Page 67 of A Very Merry Enemy
Sammy does the same while the fire crackles. The bottles are leaving rings of condensation on my coffee table.
I lick my lips, replaying every conversation Holiday and I have had. “The first night we baked, she told me I reminded her of him.”
Sammy’s head snaps toward me. “What?”
“We fought, and I said some shit I shouldn’t have. She told me the way I was acting reminded her of her ex.” The memory carries a late punch. “How he made her feel like she was never good enough.”
Sammy shakes his head. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I left.” I stare at my beer. “Been trying not to be that guy ever since.”
“You’re not that guy.”
“How do you know? What if I am? What if I can’t do any better than him?”
“You’re sitting here, gutted that you hurt her. Dominic never gave a shit about her.” Sammy’s voice softens. “You loved her. You never stopped. You were broken. It’s different.”
I don’t confirm or deny it. Don’t need to. He already knows.
“When Dominic shows up next week, you look him in the eye and show him exactly who Holiday Patterson should be with. And if you break her heart, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Thanks, bestie,” I say, chugging my beer. “I’d deserve it.”
“You two are both stubborn and honestly deserve oneanother.” Sammy heads for the door. “Now win this shit. Please. Not for the money. Not for the trophy. But because fuck Dominic Laurent.”
I follow him to the door.
He stops on the porch, turns back. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know she still has those glow-in-the-dark stars you put up in her room when we were sixteen? She never took them down.” He gives me a small smile and leaves.
I stand in the doorway, watching his taillights disappear down my driveway.
The cold air bites at my skin, but I don’t move.
Holiday still has those stars. She always hated sleeping in the dark alone, something she never grew out of. Sometimes, when she’d text me that she couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak in through her window and hold her until she drifted off to dreamland. We wished upon the stars together, and then I put them up there so her eyes could focus on something else instead of the darkness.
Countless nights, we’d lie under the neon green stars and make wishes about her dreams of owning a bakery, me expanding the farm, and us being together.
Knowing she’s still sleeping under them does something to me.
I go back inside and sit on the couch. I grab another beer, crack it open, and watch the roaring fire.
Sammy’s right.
This isn’t about the trophy anymore or keeping Mawmaw’s winning streak alive. It’s not about the money. This contest is about proving to Holiday that she’s always had everything she’s ever needed.
Guilt washes over me, and I pull out my phone to text her.
Lucas
You’re right. I aman asshole.
The dots appear for a long time before she finally responds.
Holiday
