Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

HOLLY

O n the ride home, I quickly review the footage at triple speed. It’s like a dream sequence of warmth and happiness, all smiles, all good feelings. The only part I’ll have to delete is when he uses my nickname. What if Dan sees this video and hears his best friend call me that?

Putting my camera away, I ask, “Any update on your Secret Santa?”

We’re at a red light. We’ve hit weekend rush hour, catching the last-minute shoppers rushing to get gifts.

He glances at me with a smirk. I could get used to him in a bright Christmas sweater. He looks warm and cozy while retaining that strong and dominant look. “You’re obsessed with the Secret Santa thing.”

“I wouldn’t say obsessed . I’m just curious.”

I need to know if he’s the man I’ve been texting, sharing my thoughts and feelings and flirting with. It goes against my determination to pretend any steaminess between us never happened, but I can’t help it.

“I’m still deciding on a gift,” he mutters, staring at the road.

Why doesn’t he want to look at me? Am I being childish? I could outright ask him.

“Has she given you any hints?”

“Who said my Secret Santa was a woman?”

I shrug.

He seems relieved when the light changes, his car growling as he pulls away. It’s like his vehicle makes all the sounds he wishes he could.

“First, you ask about my ex, and now you assume my Secret Santa is a woman. For somebody who wants to pretend nothing has ever happened between us, you’re persistent, Snowflake.”

“Relax. I didn’t say I was jealous about your Secret Santa.”

“Does that mean you’re jealous of my ex?”

“Do you want me to be?” I snap.

He smirks. What a douche, but I like it. What does that make me—a douche-ess, a she-douche? “It would mean we’re on an even playing field.”

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, so I wouldn’t worry about that. And I was only asking about your Secret Santa, not your ex. You said you don’t want to talk about your ex.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he grumbles.

“Is that why you seem so mad?”

I stare out the window. It’s like he smoothly redirected the flow of the conversation the moment we got close to the Secret Santa subject. That, combined with his sneakiness earlier, makes me almost positive. Almost .

“It’s why you hate the holidays, right?” I go on. “She broke up with you over Christmas.”

“I hate the holidays because I never had a goddamn holiday, and I’m a grown-ass man who can’t let go of my childhood baggage. I hate them because I’m pathetic, latching onto things I shouldn’t even think about. Because my junkie mom dug up a neighbor’s bush and used fucking dental floss to tie some gas-station crap to it, then looked at me like we were the happiest family ever, stoned out of her mind.”

His eyes glisten, his knuckles white with strain as he squeezes the steering wheel. His chest rises and falls as his breaths come quickly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t push. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine,” he grunts.

“No, it’s not. Asher, that was wrong of me. I know it’s a sensitive topic, and I pushed. I’m truly sorry.”

“I truly mean that it’s fine.”

“So why won’t you look at me?”

“Maybe because I’m driving.”

That logic fails when we hit more traffic and come to a dead stop, but he still stares at the road.

We haven’t said anything for a long time. I could come out and ask him if he’s my Secret Santa. Maybe I could explain that my Secret Santa makes me feel warm and fuzzy like a marshmallow over a fire, but that metaphor fails.

Leave me too long, and I’ll burn.

The way Asher burns me—I was the one who said we had to pretend nothing ever happened. He was so romantic and supportive at the climbing center.

“We weren’t serious,” Asher finally mutters.

“Dan said you were going to propose to her.”

“I-I was,” he says, shaking his head, “but it’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s none of my business, anyway.”

He glances at me with his winter-sky eyes. “You’re making it your business, Snowflake.”

I should probably tell him to stop with the nickname. Every time he uses it, resisting him becomes more difficult.

“I don’t want to pry.”

“Yes, you do,” he says, giving me some side-. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I thought I’d always be alone. Then Mia came along, and she was … decent.”

It’s not exactly glowing praise.

“We could share a meal without me imagining running out of the door the whole time. She ironed my shirts. She prepped my meals. It was nothing like us.”

When he says this, he stares at the road, refusing to look at me. My hands are wrapped around my middle like I can protect myself from this declaration.

Think of Dan, Holly. Think of your brother. Grow up. This isn’t a fairy tale.

“I was going to propose to her because I figured if I’ve gone this long without caring about a woman on anything other than a surface level, it’ll probably stay that way. So I’ll just do the right thing. It had been long enough, but then last Christmas, we had this big blowout.”

“What happened?” I whisper.

He arches his eyebrow at me. “I thought this was none of your business?”

“We can pretend this conversation never happened, too.”

He laughs dryly. “We can’t pretend, Snowflake. You know that. I know that.”

“We have to … for Dan.”

Mentioning my brother’s name causes a scowl to touch his lips. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the betrayal. Neither do I, but we have to remember.

“She accused me of being cold and distant. She said she’d found the ring and asked if I was proposing because I loved her or thought it was the ‘right thing.’ I’d never told her I loved her. I couldn’t do it then. She was heartbroken, trashed my room, tore down the Christmas tree. I couldn’t blame her for any of it. I hate Christmas. I always have, but it’s not because of Mia. It’s because of everything else.”

By “everything else,” I know he’s talking about his childhood.

“See?” he says. “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of.”

“I never said I was jealous,” I whisper.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Okay, let’s imagine I am jealous,” I say. “Let’s go there. Let’s explore the issue. Why are you smiling, Asher?”

“When you get passionate about a project, you get so animated. It’s endearing and cute as hell. I won’t lie. It was the same thing when you were recording at the climbing center. You get electrified.”

I laugh. “Electrified?”

“My Snowflake becomes a giant Christmas tree.”

“How can you be so depressing and so silly at the same time?”

“You bring it out in me.”

“I’m serious. Let’s imagine I am.”

He chuckles. “Yeah … imagine .”

“What good could it do, huh? We both have to accept that nothing can ever happen. Nothing else, anyway. We’ve gone far enough. Dan loves me. He loves you, but he’d never love ‘us.’”

“You’re right,” Asher concedes. “We have to be stronger. Don’t pout. I agree with you.”

“I’m not pouting,” I lie.

It’s not the answer I wanted to hear, even if it’s the one I needed. There’s no future with my brother’s best friend.

His cell phone rings. “Would you answer that for me, Snowflake?”

I reach into his pocket, shocked at how the heat of his body affects me. I’m going toasty marshmallow again.

“It’s your mom.”

He sighs. “You can let it ring. I’ll call her back.”

“Asher, why don’t you just talk to her?”

“It’s draining.”

“It might be important.”

“Damn it. Fine. Answer. Put it on speaker.”

I slide my thumb across the screen and press the speakerphone icon.

“Asher?” she says, her voice full of heartbreaking hope.

“Hey, Mom,” Asher replies. To his credit, he tries to sound upbeat—a difficult feat for him.

“You’re going to think I’ve gone completely nuts. My local church is having a toy drive and is looking for a Santa. We already have an outfit. The previous Santa was around your height. I know you keep in shape, but we have pillows to fill you out. What do you think?”

Asher looks at me in disbelief. He mouths, Santa?

I grin and pinch his arm, nodding vigorously. Any bad vibes vanish at the notion of Asher Mitchell dressing up in a Santa costume. He shakes his head. I nod.

“Asher?” Brianna says.

“I don’t know, Mom …”

“Oh, okay.”

I quickly press mute . “Asher, come on. This obviously means a lot to her.”

“You just want to see me all in red, looking like an ass.”

“Think of the kids, then. Think of the toys.”

He groans. “Unmute the phone.” I click the button. “Mom, I’ll do it, but I have one condition.”

“Oh, sure.” She brightens up. “What is it?”

“You remember Holly?”

“Yes, what a lovely girl.”

“She’s got an elf costume, and she’s been talking about wanting to put it to use. If I do this, can I bring her along as one of my little helpers?”

“That’s an excellent idea. The more the merrier! Should I text you the details?” she says excitedly.

“Sounds good.”

“Love you, Asher.”

Asher swallows. “Love you, Mom.”

She hangs up. I slap Asher playfully on the arm.

“You absolute jerk. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“If I’m going to look like an ass, Snowflake, you’re going to join me. I kind of like the idea of seeing you in Christmas stockings …”