Page 84 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
I nestled against him. “Would you like to talk about it?”
It felt like we should—at some point—have a real conversation about his past.
Jack kissed the top of my head. “We will. Later.” He held up the music box. “Do you think Emma would like this?”
I let him off the hook for now. We were in public, after all, and every eye seemed to track our every move. And how adorable was it that he would pick a pink hand-painted music box for my niece?
But as magical as it felt to be here with Jack, wandering through a piece of my childhood dreams, I couldn’t shake the sensation of being a fish in a bowl. And the looks? They weren’t just curious or swooning over Jack. Sure, a few women were eyeing him with MA-rated daydreams flashing behind their lashes. But most were silently suggesting I finda new tank to swim in.
Translation:Leave your cheating boyfriend.
They probably thought I was a doormat.
They didn’t know the truth. Not yet.
But they would.Hopefully.
All I needed was for Paige’s terrifying tenacity to work its dark magic on Tae Cho—ideally before tomorrow, Christmas Day. Was that too much to ask?
Santa had already gifted me the sexiest man alive—maybe I was being greedy.
And wishing for Sienna to be caught mid-make out with Callan in a ski lodge lobby? Possibly a smidge over the line as far as Christmas wishes went. But still. A girl could dream.
I glanced toward the windows. Some of the paparazzi from outside my parents’ house hadn’t followed us here. I hoped that meant they were off hunting bigger prey.
Like Sienna.
“So, what do you think about the music box?” Jack’s voice tugged me out of my vengeance-fueled reverie.
I blinked a few times, the scene around me coming back into focus. “I think Emma would love it.”
“Great. I’ll pay for it, and then we can hit a few more stores before we head back for the hot chocolate contest.”
It was a Wells family tradition, dating back years, for every person to come up with the best cocoa concoction on Christmas Eve, and then everyone would do a blind taste test, and the winner would be honored by having their cocoa served on Christmas morning. If that wasn’t amazing enough, you also got to wear a sash with frilly gold lettering that saidCocoa Champwith a tiny, embroidered cocoa mug with steam curls rolling off it.
Yes, the sash existed. Yes, my mother had made it herself. Only Jaquelyn Wells could dream up such a thing.
“By the way, I fully intend to win.” Jack’s arrogance was back in full force.
Not that it had ever gone anywhere.
“This I know, Jack Holiday: You are the worst cook ever.” I smirked.
“Yeah, but I played a barista once, and I learned from the best. And do you know what they also sell at coffeehouses? Hot chocolate.”
Dang it. I’d forgotten about that.
But I wasn’t going down without a fight. “Yes, but I’ve been a cocoa aficionado practically since birth.”
Jack shrugged off my bravado. “Bring it, Wells.”
“I’m not going to lie. While totally arrogant, that was a little sexy.”
That earned me a smile and a quick kiss.
“If you think that’s sexy . . . ,” Jack crooned, but didn’t get to finish his thought.
As we walked toward the checkout counter, the door chimed, and Cami Cullen and her husband Noah walked in. Noah was a man like Jack. Almost too good looking to be true. Even in the dead of winter, he waltzed in with a tight tee, no coat, showing off his barbed wire tats.
