Page 75 of A Very Merry Enemy
She groans as she grabs a fork, stabbing the top of the shortbread. “Please don’t remind me.”
“That’s unheard of, Holiday. You’re going to burn out trying to keep up with that.”
“What else do I have to do this season?” She sighs. “It’s the only thing that keeps my mind busy, and right now, I need that distraction.”
“Okay, but it’s not healthy to work yourself to death,” I offer.
She tilts her head at me. “You’re one to talk. You’re at the farm more than me.”
I suck in a breath, realizing she noticed.
“Some of us still have to prove ourselves around here. I’m not a Jolly who’s automatically loved because of the namesake,” she says. “You have it easy, Lucas.”
I can’t deny that my life is easier than most. It doesn’t mean I work less hard, but there are privileges when your dad is Santa and your family owns the only tree farm in a hundred-mile radius.
“I just want as many people as possible to eat my cookies this season. I don’t care what it takes.”
“Let me help you,” I offer, understanding this is personal for her.
“You want to help me?” she asks. “Come on, Lucas. Like you have time for that.”
When the oven is at temperature, Holiday places the pans inside, then sets a timer for twenty minutes.
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. Her gaze trails over my arms.
“It would be good practice.”
“Lucas, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” The sweet smell of cookies baking fills the kitchen. “Might as well practice as much as possible.”
“You’re already working sixteen-hour shifts, how will that work?” she asks with brows lifted.
“I stick around until you leave, Peaches,” I admit. “My shift ends at three every day. I worked hard for my cushy schedule.”
She gives me a look. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m not leaving you on the farm alone,” I say.
A smile touches her lips. “But youhateme.”
I playfully roll my eyes. “Yep. Imagine what it would be like if it were love.”
This makes her chuckle. “Helping me prep isn’t the same as practicing for the contest.”
“We need to relearn how to work together in the kitchen again.” I look at her directly. “Plus, I’m lonely as fuck. My brothers moved on with their lives. Sammy’s been busy as hell with work. What else do I have going on? This is pretty much it.”
The admission hangs between us. I haven’t shared that with anyone because who wants to hear about me coming home to an empty house I built for a future that never happened. It feels safe to be honest with her.
“I’ve been lonely, too,” she tells me. “It’s really weird being back. I feel like I’m stuck between two different versions of myself.”
“Yeah, that girl who went to Paris, I don’t like her very much.”
She sarcastically laughs. “Me either. I don’t know who that person was.”
I hold her gaze, knowing the person I fell in love with is still in there somewhere, fighting to be released from that prison.
While the cookies finish baking, I add more wood to the fire.Eventually, the oven dings and Holiday removes the pans, setting them onto cork rounds on the counter. “While it cools, we’ll make the fudge. We’ll pour it on top and let it chill in the fridge until the timer runs out, then serve it.”
