Chapter Twenty-Three

Holly

“ H ave you packed yet?” Olivia asks, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. I glance up from my book to see her standing at my bedroom door, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, looking every bit like a mom scolding her teenage daughter.

“Yep,” I reply, shifting slightly as I cross my legs on the bed, still focused on the page in front of me.

“Are you sure?” she presses, moving away from the door to sit on the edge of my bed, making the mattress dip. “We’re leaving tomorrow, and you always forget something. Remember the time you forgot your entire suitcase?”

“That was one time,” I mumble, still pretending to read. “And no, I didn’t forget anything this time. I’ve got everything.”

Olivia goes quiet, which is suspicious. Olivia is never quiet unless she’s plotting something. I finally look up to find her staring at me like a hawk. “Did you make a list?” she asks.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a list.”

“You always need a list. ”

“Oh my God,” I groan, laughing. “You’re so dramatic.” I dog-ear the page of my book and close it. “I don’t need a list. I’ve packed everything, including ten pairs of underwear, which is way more than I need for a three-day trip. Can I please get back to my book now?”

She tilts her head, her expression softening a bit. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie, feeling my stomach twist with anxiety. “I just want to read.”

Olivia isn’t buying it. She scoots closer to me, concern etched on her face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

Her brows draw together as she scoots even closer to me. “What’s wrong?”

“I broke it off with Ryan,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Olivia’s eyes widen in surprise, and then they soften with understanding. She reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, Holly, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you liked him that much. I thought you were into—”

“I am,” I say quickly, cutting her off. “That’s why I ended things with Ryan.”

She lets out a thoughtful hum, stroking my hair like she’s comforting a puppy. “I see.”

I chuckle weakly. “You’ve really got the whole motherly thing down,” I say, pulling away slightly to look at her.

She laughs, shrugging. “Years of practice with you,” she teases. “So, have you told Mark yet? ”

“No,” I groan, flopping back onto my bed. “How am I supposed to tell him? He’s the one who helped me with the whole dating thing in the first place. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against falling for your dating coach.”

“You could invite him to the cabin,” Olivia suggests, her eyes lighting up. “What better place to confess your undying love than in a cozy, secluded cabin in Vermont?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this a romantic comedy or a murder mystery? Because that sounds like the setup for both.”

She laughs. “I’m serious. Does he have any plans for the holidays?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t have any family around, and he’s not big on anything Christmas-related. He might not even say yes.”

Olivia looks at me knowingly. “But you want him to come, don’t you?”

“I don’t want him to be alone for Christmas,” I admit.

“And because you’re head over heels for him,” she adds, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. “Maybe.”

Olivia grins. “Then invite him. We all love Mark, and it’s the perfect chance to tell him how you feel.”

I bite my lip, doubt creeping in. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? He’s always said he doesn’t want a relationship. He’s not interested in marriage or kids, and I… I really want those things. I don’t want to give up my dreams for a guy.”

Olivia nods, her expression serious. “You should never give up what you want for someone else. But maybe he’s just scared to admit what he really wants. You should at least find out. You don’t want to be kicking yourself ten years from now because you never took the chance.”

I am scared. Scared of his reaction, scared of losing him if things go south. But I know deep down that I’ve been falling for Mark since the day we met. He’s the only one who makes my stomach flutter without making me feel like I’m about to throw up.

“Where the hell are my socks?” Henry’s voice booms from the hallway, breaking the tension.

“I already packed them,” Olivia shouts back.

“All of them?” he yells. “What the hell am I supposed to wear until we leave?”

Olivia sighs dramatically, standing up. “I better go deal with the overgrown toddler I’m married to.” She heads for the door but stops, turning to look at me. “Tell him, Holly. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

As she leaves, I grab my phone, my heart pounding. I scroll through my contacts until I find Mark’s name and start typing.

Holly :

What are you doing right now?

His reply comes almost instantly.

Mark :

Talking to you.

Holly :

Can I call you?

Mark :

Always.

The word sends a rush of warmth through me, and I hit the call button before I can second-guess myself. I bring the phone to my ear, my heart racing.

“Hey,” Mark answers, his voice warm and familiar, sending a wave of comfort over me.

“Hey,” I reply, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face.

“What’s up, Bambi?” he asks, using the nickname that never fails to make me smile. “Got yourself into some kind of trouble again?”

“Nope, no trouble,” I say with a laugh. “Not today, anyway.”

“I’m not buying it,” he says. “Did you burn down Funnel Cake’s house?”

“No.”

“Break something?”

“No,” I repeat with a laugh. “God, you have such little faith in me.”

“Just checking. So, what’s up?”

I fidget with the hem of my duvet, nerves fluttering in my stomach, and take a deep breath.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Henry’s family has a cabin in Vermont, but they never use it so we go there every Christmas. And I was wondering if maybe… I mean, I know you’re not big on Christmas, and you kind of hate all things that bring joy, but… would you maybe… you know what? It’s stupid, forget I said anything—”

“Yes,” Mark says, cutting off my rambling.

“Yes?” I repeat slowly, my brows raising in surprise.

“Yeah, Bambi, I’d love to go,” he says, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

“Really?” My heart races uncontrollably.

“Yes,” he says with a low chuckle that makes my belly flip. “That’s what you were going to ask, right?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, my voice a little breathless. “I wanted to know if you’d spend Christmas with me.”

“I’d love to,” he replies softly.

“Even though you hate Christmas and everything about it?” I tease.

He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t hate it so much when I’m with you,” he says, making my heart flutter.

“Stop flirting with me,” I tease.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replies, but I can hear a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re still dating Ryan, aren’t you?”

I hesitate, my smile fading. “Right. Ryan,” I say quietly.

Except I’m not. I ended it with Ryan. But I don’t tell him that. Not yet.

“So, you’re coming?” I ask again, needing to hear it one more time .

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he says. “The bar’s usually dead this time of year, and everyone’s been telling me to take a break.”

“That’s because everyone’s with their families,” I say. “And this year, you will be too.”

“You’re my family now, Bambi?” he asks, his tone teasing, but there’s something deeper beneath his words.

I bite my lip, my cheeks warming. “I could be,” I say softly.

He chuckles. “Sounds about right,” he murmurs. “When are you guys leaving? I need to figure something out for Mia.”

“Tomorrow. It’s a long drive, so…”

“Tomorrow?” he repeats, sounding surprised. “As in, less than twenty-four hours from now?”

I wince, laughing nervously. “Sorry for the short notice.”

“That’s okay,” Mark says, his voice gentle. “I’m just glad you want me there with you.”

I always want you with me . I bite back the words, swallowing them down. “Yeah, well, it’s all part of my plan to make you love Christmas,” I say with a grin.

I hear him exhale, a soft, heavy sound. “Guess I’d better start packing, then. Goodbye, Bambi.”

“Wait,” I blurt out before he can hang up. I don’t want this moment to end. I know it’s irrational—I’ll see him tomorrow, but still, the thought of saying goodbye feels too final. “I could come over,” I suggest hesitantly, twisting my fingers into the duvet. “To help you pack.”

There’s a long pause on the line, so long that I almost think he’s hung up. But then I hear his steady breathing, the sound calming and familiar. “You know,” he says finally, his voice low and warm, “I am a pretty terrible packer.”

A smile spreads across my face, the last of my nerves easing. “I’ll be right over.”