Page 1 of Mistletoe Mistake
1
Holly
“How do I look?”
I take a step back, narrow my eyes and sweep an appraising look along my friend’s body. I want to say something nice, truly I do. In an effort to buy some time, I scan my office, letting my attention fall on the small bookshelf that holds myFriendsFunko Pop! collection. I stare hard at ‘80s Chandler, as though he will somehow help me come up with aniceway to say what I’m thinking. Although on second thought, Chandler might not be the best character to find inspiration in.
I sigh and decide it’s a hopeless cause, I put on my big girl panties and turn back to Troy.
“You know those scary Santa pictures from the ‘70s and ‘80s that do the rounds on Facebook every year?”
His face pinches in an entirely unflattering expression as he nods.
“You look like that.”
Troy snatches the Santa hat off his head and throws it at me with all the aggression of a cuddly teddy bear. Which is to say, none.
“You’re a bitch, Hols.” He flops down onto the tiny sofa I have squeezed into my equally tiny office.
Stifling a laugh, I take a seat next to him and rest my head on his shoulder.
“What were you thinking when you volunteered to be Santa?”
His sigh fills the room. “I was thinking that if I didn’t, there would be no Santa at Tahlia’s kindergarten Christmas party.”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste which draws a chuckle from Troy.
“Most normal people would see that as a bad thing.”
“Christmas is overrated, I’ve explained this to you so many times.” I give his bicep a squeeze and shift on the sofa so that I am facing him.
“Five-year-olds don’t care about your childhood trauma, Holly. In fact, me volunteering to dothis.” He motions to the bright red suit he’s wearing. “Is meant to stop Tahlia from experiencing her own trauma.”
He shifts awkwardly, and I really do feel awful for him. Since the moment his daughter was born, she has been Troy and Matthew’s entire world. Now, at the ripe old age of five, she has her dads wrapped around her little finger. As evidenced by jolly St. Nicholas in front of me.
“You’re a good dad. Unfortunately, I think if you turn up looking like that you’re going to have the opposite effect.”
“Then help me.” Troy groans and pushes himself up to stand in front of me. Hands on hips and his brow furrowed, I can practically smell the desperation on him.
“Okay, first things first. This” —I wave a finger at the Santa suit that looks like it was made in the same decade as those scary Santa pictures— “is ancient. Stop being such a cheapskate and spend the money to rent a decent suit.” I take a minute to observe the way his mouth twitches and how he swallows hard at my advice.
“Fine. Anything else?” His tone is decidedly grumpier than it was a moment ago, and I bite my lip to hide a smile. Troy’s infamous for his miserly ways, and I know the thought of spending money will be killing him.
“You need to get some padding.” I eye his lanky frame critically. “You’re way too skinny to pull Santa off without it.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, yanking off the suit jacket.
“Yeah, also, maybe cut out the JC cursing. It’s not very Christmassy.” I smile sweetly at him.
“Bite m—”
“Knock knock,” he’s cut off by my roommate, Billie, who is standing at my office door. “Holly, I’ve got your—” Her eyes widen when she notices Troy standing there in Santa pants and a dress shirt, his short blond hair mussed, and she bursts out laughing.
“You both suck.” He storms toward the door and brushes past Billie, muttering about getting back to work.
“Is that my straightener?”
“Yeah.” She steps into my office and hands it to me. “How long are you house-sitting for your brother? The apartment is quiet without you and Gypsy. No loud music playing and no dog howling along to your terrible singing.” She smirks and follows me as I move to my desk, taking a seat opposite me. I sink down on my desk chair and feel the familiar ache in my back. I really need to check out that ergonomic desk chair my chiropractor was telling me about.
