Page 11 of A Very Merry Enemy
Hate that she’s working on my family’s farm.
Hate how her blue eyes still sparkle for me.
I want her gone, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make her leave.
FuckHoliday Patterson.
CHAPTER 3
HOLIDAY
Iwake up at three with my heart racing and my sheets twisted around my legs. My skin is too hot, my breathing too fast, and the dream is still clinging to me like smoke.
Lucas. Three days ago, in the bathroom at Moonshiners. But in the dream, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t laugh in my face and call me pathetic. Instead, his mouth crashed into mine. His hands were in my hair, pulling me closer, and when he whispered my name against my neck, it wasn’t infused with hatred. It sounded like the way he used to say it—back when we were eighteen and stupid and I made promises I couldn’t keep.
I throw the covers off and stumble to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. In the mirror, my cheeks are flushed, my pupils are dilated, and my lips are parted like I can still feel the ghost of a kiss that never happened.
“Get it together,” I nearly growl at my reflection. That might’ve been three days ago, but I can’t stop thinking about how close we were. How he smelled and how his hot breath felt against my skin. For one second—one horrible but perfect second—I thought he was actually going to kiss me.
And I would’ve let him.
Ugh!I shake my head.
I would’ve let him, and that makes me angrier than anything he said.
I dress, layering on clothes. I put on black leggings and an oversized candy cane striped sweater, then I pull my hair back in a braid. I need to be at the bakery by four if I want to triple my output. My parents are still asleep when I grab my keys and head out into the freezing predawn darkness.
The drive to the farm is short, but I keep the window cracked, letting the forty-degree air slap me awake. The sky is still black, stars scattered and sparkling like sugar crystals across velvet. My headlights cut through the darkness as I turn onto the long gravel driveway that leads to Jolly Christmas Tree Farm.
Even at this hour, the place is beautiful. Thousands of white lights are strung through the trees, twinkling like something out of a fairy tale. A giant inflatable Santa waves in the wind near the entrance. The main building—a massive log cabin that’s used as a gift shop—sits in the center, decorated with wreaths and garland.
It looks magical…romantic, even, which only makes me want to be a big ole Scrooge. Because this is Lucas’s world. His family’s legacy. And I’m just the girl who came back when she had nowhere else to go. At least that’s what he thinks.
I park in front of the cookie shop and unlock the door, flipping on lights as I enter. The space smells like yesterday’s baking, and for a moment, I let myself breathe it in.
This, at least, I’m good at. And no one can deny that.
I brew a pot of coffee—the strong stuff—and pull out my notebook. Emma and I planned a rotating menu, different cookies each day so people keep coming back. Today it’s snowmen and gingerbread reindeer.
I throw myself into work, mixing dough, rolling it out, and cutting shapes. The repetitive motions are soothing. Measure, mix, bake, cool, decorate. Over and over as my hands move on autopilot.
But I can’t stop thinking about Lucas and how he looked at me on Friday night—like he hated me but couldn’t stop staring. The way his body felt pressed against mine in that tiny bathroom haunts me. He leaned in so close I could taste his breath.
And then he laughed in my face, called me pathetic, and walked away like I was nothing.
My hands shake as I pipe icing onto a snowman cookie, and I have to stop, take a breath, and remind myself that I don’t care. I don’t care what Lucas Jolly thinks of me. I don’t care that he still looks at me like he wants to ruin my life as much as I ruined his.
Truthfully, I didn’t ruin shit. I left Merryville. People leave. That’s what happens when you’re eighteen and the world is bigger than a small town in Texas.
By the time Bethany arrives at seven, I’ve got a thousand snowmen cooling and another batch of gingerbread reindeer in the oven.
She’s too cheerful for someone who has to work before school, bouncing through the door with her backpack and a box of decorations.
“Morning, Aunt Holiday!” She ties on her red and green apron, then studies me.
“You okay? You look…weird.”
“Weird? Excuse me? Just focused.”
