Page 7 of Mistletoe Mistake
“But you hate football,” Billie interrupts, finally turning her attention from the magazine to me.
“I know!” I shriek. “It’s the Nick effect! From that moment on, everything he did turned me into a stuttering idiot. I couldn’t form complete sentences around him, which was so humiliating. That was the start of almost a decade where I simultaneously avoided him and sought him out. It was exhausting.” Even just the memory of those years has my shoulders slumping.
“Hmmm, it sounds like it.” I look up to see I’ve lost her again, and she’s engrossed in an article about the best blow job positions.
“Please, when do you have time to be giving blow jobs?” I snark.
“You can never be too prepared,” she murmurs, completely ignoring my attempt at sarcasm.
“Forget it,” I mumble and fold my arms across my chest. I bite my bottom lip when I realize it’s sticking out and I’m pouting like a two-year-old.
Billie holds a finger up at me and her eyes skim the rest of the article while I try to remember I am a grown-up and I really should start acting like it.
“Okay.” Billie closes the magazine and tosses it back on the table, turning to face me. “You now have my undivided attention. Go.”
“It’s just, it was only ever a crush, you know? He was off-limits. Kind of quiet and broody. He got in fights and seemed angry a lot of the time.” A million memories of him over the years flash through my mind, and I wonder briefly how many he has of me. “It’s such a cliche, but he was the bad boy and it really did something for me.”
Billie purses her lips, quirking an eyebrow at me. “That doesn’t sound like the Holly I know.”
“I know. Nick O’Connor was the exception to my every rule.” I smile ruefully, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter though, he never knew I existed.” I blink away an unwelcome image of Nick looking right through me. It was the only way he ever looked at me growing up. I was always just Brandon’s kid sister. “Anyway, he was always just a fantasy. But last night he was different.”
“How so?”
“He was funny and just, I don’t know, he seemed sort oflighter.” I shrug. “He was… real.” I chew my bottom lip, not liking this feeling of vulnerability. “When a fantasy doesn’t know you exist, it doesn’t really hurt because your feelings aren’t based in reality, does that make sense?”
She nods, her eyes narrowed and I try to ignore the look of concern that is starting to creep onto her face.
“When you have feelings for a real person, and they don’t see you, it kind of sucks.”
Billie holds my gaze wearing an expression I can’t quite decipher.
“Maybe you should—”
She is cut off by a loud bang on the front door, followed by a shrill voice screeching, “Auntie Holly! We’re gonna go see Santa!”
My mouth drops and I rush to the door, completely prepared to break a five-year-old’s heart. Because, babysitting? Yes.
Santa? No. Just, no.
* * *
“His beard is so shiny.” Tahlia’s eyes look like they are about to pop out of her head and her tiny body is vibrating with excitement.
Mine is vibrating more with annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Hols. She was mad that we’re going out without her and the only way we could get her to leave the house was to promise you would take her to see Santa.”Troy’s explanation still sounds hollow all these hours later.
I mean, I think this would have been a perfect opportunity to teach her that you can’t always get your own way, but what do I know? According to Troy, I’m childless, so my opinion has no merit.
“It is, isn’t it? I bet Mrs. Claus insists he uses a beard conditioner on it.” I nod authoritatively.
Tahlia scrunches up her perky little nose at me. “I think it’s probably just magic, Auntie Holly.” She looks away and I don’t know if I’m being oversensitive, but I get the distinct impression that I just embarrassed a five-year-old.
I tighten my hold on Tahlia’s hand and look around the Santa village for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour. It’s a cacophony of children yelling, irritating Christmas carols, and complaints mumbled under the breath of aggravated parents.
Can you imagine a happier place on earth?
Insert eye roll here, please.
