Page 6 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
Oh. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I lay back on my bed, dazed by his sincerity and sweetness. Best. Friend. Ever. How was I supposed to say no to that?
“Okay, you can come. Are you sure you really want to do this? I don’t want you to be miserable for the next two weeks.”
“I won’t be. And yes, I’m sure. I booked us two first-class seats for tomorrow night.”
“Wow.Presumptuous much? And I already bought a ticket.”
“I wasn’t worried about you saying no. And this seat is better. You’re welcome.”
“Still chugging that arrogance juice, I see.”
He laughed. “Every day for breakfast.”
I sat up and rolled my eyes. “Listen, buddy, if you’re going home with me for the holidays, you’re going to have to keep your god complex to a minimum. This is my hometown, not your kingdom, Jack.”
“You mean your hometown where the rich and famous go to play? That hometown?”
I scrunched my face. “Yes, that hometown,” I said, annoyed.
Aspen Lake might be a playground for the rich and famous, but to me, it was just home—the place I grew up, the place that always felt like my haven.
There was a reason I had never taken Jack home with me. Aspen Lake was where I could go and just be me—not Mr. Holiday’s best friend. Don’t get me wrong—I loved being his friend. But sometimes, it was a lot.
Especially when I felt completely out of place in his world—full of glitz, glamor, and impossibly polished people. Honestly, sometimes I felt like a plain Jane among his dazzling Hollywood crowd.
“It’s hard to keep my crown hidden, but for you, I’ll try.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder how your neck supports your enormous head. Please remind me why we’re still friends?”
He chuckled. “According to my trainer, my neck is freakishly strong. And we’re friends because you adore me and I know how to make you laugh and smile—even when you pretend I don’t.”
He got me there. I did adore him. It took some time to get there after our initial meeting, but he’d won me over to the dark side. Or, well . . . his side.
“Jack, just promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Just promise me you won’t pretend to love Christmas for my sake. It’s too special for that.”
He stayed quiet for a few beats, and I half expected him to take it all back.
“I’ll do my best—but honestly, isn’t it a little chivalrous that I’d be willing to fake it for you?”
“I don’t think that’s the definition of chivalry,” I said, laughing. “Maybe Santa should put a dictionary in your stocking.”
“I already asked him for something else.”
“You did? What?”
“I can’t tell you, or he won’t bring it.”
“Pretty sure you’re confusing that with birthday wishes.Thosehave to stay secret.”
“If he brings it, I’ll tell you.”
“What happened to you in Europe?” His sudden obsession with Christmas and Santa was downright unnerving.
“I’ve just had a lot of time to think, that’s all. I want to make some changes.”
