Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

HOLLY

M y life has changed a lot since the Secret Santa thing started. I’ve gone from not having any romantic interest to suddenly having two. I’m not sure that’s a fair way to think of it.

Asher is hot, muscular, funny, and charming when he wants to be. He’s everything a girl could want, even if being with him is impossible. Not only is he Dan’s best friend, he’s also a senior in the company. I deal with enough nepotism crap without adding that .

My Secret Santa is a stranger, and he’s not Asher.

So no, I haven’t got two romantic interests. Just two people messing with my head, and the only one I could imagine being with is off the table.

I decide to take my advice: fake it until I make it.

I switch on the radio. Of course, holiday music is playing—“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” Asher’s hands seem to tighten on the steering wheel of his sports car. He hasn’t changed out of his work clothes, a dark blue suit jacket draping off his annoyingly alluring frame.

“Don’t you like this one?” I ask.

“Not really,” he murmurs.

“I can turn it off.”

“No. I need to get used to this time of year. Can’t be a baby forever.”

I hate how he talks about daring to have emotions like it’s a bad thing. It’s as if he thinks he needs to make light of any sign of weakness.

“What’s wrong, Snowflake?”

This time, when he uses the new nickname, it’s with the same tone he used when we were kids, and he would call me little director and stuff like that. But it doesn’t bother me. I kind of like it when he teases me. It gives me the motivation to get him back.

“Who said anything was wrong?”

“You didn’t have to say,” he mutters as we leave the city and enter residential streets. “You’re seething.”

“I’m not seething .”

“You are,” he says. “But if you want to deny it, that’s fine with me.”

I roll my eyes. “I just don’t think you need to be so hard on yourself for experiencing, you know, emotions all the time, Asher. You had a tough childhood. Your dad left. Your mom had issues. It makes sense that you’d feel anxious and scared. It’s natural that you’d feel .”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he mutters.

“Jerk.”

I stare out the window and fold my arms. We’re quiet for a few minutes, but then he sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Holly.”

I turn to him with a wicked smile. “Asher, can you pull over? I think somebody spiked my cocoa. I’m hallucinating.”

He smirks. “Jerk.”

“Touché.”

His smile falters. “It’s this song … Mom played it one year when she said she would get clean. She ran around the house, clearing out the booze and her other crap. I believed her. It made me a little obsessed with the song. I started playing it all the time. On Christmas Eve of that year, Mom was out. I knew where and what she was doing, but I tried to lie to myself. I was listening to that song when she stumbled up the driveway with a man I’d never seen before.”

“I’m so sorry, Asher.”

“I used the song to drown out what they did in the next room. Mom was screwing him for her fix.”

“Asher …”

“I know,” he grunts, stopping outside her house. “This isn’t very ‘ happy holidays ’ of me, is it? It isn’t very ‘ this is the most wonderful time of the year ’ of me either. It isn’t very Hallmark or what you’d expect during a fun trip to decorate a Christmas tree. If I laugh away my feelings and pretend I don’t have any, it’s a survival mechanism, Snowflake. Now, I’m going to fake it until I make it.”

He quickly climbs from the car. I stare after him as my mind whirs. I need to chill.

Fake it until you make it. That’s a common phrase. It doesn’t mean that my Secret Santa is Asher. If there’s such a thing as Christmas spirits, maybe they’re having fun with me.

I follow Asher up the path. He slams his hand against the door, knocking hard.

“Asher,” I whisper.

He glares at me. “What?”

“Just try to relax.”

He lets out a breath, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re right.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, Snowflake.”

It’s an innocent nickname, no big deal, no reason to lose my mind. The door opens, and Brianna Mitchell greets us with a smile. She’s got a fuller figure than I remember, which is natural. She’s wearing an apron with little snowmen on it.

“Welcome, welcome,” she says, ushering us into the house. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Asher stuffs his hands in his pockets. It’s like he’s in physical pain. It’s horrible to witness. It hurts.

“It’s no problem,” he mutters.

“Thank you so much for inviting me into your home.” I plaster a big smile on my face, gesturing to the decorations. “It’s so warm and inviting in here.”

“Thank you, Holly,” Brianna says. “When Asher told me you were coming, he said you were very bubbly and vivacious. I can see he was right.”

I bite my lip, looking at Asher. Did he say that? He shrugs. Well, it’s true . That’s the message I get from his gesture, almost like he’s texted it right into my soul.

There I go again, thinking silly thoughts.

“Who wants some cocoa?” Brianna asks cheerfully.

“You can never have too much cocoa,” I say.

She leads us into a well-kept kitchen. I laugh in delight when I see the photo that dominates the room, a large print of Asher in his late teens. He’s sitting on the muscle car he bought just before he moved away to make his fortune out west. His eyes stare broodily at the camera.

“Wow, look at you, Asher.”

“I look like a little punk,” he mutters.

“I think you look cute as a button,” Brianna says. “You could be on a magazine cover. You should hear what the ladies from my bingo group said when I invited them for tea!”

“I bet they were all over you, Asher,” I say, caught up in the moment.

Asher stares at me like he’s angry, interested, maybe curious, or thinking about me being all over him instead. I made a joke about my cocoa being spiked, but I’m wondering if it actually was.

We sit at a small table overlooking the quaint backyard.

“I’ve saved the tree until last,” Brianna mutters, glancing at her son. Asher stares out the window. He seems fixated on a small bush outside, the branches threadbare due to the weather. “I wanted to do it as a family.”

“I hope you don’t mind me intruding,” I say, smiling.

Brianna hesitates, replying to me but still looking at her son. “No … of course not.” She turns and looks at the small bush as well. “The yard could use some work.”

“I think it looks lovely, Brianna,” I say, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

Brianna stares at the brush. It’s like they’re both fixated on it. I don’t understand what’s going on, but something definitely is. There’s a suddenly uncomfortable energy in the air.

“Have you already bought the ornaments and the other decorations for the tree?” I ask.

“Yeah, they’re in the living room.”

“Isn’t that good, Asher?” I say. “Everything’s ready for us.”

When he doesn’t reply, I touch his arm lightly. It’s a last-ditch option. He looks as if he’s lost in a trance.

He flinches and looks down at my hand. A look of gratitude crosses his features instead of anger at my touch, almost like he wants his Snowflake to keep touching him and do it in various circumstances with added meaning. Okay, that train of though got out of hand quickly.

“What?” he mutters.

“Your mom’s very well prepared. After our cocoa, we can start decorating the tree.”

He stands up. “I-I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t do this.”

He suddenly rushes for the door without a look back.

“It’s fine,” Brianna murmurs, but she’s got tears in her eyes as she stares down into her cocoa. “I don’t deserve it.”

She cuts a sad figure as she sits there, consumed with sadness.

“Let me talk to him.”

“It’s true. He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s already given so much.”

“Let me try.”

I find Asher pacing in front of the car, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Are you ready to go?” he snaps.

“Asher, just take a moment. Take a breath.”

He keeps pacing. I’m forced to touch him again to make him stop, but in reality, am I? Forced? I squeeze onto his arm, feeling his firm body through his sleeve.

“I know this is difficult, but you agreed to do this for a reason,” I say softly.

“You’re right, but if just looking at a bush can make me feel like a kid again …”

“I don’t get it.”

“When I was a kid, she dug up a bush from a neighbor’s yard and used dental floss to tie on a gas station ornament. It brought back a bunch of memories.”

“I’m sorry, Asher. I’m not saying you have to do this or need to be here, but I think you want to be here. I think if you leave now, you’ll regret this. Your mom is trying as hard as she can. It’s not my place to tell you to forgive her, but I think you want to try.”

“What makes you say that?”

I gasp when his hands slid around my waist. He pulls me in close, staring into my eyes. I’m surprised the light dappling of snow around us doesn’t instantly melt with how hot I feel.

“Can you read my mind now, Snowflake?” He seems to realize what he’s done because he quickly steps back and lets me go. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” I whisper, his warm touch lingering.

His brief touch was the most tempting thing that’s ever happened to me.

“If I’m wrong, we can leave, but I don’t think I am.”

He rubs his hands up and down his face, full of wild energy. “No, you’re right. We’ll go back inside. Just take the lead, okay?”

“I will. I’m proud of you.”