Page 68 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
Snooze. “Nice.” I cut my three green beans in half and took a bite. Picking up Holly’s fork, I swirled the utensil over her plate, waiting for her to tell me what she wanted to eat next.
“Turkey, please.”
Stabbing a chunk of meat, I held it up to Holly’s mouth. Again, I had to look away. Why had I offered to help her? At this rate, I’d be dragging her off to a secluded corner of the house, replacing the fork with my lips.
“Rhett?” Holly nudged me.
Startled, my gaze jumped to her. “Yeah?”
“I asked for another bite of turkey.”
She had?
Chapter 25
Holly
Nothingwasmorehumiliatingthan being fed by your crush. Especially when he zoned out, and you had to ask for another bite. What had happened to make Rhett stare at his plate like that? Did I chew with my mouth open? Were my bites too big? Did seeing inside my mouth make him shudder?
He played off his distraction, but I couldn’t eat as much as I wanted to after that. When I was satisfied instead of stuffed as full as the turkey on the table, I told Rhett I was finished. After everyone else ate, Trevor, Mom, and Rhett cleaned up dinner and did the dishes, then Trevor hauled up the artificial Christmas tree from the basement plus the six totes of ornaments.
I’d offered to buy Mom a pre-lit tree, but she’d declined since the one we used every year was the tree Mom and Dad had bought the first Christmas Trevor was born. With Dad now gone, the tree held extra special meaning, and I wouldn’t dare to get rid of it despite the meticulous fluffing of each branch and the hassle of untangling four strands of lights to wind around it.
Mom turned on Christmas carols while Trevor and Rhett got the fake fir nestled in its holder. I stood there directing the men on where to place the tree so it was centered in the front formal living room window. My hands still ached from the burns I’d earned while saving the turkey. Going to the ER was probably a good idea, but since the blisters weren’t broken and I’d taken ibuprofen, what else would they do for me at the hospital, except bill me an astronomical amount?
I really hoped my hands wouldn’t take too long to heal either. We only had five weeks to reach our goal, and the last update Rhett had given Aaron and me hadn’t been promising. I needed to be able to work, not stand around watching my employees do everything.
And how was I going to shower, wash my hair, dress myself, and take care of Mom like usual?
“Oh, it looks perfect!” Mom clapped her hands in glee, staring at the tree now lit up with colored lights.
I liked white lights, but Mom loved the multi-colored strands, and that’s what we used every year. Our decorations had stayed the same since I was a kid. When I moved out, my tree would look like an Instagram influencer’s, with giant ribbon, various sized bulbs, wood signs, and sprigs of berries.
Trevor opened the first tote, sliding it in front of Mom. “Have at it.”
Mom bent down, picking up the ornament on top. She held a hand to her heart, her eyes turning glassy. “Oh, look Trevor, it’s your handprint from first grade.”
Okay, so maybe I needed two Christmas trees. One to be pretty and one for family memories and mementos. I knelt in front of the tote, peering inside. A homemade wreath ornament I’d colored in second grade rested on top, a photo of me, wearing reindeer antlers and a gap-toothed smile, glued to the middle. I remembered bringing this home and how proud I had been for coloring inside the lines and gluing the small red pom-poms to look like berries in a symmetrical pattern.
“You’re adorable,” Rhett said, standing above me.
“It feels like yesterday and yet so long ago, too. How am I thirty-one instead of seven?”
“Wait.” Rhett’s eyes widened. “You’re thirty-one?” he asked incredulously.
Why had Rhett said it like that? How old had he thought I was? “Yes,” I hedged.
He grinned. “You’re older than me.”
Really? “How old are you?”
He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “Guess.”
I stood, studying his face. From the laugh lines around his eyes, the strong build of his body, and thick facial hair, I’d say he wasn’t too far off from my age. “Twenty-eight?” Anything less than twenty-seven and I’d seriously have to reconsider the growing feelings I had for Rhett. I refused to be a cougar.
“Close. I’m thirty.”
Months separated us. That was nothing. “When’s your birthday?”
