Page 67 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
“At least I don’t dress up and go to fan conventions.”
Deidre sighed. “That’s enough, you two,” she warned her children. “I promise they are adults, even though they don’t act like it.”
I squeezed Holly’s shoulder. “Quick question before we drop this subject. What character do you like best?” My eyes widened. “It’s alpha shapeshifters, isn’t it?”
I easily pictured Holly falling for the leader of the pack. Hmm. Did Holly see me that way? I smiled, liking the idea.
“First of all, fantasy is about way more than wolves. And I don’t have a favorite. If the characters and story are well written, I’m an equal opportunity acquirer of book boyfriends.”
Deidre nodded her head enthusiastically. “I agree with Holly.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I’d leave Holly’s love for books alone. “What do you guys usually do for the rest of Thanksgiving?”
Cutting off a bite of turkey, I shoved it in my mouth. The tender, savory meat exploded on my taste buds. Holly deserved a million gold stars for her skills. I doubted I’d had better-tasting turkey in my thirty years of life.
“We’re usually with extended family, so we play games and visit like you do,” Holly explained. “Since it’s just us this year, we decided to put up the Christmas tree tonight. Want to help?”
Did I want to be invited to help the Dewhursts put up their tree? Yes. Yes, I did. I loved Christmas. It was the one time of year Dad took off every Saturday from work to spend it with us. Growing up, we’d gone sledding and ice skating, built gingerbread houses (using store-bought kits, of course—Mom couldn’t make the dough), seen the lights, attended the Lampton Christmas fair, and watched movies together.
I swallowed the sip of water I’d taken. “If you don’t mind me imposing, I’d be happy to help.”
“Holly and Mom are very picky about ornament placement,” Trevor said. “It’s best to move out of their way once the lights are on.”
I tipped my head. “I appreciate the warning.”
“When do you usually put up your tree?” Holly asked before I offered her a bit of stuffing. “Or do you not bother with a tree since you live alone?”
My cheeks heated. Dare I admit mine was already up? I cleared my throat. “I put my tree up last weekend.” I preferred real evergreens as that’s what we had growing up, but I found an artificial tree easier to deal with as a single adult.
Holly whipped her head around, staring at me with a gaping mouth. “You did?”
I shrugged. “Christmas is my favorite holiday.” I took another sip of my drink.
She laughed. “Of course it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You remind me of Buddy the Elf sometimes. It’s not too surprising you love Christmas. In fact, I wouldn’t be shocked at all if you came to work in a Santa hat.”
That was pushing my love of the holiday a little too far. And if Uncle Anthony ever came in and saw me wearing that at The Boardwalk, he’d fire me on the spot for making his establishment kitschy. As a fine dining restaurant, I couldn’t see him allowing anything other than the professional decorator’s designs.
If I were still at Tony’s—yes, Uncle Anthony had named one of his diners after himself even though he couldn’t cook—I’d have the entire staff wearing Santa hats to celebrate the season.
“Nah, it doesn’t really fit our atmosphere,” I said. “But I do believe I’ll ask the decorators to put up some mistletoe in the lobby.” And in the hallway right outside our offices. If Holly and Ihappenedto be standing there at the same time, tradition demanded we share a kiss. Thoughts of capturing Holly’s full lips with mine made fireworks explode in my chest.
Holly’s head cocked to the side. “Why mistletoe?”
“It’s pretty.” And it allowed me to kiss the woman I wanted without getting in trouble. I motioned to Holly’s plate, silently asking what she wanted another bite of.
“Sweet potatoes, please.”
I scooped a forkful of yams, holding it up to her mouth. Each bite I fed her was like sweet torture. I needed a distraction. “Trevor, what is it you do for work?”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m an actuary.”
Not a profession I would’ve pegged for Trevor. But I’d never met an actuary. Who knew what to expect? Maybe someone a little more rigid? Or who spoke about the chances of events happening more often? “Do you like it?” I asked.
“It’s stable and provides a good income.”
