Page 22 of Perfectly Complicated
I shake my head. “Not even close.” One bad experience doesn’t evenbeginto cover it. If only she knew the ongoing history of terrible Christmases throughout myentirechildhood. As long as I don’t have to talk about why I hate Christmas, I’m not complaining.
“Scared I might actually succeed?” she asks, the corners of her lips curving slightly.
“No,” I laugh, because that’s exactly why I’m not afraid. She couldn’t change my mind if Santa himself showed up today. “Bennett, I hate to break it to you, but one Christmas festival isn’t going to turn me into Buddy the Elf.”
She lifts a shoulder lazily. “We’ll see about that. Do you know anything about the history of Christmas?” She taps her phone and launches into what can only be described as Christmas trivia torture. “Did you know that the tradition of Christmas trees started in Germany in the sixteenth century?”
“Fascinating,” I deadpan.
“And that ‘Jingle Bells’ was originally written for Thanksgiving?”
“I’m sure that will change my life.”
“You’re being sarcastic, but—” She studies me, squinting a little. “Your mouth twitches when you’re trying not to be interested.”
“My mouth does not twitch.”
“It totally twitches. Right there.” Without warning, her finger traces the corner of my mouth,and I nearly swerve off the road.
“Janie, you need to warn me before you do something like that again.”
She ignores me and brushes my mouth lightly. “You do it when you’re fighting a smile too.”
Her touch sends electricity straight through me, and suddenly the car feels about ten degrees hotter. I clear my throat, trying to ignore the way my skin feels every time she touches me. Like something I shouldn’t want, but do. “Are you psychoanalyzing me,Dr.Bennett?”
“No.” Her eyes narrow. “Trying to figure out what makes you tick.”
“I could tell you what makes me tick,” I say, my voice husky. “But we’d probably end up in a ditch.”
Her cheeks flush the same color as her sweater, and she glances out the window. “I was talking about Christmas. What you might actually like about the holidays.”
“Were you?” I can’t resist pushing her buttons a little more. “Because for a second there, it seemed like you were interested in something else entirely.”
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but I notice the way she’s concentrating on the scenery outside the window now.
“And you’re adorable when your face turns ten shades of red,” I admit, which seems to infuriate her more.
She scoffs before switching to another song about cuddling around the fire on a snowy day. Right now, the only person I want to be tangled up with next to a fire isher,which is another thought I shouldn’t be having.
She turns the music up louder. “Nice try, Riley. But charm won’t get you out of experiencing Christmas today.”
“Really?” I say with a grin. “And here I thought I was making progress.”
She turns away and pretends to be interested in looking out the window. “So, what’s your plan? Complain about everything until I give up?”
“That’s not a plan, just my natural reaction to all your forced cheer.”
“Uh-huh. And what about when we get there? You going to sulk in a corner and check your phone?”
I glance at her, noting the set of her jaw. She’s baiting me, and we both know it. “Actually, I was thinking I’d show you how wrong you are about Christmas.”
“How?”
“By pointing out all the evidence of commercialization, the way it brings out the worst in people instead of the best. Should be easy enough in a place called ‘Santaville.’”
“So you’re going to spend the whole day tearing down Christmas?”
“No, I’m going to spend the whole day deconstructing Christmas in its current state. I don’t have a problem with the original holiday. You know, Bethlehem and baby Jesus and all that. But what it’s become—that’s something entirely different.” My gaze slides to hers. “Unless you’re afraid your little Christmas celebration won’t hold up to scrutiny?”
