Page 22 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
“Actually, it was a very poignant moment between two best friends who realized they were meant for more. It’s just one of those special moments that’s hard to articulate.”
Oh, bless Jack. Well, curse him. This was all his fault. Or at least mostly his—I’d stupidly agreed to it.
My family seemed to buy it, judging by the doe-eyed looks from all the women.
I let out a breath of relief.
Jack kissed the side of my head, playing his part to a T.
“I think that’s just precious,” Mom sang.
It was precious, all right. I gripped the knife tighter and eyed the strawberries. The poor things were going to get the brunt of my frustrations.
At this rate, I was going to need pints and pints of strawberries just to survive the holidays.
Chapter Six
“Men pretend to be ‘just a friend’ at first.”
Oliver Markus
Jack
Ithoughtitbestif I rented a car for Ivy and me to give us some alone time on the drive over to the retirement community. She’d gotten a little stabby with the strawberries during breakfast that morning, and she’d consumed enough cookie dough during the cookiepalooza that I was genuinely concerned she would get salmonella.
I reached over, resting my hand on Ivy’s firm, shapely thigh as we stopped at a light in the most picturesquetown I’d ever seen. It was like stepping into a Hallmark Christmas movie—every shop window decked out, even the lampposts dressed for the season. To add to the scene, snow gently drifted down. It was all enough to make me feel a little claustrophobic. But I was willing to go the distance for Ivy and soak in all the holiday cheer.
“Do you hate me yet?” I dared to ask.
Ivy rolled her head my way, her hair swept up in a messy bun that was somehow ridiculously sexy, contemplating her response.
That pause? Not a good sign.
“Definehate,” she finally said.
“Ouch. Well, I, for one, think it’s going great. Your family is totally buying it, and I made Christmas cookies for the first time. This is a win.”
Ivy side-eyed me, thoroughly unconvinced. “I’m happy for you, Jack. While you’re giving your Academy Award–winning performance and making everyone laugh, I’m over here floundering and making my family think I’ve gone insane. And you know what? They might be right. You’ve driven me to the brink, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
She took a breath, but she wasn’t done.
“Did you know my mom almost made me wear the Grinch hat of shame because of my uncheerful attitude during cookiepalooza? But she let me off with a warning because of what some people are saying about me online. Do you know what people are saying about me online, Jack? Do you?”
I took her hand, guiding us carefully through the slick intersection, feeling like a jerk—but savoring every touch.I hadn’t accounted for how all the undue attention would affect Ivy. She was normally so confident and secure about herself, so it hadn’t crossed my mind. Personally, I never paid attention to online garbage, but my PR manager, Tori, kept me updated anyway. She’d even released a statement about Ivy and me:
While Mr. Holiday doesn’t comment on his love life, he’s never been happier.
The statement was accurate; I was never happier than when I was with Ivy.
“I knowsorrydoesn’t cut it, but I promise this will all blow over, and someday, we are going to have a big laugh about it.” At least, I hoped so. My worst fear was that Ivy would end up thinking I was a prick and kick me out of her life. “But in the meantime, let’s just try to have fun with this.”
Maybe if I said that enough, it would happen.
“How?” she whined. “It’s not fun being called aman stealeror constantly being compared to Sienna. And let’s not forget the salacious comments my siblings keep making about the dang squeaky bed.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I mean, come on. They’d think it was weird if the bed wasn’t squeaking.”
Ivy glared. “This isn’t funny.”
