Page 77 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
I bit my lip. “You’re going to make me own this, aren’t you?” I longed for it and feared it.
“That was the plan. Well, honestly, I was going to leave.”
“You were? Why?” Panic surged through me. I didn’t want him to leave. Which should have told me everything I needed to know.
He tugged on a frosted piece of my hair. “I thought you would want me to after completely obliterating your holidays.”
“You’re not the only one who lied. But you did let Sienna kiss you,” I faux grumbled.
“I detested every second of it.”
“Just out of curiosity, how many seconds was it?”
Jack grinned. “Three seconds tops.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You counted?”
“Ivy, it meant nothing. You believe that,right?”
“I do,” I whispered.
Jack was arrogant and maddening at times, but he wasn’t a liar. Well, you know, unless we were in on it together.
“I’m glad, because I want to give you your Christmas gift.”
“But it’s not Christmas yet. And I probably won’t be able to use the gift card until we get home,” I teased him.
“It’s not a gift card.”
Intriguing.“Don’t you want to wait until Christmas morning?”
“No. I want you to understand how I feel about you right now.”
“Oh,” I squeaked.
“Don’t worry; it should be mostly painless.” He kissed my forehead.
“Jack, I’m just afraid.”
Honestly, that was what this really boiled down to. Okay, and maybe my pride. Jack being right was going to inflate his already big head. His freaking gorgeous big head.
“I know. Guess what? So am I. I don’t want to lose you. So, just promise me you’re going to keep an open mind as I take you on a trip down memory lane.”
I let out a deep breath. “Okay, I promise.”
I owed him at least that. He was, after all, wearing a Grinch hat of shame. And I was super curious about his non–gift card gift. This was so unlike him.
I sat up and ran my fingers through my sticky, tangled hair. I could only imagine how frightful I looked.
Jack sat up too and pulled out from under the bed a . . . well . . . an attempt at a wrapped gift.
“Did you wrap that yourself?”
Jack flashed me a wry grin. “I purposely wrapped it like this. It’s called artisanal wrapping. It’s practically couture.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was thinking more toddler chic.”
Jack scooted over next to me until we both sat against the wall for support. He handed me the wrapped box.
