Of course. I’m still trying to retrieve my jaw from the core of the earth over the fact that you agreed.
I shouldn’t have. It’s all a scam.
Come again?
Ryan bribed Nick to come, or Nick owed him a favor. Something that means he definitely didn’t just want to. I was tricked.
Ugh.I’m guessing this isn’t exactly going to help your I Hate Christmas stance, is it?
On the contrary.Nick hates Christmas too.
Oh no. So this means…
I’m about to Christmas his face off.
With a smile that I’m certain revealed green teeth, I offered the piping bag to Nick. “Here you go. Have at it.” The only way I’d managed to suffer through the Christmas music playlist Lydia eagerly supplied for our cookie setup in the breakfast nook was to eat my feelings.
Most of which tasted like Green dye #3.
Nick hesitantly accepted the icing bag, his snowflake cookie sitting before him on a sheet of wax paper. Across the table from us, Ryan and Lydia decorated their tree-shaped cookie, which already resembled something out of aBetter Homes& Gardensmagazine. As for my Santa, I’d gone for quantity over quality and generously gooped the red icing.
All part of my master plan.
I forced myself to cheerily sing along with “Jingle Bell Rock” as I added an edible silver bell to the Santa hat.
Dad had helped Kat and Olivia take all the luggage to the designated rooms, and Mom had simply vanished.
Again.
Mason and Janie were busy decorating their cookies outside on the porch—an idea that Olivia had insisted on, to which Mom had protested, to which Olivia had insisted onagain,and then, after Janie squirted Mason with icing, Mom had agreed to. Now the kids were huddled over their project outside, surprisingly working together to turn their cookie into a triple-decker sandwich.
Brilliant. Sort of like my Operation: Naughty List. But with great brilliance came great pain, and this playlist was starting to make me want to gnaw my arm off.
Next to me on the bench seat, Nick fumbled with the piping bag. Heat radiated off his body. Was I making him nervous? Or was that just the guilt over his lies? Either way—good. He should feel nervousandguilty. At this point, I’d take either.
I channeled my fresh burst of indignation into another green smile and batted my lashes at him, grateful I’d sprung for my waterproof Falsies mascara before my drive over. “You just squeeze it.”
He looked up, his brown eyes catching mine. Confusion lingered in their coffee-colored depths—over my sudden personality change or the piping bag mechanics, I couldn’t be sure.
I was sure, however, that staring into his eyes at this proximity wasnota good idea.
Scooting a few inches away, I reached to demonstrate. “I’ll show you.” My wrist brushed against his forearm. We’d both pushed our sleeves up while working, and my bare skin grazing his sent a jolt of electricity that could’ve burnt the rest of the cookies. I quickly pulled my arm back to my side.
Of course I couldn’t have amazing chemistry with a handsome,honestman. At this point, Nick had more red flags than a bullfighter.
“I got it.” He squeezed the white icing, his smile a little wobbly.
I wasdefinitelymaking him nervous. “I can see that. You’re doing great.” I gushed more than the icing oozing from the tube and piled the flattery on thick. Like the red globs that dripped off my Santa. “You’re a natural, really. Have you ever done this before?”
Nick shifted a little on the chair next to me, not meeting my gaze. “Not really.”
“It’s just cookie decorating, Holly. Hardly an Olympic sport.” Ryan didn’t even look up from his meticulous placement of glitter balls.
“But if it were, we’d totally win.” Lydia giggled.
I tried again. “Still, your snowflake looks great.Sodetailed.” He’d literally made three white stripes of icing so far, but I made sure my tone sounded genuine and not sarcastic. Because I was Nick’s biggest fan. I wasChristmas’sbiggest fan.
Ryan shot me a curious look across the table. “Holls, are you—”
