Page 71 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
Besides, how did I explain that I genuinely liked people, but keeping things light prevented others from asking too many questions? I liked it that way. Those who knew me didn’t judge me for my mental health struggles. Those who did not know me never needed to find out.
Should I tell Holly because I hoped to date her? Or stay quiet until our relationship—if Holly even wanted one—developed more?
I walked the line between the full truth and simply not telling hereverything. Omission wasn’t lying, right? “I don’t hide behind my ‘happy-go-lucky personality.’” I finger quoted. “I just like people, and by focusing on the positives in life, I’m happier.” My therapist had suggested a gratitude journal, and when I wrote down the good things in my life, it was hard to be as depressed. That, combined with physical fitness, healthy diet, and medicine, helped me most of the time. There were always days that blindsided me, like when Jack had told me about his current struggles and when Uncle Anthony acted like I didn’t know how to do my job, but that was life. Heavy hits you had to figure out how to get back off the floor from taking.
“How do you stay positive?” Holly asked.
I busted out an ironic laugh. If she only knew. “It’s not easy, but what I manage takes a lot of work. Would you like a lesson?” I smirked.
She elbowed my arm again. “I don’t need one.”
My brows furrowed in a fake apology. “I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “Have you met yourself?”
“You’re being awfully mean to the person who invited you over to her house and cooked for you,” she accused.
“Does this mean I won’t get pie?” I acted hurt at the prospect. She’d said she wouldn’t let me have any in her text this morning, but since her hands were out of commission, she couldn’t stop me.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said.
My back protested from being on the floor. Scooting out from under the tree, I offered Holly a hand.
She took one last look at the tree, flipped to her stomach, then army-crawled backward, ready to stand without my help. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her up until her back was flush against my stomach. Leaning down, I whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry for saying you need a lesson on positivity. That was rude and underserved. I just want everyone else to know you the way I do. But maybe keeping you to myself is a better idea.”
She shivered as my breath danced along her neck. Resting her head against my chest, she said, “I’ll forgive you.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Now, how about that pie?”
“Fine, but only because I can’t physically fight you off.” Holly held her hands out, palm-side up. “You’ll have to dish it up.”
I grinned, loving the idea of Holly trying to physically prevent me from doing anything. Reluctantly letting her go, I placed my hand on the small of her back. “You’ve got a deal.”
“You have a little something on your mouth.” I pointed to Holly’s upper lip where a stubborn dot of cream resided. Of course, as the one feeding her, I may have purposely angled the fork when giving her a bite of banana cream pie so this exact scenario played out.
She went to wipe the cream with her forearm, but I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, halting her.
Her wide gaze met mine. “I can do it,” Holly said, a bit breathless.
I smiled flirtatiously. “But where’s the fun in that?” The pad of my thumb slowly, tantalizing, swept across the perfectly arched bow of her upper lip. Heat like the sun raced up my arm, to my chest, my stomach, before settling in my toes.
Holly’s eyes stayed on mine as I brought my finger to my mouth, licking off the cream.
If only my lips had captured the cream from hers instead.
Holly cleared her throat, her attention diverting from my face and settling on the half-eaten slice of pie resting on her plate. “You never told me what flavor of pie is your favorite.”
Taking a sip of water, I swallowed. “Depends on the season. I like cherry in the summer and pecan in the fall.”
“I didn’t make either of those. I should have asked.”
I scoffed. “Holly, you had me bring drinks and asked me to help prepare vegetables for a meal that took you all day to make. There is absolutely no reason you needed to go out of your way to make my favorite pie. I enjoy banana cream and pumpkin too. I have zero complaints about the food I’ve eaten today, except that I’m sad it burned you.”
She studied the loosely wrapped white gauze covering her hands. “That was an unexpected part of the day.”
One that had added a major complication to work. Getting her mind off the pain, I asked, “What kind of activities do you usually do for Christmas?”
Her lips twitched as if she fought a smile. “Are you trying to get yourself invited over again?”
Yes, but that wasn’t why I’d asked. “Just curious what the Dewhursts do in December.”
