Page 8 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Sure am,” I say.
“I remember you.” She orders a drink and turns to face me fully. “I’m Becca.”
“Lucas Jolly.” I shake her hand, but my eyes drift back to Holiday’s booth.
“Jolly? Your family owns the farm?” Becca asks, scooting closer to me.
Holiday’s zeroed in on me now, trying to pretend she’s not, but I know better.
I give Becca my full attention. “What brings you to Merryville?”
“My sister used to follow Emma Manchester, well, Jolly now, on Instagram. The farm was on her bucket list.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I think I just added something to mine.”
“Mm,” I say, holding back a smile.
I can practically feel the heat of Holiday’s stare from across the bar.
“So, do you always hang out here on Friday nights?” Becca asks, playing with her hair.
“Sometimes.” I smile at her.
Sammy clears his throat next to me. I ignore him.
Becca finishes her drink and glances toward the dance floor where couples are swaying to the band. “You want to dance?”
“You know how to two-step? This is Texas, darlin’.”
“I’m a fast learner.” Becca blushes as I stand, taking her hand and pulling her to the dance floor with me.
I can see Holiday in my peripheral vision. She’s gripping her drink so tight her knuckles are white. She’s not even pretending to listen to Theo anymore.
The band plays something slow. I put my hand on Becca’s waist, and she moves closer, her arms looping around my neck. But I’m not looking at her.
I’m looking directly at Holiday. Our eyes lock across the dance floor, and I watch anger flash in her eyes. Watch her entire body go rigid.
I pull Becca closer, my hand sliding lower on her waist.
“You’re a really good dancer,” Becca says, her breath warm against my neck.
“Thanks.” I barely hear her.
Becca leans in, saying something about the farm, about the trees, about how romantic it all is. I tilt my head down like I’m hanging on every word. Like whatever she’s saying is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard.
Holiday’s jaw clenches so tight I can see it from here.
I smile at Holiday and lean down to whisper in Becca’s ear. “You having a good time?”
“The best,” she says, giggling, her fingers playing with the back of my hair.
Holiday looks like she’s having theworsttime, which only makes me happy.
This isperfect.
She chose to come back here and invade my space. Now she’s watching my every move like I’m the bother.
The song changes to something more upbeat. Becca keeps moving with me, clearly enjoying herself, oblivious to the silent war happening across the room.
I can see every microexpression on Holiday’s face. Her nostrils flare, and she’s biting the inside of her cheek. Theo’s talking to her, but I know she hasn’t heard a single word.
