Page 37 of Jingle Bell Jilt
For a second, my stomach twists. Maybe I’m the one who’s too cocky.
The sweater, which has been rolled up rather than folded as a sweater should be, unrolls into my lap and reveals a large Christmas tree. So far not terrible. But then I see the Christmas lights strung around the tree and I know what I’m in for. I feel around and, sure enough, there’s a small battery pack. Great, now I have two of these sweaters.
He’s staring at me, waiting to see my reaction. I hold up the sweater to me and tilt my head, giving him a pert smile. “Oh, Evan. It’s absolutely dreadful.”
He grins widely. “I knew I was a shoo-in to win as soon as I saw that.”
I sigh and nod. “It’s pretty terrible.” I side-eye him. “But don’t declare victory just yet.”
* * *
EVAN
Shay does not seem overlydisappointed in her sweater. Is it because it isn’t that terrible, or because she’s just really nice? I can’t tell. She pulls the sweater on over her pajama top.
“It has—” I stop because she seems to know exactly how to turn it on.
“This is great, Evan. Thanks,” she says in an overly animated voice as dots of green, blue, and yellow lights flash on and off across her torso.
I frown. I’m suspicious that she’s faking her dislike of the sweater. My stomach drops. If she thinks the sweater she bought me is worse—. I’m not sure what to think about this.
She motions to the box wrapped in sparkly silver paper with snowflakes all over it. “That one is yours.” She has a pretty smug look on her face, which doesn’t feel like it bodes well for me. She has seen the competition and still feels like she won.
I set the package on my lap and slip the ribbon off. Unlike the presents I wrapped for her, Shay’s all have pretty ribbon bows on top. And not like the curling ribbon kind. It’s the nice kind of ribbon that you would find at a fabric store. Where did she get it? Because I’m pretty certain she hasn’t gone to a fabric store since she got here. Unless she went while I was shopping for her. Not that it matters at all.
I carefully run my finger under the tape, trying not to rip the paper.
“Oh, no,” she says sounding a lot like Phoebe Buffay fromFriends.
I look up. “What?”
She tilts her head. “You’re one ofthosekind of unwrappers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pause, drawing the process out even longer. I know what she’s talking about. I’ve been teased by my brothers my whole life for choosing to unwrap gifts in a slow, precise manner. Just because they go through presents like a tornado is not my fault.
“Are you going to keep the paper to reuse it later?” She asks with her brow all crinkled. I would never admit it to her or Nathan, but she looks so cute, I’m tempted to discard the present and just kiss her instead.
“No.” Or rather yes. I’ve already admitted I’m cheap. But I’m not about to admit that to her. “I just don’t see the reason to rip through everything and make a huge mess.”
She stares at me with a pensive look on her face. “Yeah, I can see that about you.”
What does that mean? Is she saying I look uptight?
She taps the box. “Okay, come on. You’re killing me, Smalls!”
I grin at theSandlotreference. “I can always move slower if I’m making you too stressed.”
She sits back on the couch and folds her arms over her chest. “I will say nothing more.” She pinches her lips together tightly.
I peel back the paper and find a box with a Santa Claus face printed on the box lid. “Why did you wrap it when it had this on top? Isn’t that the point of printed boxes, so you don’t have to wrap them?”
Her nose scrunches up. “But he’s so creepy looking. No one wants that staring up at them from under the tree.”
I chuckle as I examine the picture. I wouldn’t say he’s creepy, but she’s right. Her wrapping paper is much more pleasant to see next to the tinsel trees.
I cast the silver sparkles to the side and pull the lid off the box. Unlike her sweater, mine is tucked neatly in folded tissue paper. But as I pull the tissue back, I look down. The sweater is predominantly black and white, with pops of green, red, and gold. There’s lettering across the top, but I can’t read what it says. I can see several nutcrackers in a line across the chest. I grin. She thought nutcrackers were more terrible than blinking Christmas lights on a Christmas tree? I don’t think so.
I pull the sweater free of the box and my grin falls away as I read all the words knitted into it.Crack Deez Nuts. Is she serious?
