Page 42 of A Holly Brown Christmas
Good question.
“Um…I just thought…”
He placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “Stop worrying. I can carry a few dirty dishes from the table to the kitchen sink.” And after another kiss, he just blended in with her family as they all worked to get everything cleaned and put away.
“You all have an hour before dessert!” her mother called out. “So go and relax or walk around the block!”
People scattered and it felt like the overall volume level went down, but she still craved a bit more quiet.
Pouring herself a cup of warm cider that her mother had on the stove, she slipped out through the mudroom door—grabbing one of the random quilts her mother always had piled in the closet—and stepped out onto the back porch. The air was crisp and cool, and as she exhaled, she could see her breath, but it was perfectly silent out there.
She went over to the old porch swing her dad had built when Holly was five, and sat down, wrapping the quilt around her. With her foot, she gently put the swing in motion. The sun was going down, and the night sky was clear. It was the ideal fall day.
A few minutes later, she heard the back door open and was surprised when she spotted Lucas walking toward her. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” She patted the spot next to her and grinned as he slid in beside her.
“I survived,” he stated proudly.
“Um…you did more than that. You thrived. Grandma called you a ‘keeper.’ That’s basically sainthood in this family. It takes most people multiple holidays to get that seal of approval, and, in one case, five years.”
His eyes went wide. “Was it Jim? I’ll bet it was Jim. He’s a little rough around the edges.”
She laughed softly. “It was definitely Jim. Good catch.” She playfully nudged his shoulder with hers.
“So…what do you say? Same time next year?”
She smiled into her cup, because that was a pretty bold—and promising—statement. “Only if you bring the pie again.”
“Deal. But you’re sitting next to your Aunt Lynn next time. She had her hand on my thigh for an almost inappropriate amount of time during dinner.”
They both laughed, the kind that lingered until it faded into a comfortable silence. Somewhere inside, someone started playing Christmas music—probably her grandfather—but outside, under the string of lights and crisp stars, everything felt just right.
It was after ten and they were back at Holly’s house. Shmoop was running around their backyard getting out his evening zoomies, while the two of them sat on her back porch under a heat lamp.
It had been a great day. Far more enjoyable than almost any holiday he’d had in years. It had been sweet the way she worried about him—and with good reason. Lucas knew he wasn’t a big fan of change and he was typically a bit more of an introvert, but the Browns did not allow for that sort of thing. They made him feel like part of the family and he was glad he went.
Beside him, Holly was telling him a story about the year her brother convinced everyone to let him deep fry the turkey and then nearly burned their parents’ back porch and the whole backyard down. She was laughing, and she looked so beautiful—almost angelic—sitting out here with her breath dancing out in front of her.
But Lucas quietly watched and listened to every word she said. He loved her stories, loved the way she told them. There was laughter and hand gestures and every word and every move just pulled him in.
Turning her head, she smiled. “What are you thinking right now? Regretting coming to my family’s chaos instead of one of your high-society, luxury catered events?”
He knew she was teasing, so he didn’t take offense.
So he smiled easily. “Not even a little.” He turned fully toward her, adjusting his bulky coat so he could be comfortable. His voice turned softer, more serious. “You know, I’ve spent Thanksgivings in places with five-star menus, imported desserts, and champagne towers… but tonight, eating that burned apple pie and watching your niece put stickers on the dog? That felt more like Thanksgiving than anything I’ve ever known.”
Holly ducked her head with a small laugh, and even in the moonlight, he caught her blush. “You mean my family didn’t scare you off?”
“They made room for me at the table. Without conditions. Without calculation. Just… room.” He looked down, almost sheepishly. It was rare for him to be unsure of his words. “When I was a kid, holidays were about appearances. Perfect pictures. Polished manners. But never warmth. Never real. And now, I walked into your parents’ house—your dad in those ridiculous reindeer slippers, your mom hugging me like I’ve always been there—and I realized…”
He paused, meeting her expectant gaze.
“You’re the rich one, Holly.”
She blinked, clearly surprised. “What?”
“You have something I spent most of my life thinking money could buy. Love. Connection. A family who argues over football stats and the right way to bake a pie, but always shows up. You don’t just have wealth—you are wealth.” He shrugged slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I feel richer just being near it. Near you.”
