Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I take a breath, remembering what Holly said outside. She said she was proud of me. The old Asher, the one on Mom’s kitchen wall sitting on his muscle car like he was better than everybody, might’ve mocked that. I can’t. It means too much.
“I love you, Mom.”
She gasps and throws herself at me for a hug. “I love you too.”
Back in the car, I don’t take off straightaway. I lean back in the seat instead, my head swimming. Holly says nothing. She seems content to look out the window as light snow falls, layering onto people’s front yards, turning the street into a greeting card as it glimmers in the streetlights.
“That wasn’t easy for you,” she murmurs into the strangely comfortable quiet, “but you did it, Asher. You should be proud.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” I reply.
She smiles. She’s so magnetic, bubbly, vivacious. That’s how I described her to Mom. She looked shocked, but it’s the truth.
“Did you feel any Christmas spirit?”
“I felt like I was white-knuckling through it. But I’ve got to admit, putting the star on felt good.”
She claps her hands adorably. “Yay! See? I knew you had it in you.”
“Don’t get carried away, Snowflake.” I start the car, probably causing half the street to rush to their front windows, when the engine growls to life. “I better get you home before Dan wonders if I’ve kidnapped you.”
“Ha,” she mutters, looking at me as if she wouldn’t mind if I kidnapped her.
About a minute after leaving Mom’s place, Holly’s stomach grumbles. She looks mortified. “God. I’m sorry.”
“Relax. There’s nothing wrong with being hungry.”
“What about having a belly that makes gross noises, huh?”
“Seriously, chill. Everybody’s stomach grumbles. It’s no big deal. Want to stop off for a bite to eat? All this goodwill has got me feeling hungry, too.”
“Yeah, sure, and sor—”
“If you say ‘sorry’ again, you’ll be on the naughty list. I’ll make it a top priority.” Her laughter pushes me on to playful for the first time in a long while. “I mean it. I’ll fly to the North Pole myself, grab Santa by his neck, and tell him that despite her long track record of being obsessed with his holiday all her life, Holly Harper is getting a lump of coal this year.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. “You’re such a doofus, Asher,” she says warmly.
I grin. Being a doofus, for her, feels like a good thing.
I park outside an upscale steakhouse. The snow is falling in earnest now. By the time we’ve reached the entrance, there’s a dusting on Holly’s bright sweater. It takes more than a bit of willpower not to brush it away.
Once the hostess leads us to our table, I excuse myself to use the restroom. On the way there, my phone buzzes. It’s not my regular phone—my Secret Santa one. I must’ve kept it in my jacket pocket without realizing it.
My Secret Santa: Any gift ideas yet, or are you determined to keep me in suspense?
That unfair jealously slams into me like a snowball to the face. This isn’t a date. She’s got every right to shoot off some texts while her brother’s best friend uses the bathroom, but still, it bothers me. I almost text her back, telling her who I really am.
What if I am wrong, somehow? What if Miss Goody Two-shoes isn’t Holly, and their life stories are just remarkably similar?
Me: How about a photo? I type, then delete it. That’s too sleazy. Plus, if she says yes, I’ll get even more jealous. There’s an easy way to solve this. I could tell her who I am, but that would mean revealing that she’s been flirting with the last person in the world she should flirt with.
When I return, I order a mixed platter to share. Holly smiles gratefully when I order for us both.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
She sighs. “I just don’t want the petite, gorgeous waitress judging me.”
“Are you kidding?” I snap. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know that, but …”
“It’s not black and white?” I say. Her eyes open in shock. Of course, that’s what she said to her Grinch.
“Uh, yeah,” she mutters. “Just because I’m not ashamed doesn’t mean I want some girl judging me. It’s complicated.”
“I get it. Nothing’s simple, especially with body-image stuff.”
She tilts her head. “Okay, Asher …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have sounded so frosty, Snowflake,” I say with my brow cocked.
“Ooh, good pun.” She laughs.
“You’re rubbing off on me. So, will you tell me what you were thinking or not?”
“Just you—body-image issues … How does that work?”
I shrug. “I’ve never cared about my appearance. I wear expensive suits because, in business, people respect you more. I work out because I like the feeling it gives me. It doesn’t mean I can’t empathize. I’m not a complete cold ass.”