We had crossed almost every line I’d promised myself we wouldn’t. After this was all said and done and we’d “broken up,” I was going to have to go through some detox program where they send regular girls who start fantasizing about their famous best friends . . . and who live out a cozy holiday lie that’s too big to walk back from.
Not to say Jack was my fantasy.
It was much worse.
His fake-boyfriend persona—or maybe this was who he really was outside of Mr. Holiday, it was getting hard to tell—was what I wanted in real life. The kind of man who snuggled with me at night, cheered me on, and protected me from snowballs.
“You’re not fine. What’s wrong?” Jack cut in, slicing through the torrid thoughts I was having about him.
I rolled my head toward him, hoping he didn’t see how badly I wanted him to pull over so we could time how quickly we could fog up the windows. But some creeper photographers would probably catch us. I could only imagine those headlines:Holiday Heartthrob and Humanitarian and Local Nobody Caught in Steamy Elf-on-Elf Scandal.
That thought actually made me giggle.
Jack glanced my way, brow lifted, perplexed by my shifting emotions.
I wish I could blame my hormones.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked.
No way was I explaining that imaginary headline. “Jack, don’t you think this is all getting ridiculous?”
He let go of my hand, gripped the steering wheel, and stretched his neck from side to side. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that someone at the shelter asked me if I was your personal elf and if you were naughty or nice?”
Jack chuckled before throwing me an all too pleased with himself grin. “I wouldn’t mind a personal elf. But the question is, do you think I’m naughty or nice?”
“Are we grading on a curve?” I teased.
