26. Lucas

Chapter 26

Lucas

I missed Holly more than I wanted to admit, and our texts, which came in fits and starts, and only because Holly would walk out to the far tree to get a signal, didn’t help. We’d been apart one night and two days, and I wasn’t sure I could last another night without seeing him when every message reminded me of how much better things felt when he was around. Even now, as I tried to focus on admin for the Christmas Lights Parade, my phone sat on the counter at the store, taunting me with the last message he’d sent about the best kind of hot chocolate, and now he was asking questions about elves.

HOLLY: How’s the health and safety elf doing today with all his planning?

HOLLY: Still herding the other elves?

I shook my head, grinning like an idiot.

Wesley’s enthusiasm for his old London Christmas scene wasn’t fading, but his frustration with Hunter McCoy refusing to open a hot chocolate stall was reaching new heights. Hunter, being Hunter, insisted they didn’t have the kind of hot chocolate in Dickens’ London that Wesley wanted to offer, and he wasn’t about to compromise his historical accuracy. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the middle, trying to keep the peace and keep the parade plans on track.

I smiled and typed back.

LUCAS: This parade planning is a freaking nightmare. I need a hug.

I didn’t expect a reply, but clearly, Holly was standing out in the snow next to his ruined car which Greg at the garage was picking up later today. The reply ping made me scramble to pick up the phone, causing Duncan to laugh.

I sent my brother a middle finger as I read what Holly had sent.

HOLLY: Sends hugs

I wished it was a real hug. I really needed a real hug. To bury my face in Holly’s neck and close my eyes and just feel.

HOLLY: What’s wrong with the planning?

LUCAS: I have a rogue elf named Hunter McCoy

HOLLY: What’s he done?

LUCAS: He owns the coffee shop next to the bookstore. Refuses to have a modern-day hot chocolate stall at the Christmas parade because it’s not “historically accurate” for modern-day hot chocolate to be in Dickens’ London. Apparently, they had something different. They didn’t call it chocolate, just cocoa. FML.

HOLLY: LOL

LUCAS: Not helping

HOLLY: I’m just imagining a scene where Oliver Twist asks for extra whipped cream, marshmallows, and crushed candy cane

LUCAS: Still not helping

I had to smile. God, I missed him.

LUCAS: So, Wesley’s vision of his perfect old London Christmas is falling apart, and I’m stuck in the middle. Heading over now to see if I can convince Hunter to budge.

HOLLY: Good luck with that. Message me when you win. Or if you need me to bring a shovel to deal with him.

LUCAS: Thanks, but let’s not escalate to that just yet. Go inside and stay warm!

HOLLY: On it

“Oh man, you’ve got it bad,” Duncan said, plopping himself onto a stool across from me, arms crossed, as he studied me with mock seriousness. “The texting, the sappy smile. You’re completely gone for him, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, sliding my phone face down on the counter. “I’m just making sure everything’s okay with him. He’s up in that cabin alone. It’s called being a decent human being.”

“Uh-huh,” Duncan said, dragging out the words. “Sure, it’s about being decent. Totally not about all that kissing I saw, and you sitting here grinning like a love-struck puppy.”

“Whatever, asshole.” My face was burning, and he wasn’t done.

“Come on, you’ve been practically glued to your phone all week. Mom noticed, you know. She said, ‘Lucas must have someone special he’s texting.’ And let me tell you, Mom is never wrong.”

I set my pen down, fixing him with a look. “Do you remember the time I covered for you? When you told Mom you and Sydney were sick and needed her to take the kids, but you were just having a night of sex in a seedy hotel?”

“It wasn’t seedy, it was opulent and fucking expensive, and anyway, that’s not relevant.”

“Oh, I think it is,” I said, leaning forward with a grin. “Wouldn’t it be awful if Mom found out the two of you weren’t sick? That instead of being tucked in bed, you were… what was it… ‘trying for baby number three’?”

“Okay, okay,” Duncan said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Point taken. Your texting habits are perfectly normal, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Good.” I leaned back, picking up my phone again, the grin creeping onto my face as I read Holly’s latest message.

Then he elbowed me in the side. “And you’re the first to know it worked, and you’re gonna be an uncle again in June.”

“Fuck. That’s wonderful news!” I hugged Duncan so hard that I nearly broke him. He extricated himself and shook his head, chuckling as he grabbed a bag of coffee from the shelf.

“You’re still pathetic, though.”

“Maybe,” I shot back. “But at least I’m not lying to Mom about being sick.”

Duncan groaned, muttering something about siblings holding grudges as he turned to greet a customer. Victory!

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, grinning despite myself. Holly always made me feel lighter, even when I was shuffling off to solve yet another Parade of Lights crisis. It was time to see if I could work Christmas magic on Hunter McCoy.

The air was sharp as I walked into the cold and headed to The Real McCoy. The moment I stepped inside, the scent of roasting beans hit me, mingled with cinnamon and nutmeg from the seasonal drinks menu. Behind the counter, Hunter looked as grumpy as ever when he saw me, his frown etched deep. I knew he’d been in Callum’s class at school, which made him a couple of years older than me, but his frown aged him.

“I’ll take a Christmas hot chocolate,” I said, stepping up to the counter.

“Oh look, if it isn’t one of the Haynes boys,” he sighed. “Guess you want a modern one with whipped cream, fake chocolate, mass-produced marshmallows, and themed candy sprinkles?” Hunter asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

I tilted my chin at his sarcasm. “Yep, the Grinch-approved version,” I shot back.

He grunted, muttering as he started making the drink.

When he slid it across to me, I took a sip—perfectly rich and decadent—then leaned on the counter. “So, tell me about historically accurate hot chocolate?”

Hunter stiffened, his scowl deepening and his face turning scarlet. “No.”

“Think of the money you’d make selling hot chocolate at a stall to everyone stopping for the parade.

“That’s not the point. I won’t do all that other stuff!”

“What stuff?” I poked.

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “All of it! I can’t deal with that man .” The way he said that man , and pointed at the bookstore next door, made it clear he meant Wesley.

“Then deal with me instead,” I offered. “It makes sense for every local supplier and store to be part of the biggest night of the year, and think what you could do with all that extra income! I’ll be the go-between, so you won’t have to talk to Wesley if you don’t want to.”

Hunter stared at me for a long moment, clearly weighing his options. At last, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re dealing with him and his stupid ideas about messing up an authentic Christmas, not me. And don’t expect me to dress up as a ghost or whatever nonsense he’s cooked up.”

I held back a grin. “Deal,” I said in my best serious tone.

When I returned to the store, it was such a busy afternoon that I barely had time to think about Holly or all things parade. Instead, I reveled in the arrival of the first load of tourists here for December first and the parade. Some people were here early so that they didn’t miss a thing. When it was time to close the store—later than usual as our Christmas opening times kicked in, I was itching to head to the cabin. We locked up and Duncan wrestled me into a snow drift, but I pinned him first, and with the earlier threat about telling Mom, it was Lucas 2: Duncan 0. I was home and packing an overnight bag when my phone vibrated. There was an earlier text.

HOLLY: Cars both gone. They managed to dig them out okay.

Shit. Was Holly upset? That car was the last link to his old life. I wish I’d seen that damn message. Then another that was timed as just now.

HOLLY: I’m outside, I have bars on my phone, talk to me!

LUCAS: It’s too cold to be outside

HOLLY: Needed to talk to you.

LUCAS: You okay?

HOLLY: Relieved. But distract me.

LUCAS: I’m just checking the final to-do list for the parade.

HOLLY: Are you checking it twice?

LUCAS: Ha ha. I am. And FYI, you’re on the naughty list.

HOLLY: The naughty list sounds way more fun. What’s my punishment?

LUCAS: A week without marshmallows in your hot chocolate.

HOLLY: You’re cruel. I’ll behave. Maybe.

LUCAS: You better. By the way, you’ll have company soon. I’m coming up.

HOLLY: You mean it?

LUCAS: I’ll be there by ten tonight. Save me a seat by the stove and put the cookies on.

HOLLY: Always. And Lucas…

LUCAS: Yeah?

HOLLY: Don’t forget condoms and lube

Fuck, I was instantly hard. I’d never moved so fast, and with a grin plastered across my face, I checked that I’d already packed said condoms and lube, then grabbed my coat and keys to Dad’s car which I’d been loaned, ready to drive to Holly’s cabin.

The space where the Lamborghini had been was empty now, with drifts of snow piled high on either side. I parked my car, grabbed my bag and bolted for the cabin. The packed snow underfoot was slick, and I slid halfway up the drive, only catching myself as I hit the porch steps.

Before I could knock, the door flew open, and there was Holly, his hair sticking up in a way that made him look like he’d been pacing for hours. His dark eyes lit up when he saw me, and we were on each other before I could speak. His arms wrapped around me, his body warm and solid, and we kissed like it had been years and not only one night apart.

“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses, his voice hoarse but full of urgency.

“Missed you too,” I replied, gripping the back of his sweater, needing him closer, needing to feel that he was real. “I can’t get enough of you, Holly.”

“Hurry,” he whispered, pulling me further into the cabin, the door slamming shut behind us with a dull thud. The warmth hit me, a cozy glow from the Christmas lights spilling across the room. But none of it mattered—not the lights or snow outside. Just him.

I dropped my bag near the door as we stumbled toward the stairs, still kissing and clinging to each other. His hands were in my hair, mine under his sweater, finding the heat of his skin, desperate to close every inch of space between us.

“Lucas,” he breathed, his lips brushing mine as he pulled back just enough to look at me. His smile was pure warmth, pure Holly. “I want you.”

“Good,” I managed, tugging him back in for another kiss, deeper this time, and sweeter. “Because I want you too.”

We somehow made it up the stairs, his laugh soft and breathless as I retrieved and then dragged my bag behind me, refusing to let go of him for a second. By the time we reached the loft, we were a naked tangle of limbs, kisses, and whispered words, tumbling onto the bed in a heap.

“I can’t stop,” I murmured, my hands framing his face as I kissed him again, frantic but soft, my chest tight with everything I couldn’t put into words. “God, I missed you.”

“Me too,” he replied, his voice breaking as he pulled me closer.

His smile, the glow of the lights, the feel of him beneath me—it was all too much and somehow not enough. We kissed again, warm and desperate, and so damn perfect that the rest of the world melted away, leaving us wrapped up in each other, finally whole.

“Inside me,” I demanded, and he grinned, and we fumbled with too much lube, and laughter, and trying to get a condom on him, and then he was pressing inside, gently, so fucking carefully that I wanted to cry, and when he was seated, when we were as close as we could be, he stilled and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips.

“I love you,” he whispered.

My heart pounded, and so much love welled up I didn’t know what to say.

But with every push inside, with every heated kiss and exchange of breath, I whispered that I loved him over and over. He held my hands, curved himself into me, closed his eyes, and whispered the same back, and when his orgasm hit, I followed him over.

Softer, he pulled out and dealt with the condom, and snuggled into me—and me into him—curled around each other, clinging so tight.

“We’re not doing that again,” I whispered into the crook of his neck.

“What?” he asked quietly. “Sex?”

“Oh, my god, no,” I was horrified. “Of course, we’re making love again.”

“Making love?” he whispered.

“Yeah, making love every night, which means no more nights apart.”

“Okay.”

I lifted my head to lose myself in his brown eyes. “Ever.”

I waited for him to panic, but he gave me the softest smile instead. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered.

And, after a quick snack of cookies and hot cocoa, we snuggled into the soft bed and slept in each other’s arms.