She continued. “…family heirloom…”
“Ancient torture device.”
“…that’s been an important part of the Sinclair family for decades.” She rushed the end of her sentence.
“To be fair, he’s probably far less startling when he’s in the yard, as God and man intended.” Nick tapped his chin. “Not hovering over one’s bed.”
Holly planted her hands on her hips, highlighting the curve of her waist. “You make him sound like a ghost.”
“He almost turned me into a ghost.” Nick held Holly’s gaze, working to hide his smile. “You know—because he almost killed me?”
“I got it the first time.” Holly chuckled as they resumed walking. “You know, the beauty of subtext is in letting your audience figure it out for themselves.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Funny how naturally their paces matched—especially when Holly wasn’t rushing ahead to manipulate some kind of Christmas explosion.
He took a long drag from his espresso, breathing in therichness of the coffee and something vanilla and sweet drifting off Holly. Maybe this whole tree lighting thing wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Or maybe the caffeine was just doing what it was supposed to.
“To answer your question, no fire. I just wanted to get away because there’re a few gifts I still need to buy.” Holly stopped at a booth overflowing with crafty-looking Christmas items and rummaged through a stack of monogrammed kitchen towels. “I didn’t realize all my siblings were coming, so I only brought gifts for my parents and Ryan and Lydia—and the kids, of course. We always do that even on the years we don’t get together. Mom mails them.”
“Speaking of, I need to find something for my parents too.” Nick moved to the other side of the green velvet–draped table and spun a revolving rack of ornaments.
“Is your family easy to buy for?” Holly asked. It seemed she’d retired Cindy Lou for a few minutes, a fact that almost made Nick even more nervous. He couldn’t predict Cindy Lou’s next Christmas-crazy move, but something about Holly being real—walking with him, joking around, laughing—felt way more dangerous.
Though infinitely more enjoyable.
Nick spun the rack to the next side, the displayed ornaments gently clanking together. “Not exactly.” He hesitated, then he decided to take a chance. “My mom loves Christmas décor, but it’s impossible to know what elaborate theme she’ll have year to year. Makes it hard to get it right.”
Not that it mattered. He’d get it wrong even if he did know her theme.
“Ah, I see.” Holly shrugged, pausing in her towel search. “I like shopping for people—I just don’t know how good at it I am.”
“I hear you. A lot of my gifts over the years ended up in storage. Served their time on a shelf before inevitably meeting their demise in a closet purge.” Nick chuckled, though it was far from funny. Just more evidence of his missing the mark of perfection in one way or another. No wonder he’d exploded that one Christmas. Lashed out and broke the law.
Hard not to fail big when you are terrified of failure your entire life.
His stomach tightened.You’re not that guy anymore. You don’t have to be perfect. Your parents’ issues are their own.All the facts the counselor had drilled into him as a teenager filled his mind, but it didn’t stop the triggers from squeezing all the same.
He missed his ramen bowl.
Nick cleared his throat, not lifting his gaze from the display until he was certain his expression was neutral. “I always wondered if shopping for siblings would have been easier.”
“I’d be more than happy to let you find out.” Holly grinned and held up a leopard-print beach towel. “What do you think? For Chloe?”
The towel was gaudy. Obnoxious. And perfect. “Absolutely.” Nick handed her the ornament he’d just browsed past—a glittery, bedazzled cellphone. “There. Done.”
“Hey, you’re good at this.” She wrapped the ornament in the towel. “Now help me with Olivia.”
“Hmm.” He perused the booth, letting his eyes drift over the various items as he took another sip of espresso. Leather journals, bookmarks, jewelry…none of it felt right for the big sister of the family. “What is she into besides her kids?”
“Telling people what to do.”
Then he saw it. A white trucker’s hat with GO ASK YOUR DAD emblazoned across the front in teal cursive. He plucked the cap off the pegboard and handed it to Holly with a grin.
She read it and burst out laughing. “Nailed it.”
The rush of pride he felt at her impressed smile was surely just his caffeine high, not a red flag. Okay, so it was nice to choose an acceptable gift, for once—one that wouldn’t automatically get a pity thanks and end up on a closet shelf. It kind of made him want to buy something for Holly, too, and see if he could get that right.
No.Thatwas a red flag.
