Page 44 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“Ugh. Fine. Is it my turn to hold the baby yet?”

“Nope.”

* * *

As Case pulls into the driveway, I blink in confusion at the craftsman house I tried and failed not to get attached to.

“You said the realtor said it was under contract.”

“It is. But contracts fall through.”

The paint is a chipped blue, half the shutters are missing, and the porch looks rotted. What were probably once azalea bushes are now dead twig clusters and the grass is knee-high. But I can see what it once was, what it could be.

It reminds me of the Giving Tree. I can almost feel the house shuddering with happiness, telling us to come sit on its porch and drink an iced coffee in its shade and make babies in its bedrooms.

Except … it’s someone else’s dream now. This feels like the worst kind of tease.

I cross my arms. “I’m not going in.”

“What?” Case turns off the engine and glances my way. “Why?”

“My heart can’t take it. I’m already halfway invested, and that’s just looking at the outside. No way am I going to fall all the way in love when someone else already bought it.”

I don’t mention how my heart also can’t take the waiting for our next step. For some sense of how long Case wants to wait. Getting to see and hold Clover only worsened my delicate emotional state. My insides feel like an unbalanced washing machine trying to spin while overloaded with wet towels.

“Talk to me, Jillian.”

My weakness is still when Case says my full name. I spin his way. “Fine. You want me to talk? I’ll talk. I’m tired of waiting. I’m done with this slow pace. I don’t want an apartment. I want a house. This house—or one just like it. With you. As soon as humanly possible. I don’t care about a pretty ring or a big wedding. Stick a rubber band on my finger, find a judge and let’s do this thing.”

Case stares at me, but I can’t tell if my words have shocked him or if he’s just processing. The man does like to process. I should have known if he had a crush for four years before making a move, he’d have zero qualms about moving glacially toward the next step.

Me? I have all the qualms.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“And?”

Case opens his car door and climbs out. “And let’s put a pin in it while we look at this place.”

He slams the door, walking slowly around to my side, like he knows I need a moment. Which I do.

When he opens the door, I focus on becoming one with the seat.

“Jillian,” he cajoles. “Come on.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“As much as I love you begging, no.”

“That wasn’t me begging. This is.” Case gets down on both knees right there in the tall grass next to the driveway.

“You’ll ruin your pants!”

“I’ll buy more. Come on. Look at this house with me.”

“I can’t.”

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