One of the many perks of living in a small town was that she didn’t have to worry about leaving her things unattended to stand next to the man she should see as nothing more than a surrogate older brother so that she wasn’t leering at him from across the room.
“You came,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would. Seeing as you didn’t return my text.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t tell you I wasn’t coming.”
Just then, Cassie came out from the kitchen, brushing her hands on a flour-covered apron over her rounded stomach. “Hi,” she said, by way of greeting to them both. “More biscotti, Holly?”
Ryan shot her a look that clearly asked How many did you eat? Holly ignored him.
“No, thanks,” she told Cassie. “I think I ate enough for it to count as lunch, dinner, and dessert.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Cassie replied cheerfully.
“I’ll have a biscotti,” Ryan said.
“What kind would you like?”
“Whichever is your favorite, and a large black coffee.”
Cassie smiled. “You got it. Go ahead and have a seat.”
Ryan actually smiled back, and Holly was so stunned for a moment she forgot to breathe.
He started to walk back toward her table, and she followed. “So,” she said, “you are capable of basic friendliness.”
“Yes,” he said. “I can also use silverware and operate basic machinery.”
“It’s just that you don’t smile very much these days. At least not at me.”
He lifted a brow. “Did you ever think maybe it’s because you’re a pain in the ass?”
She thinned her lips into a flat line and shot him her most evil look. “How would I have time to stop and notice? You’re so busy being a pain in mine.”
“What did I do to you? I was just on my boat, minding my own business. You came in with cheeseburgers and dire commentary on my living situation and general countenance. Face it, Holly, you aren’t very nice to me.”
A wave of irritation and guilt washed over her, leaving her saturated in both. He wasn’t wrong. She was a little bit critical of his life choices. The most recent example being the comments she’d made about his boat. But honestly, she just thought he deserved better and should get better. So sue her. Still. She felt a little bit bad. She cleared her throat and offered a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t mock you.”
He leaned back in his chair, a lopsided smile on his face. “Oh, by all means, mock me. If you were to stop mocking me, I would start to feel like I was your emotional charity case. That’s worse than being tormented.”
“I’m not tormenting you.”
“You’re tormenting me with Christmas. My headstone will read death by figgy pudding.”
“I’m not going to feed you figgy pudding. I don’t even know what it is.”
“Okay, so if we aren’t going to have traditional British desserts, what exactly are we doing?”
She lifted her shoulder, suddenly feeling a little bit shy for some reason. This meant a lot to her and even discussing just how emotionally tied into this she was felt revealing. She’d spent her first Christmas with the Traverses when she was thirteen, and every Christmas thereafter. As the holiday season had started approaching this year, the thought of missing out had filled her with anxiety.
A deep, biting anxiety that she hadn’t experienced in years. A sense of invisibility. Of the world, and all the people in it, passing her by as she faded into vapor. Starving for food, for physical affection.
She had been invisible in her house growing up. But never once in the Traverses’ house. It was always so full of laughter, happiness, and warmth. Margie had always kept a pot of spices on the stove, for no reason other than to make the house smell wonderful. She had a hug for everyone who came through the door, and questions about their day, about their lives.
In their house, for the first time, Holly had felt like she existed.
They had thrown the most wonderful Christmas party for the community every year since then. Except for this year. And...
And for some reason the idea of a Christmas without them sent her straight back to the place she’d been in before they’d become her surrogate family. So, she’d come up with the idea for the Christmas party. But she didn’t exactly want to get into all of that with Ryan.
She knew he had his own reasons for caring for Dan and Margie. She also knew he wouldn’t exactly want to spill his guts to her and have a heart-to-heart. They had too many of their own issues to take each other’s on.
“Margie always made such a wonderful dinner. She had the best decorations. The best games,” she said.
“If you’re remembering her games as being fun, I’m going to say you’re romanticizing a bit. What do you need from me besides the heavy lifting?”
“Well, I made a list of people who normally attend the party, a list of the food that I remember, and a few other details.” She pushed her notebook toward him. “Tell me if you think I’ve missed anything.”
“I remember alcoholic beverages and demolishing an entire tray of pigs in a blanket. But those are my memories of Margie’s parties—the later years. The white elephant gift exchanges I don’t have a lot of fondness for.”
“Are you going to be this intentionally unpleasant the entire time?”
He shrugged. “It’s kind of my thing.”
“Right. Well...why? I don’t get it, Ryan. I mean, I know life is hard,” she said, skating perilously close to subjects neither of them wanted to delve in to, “but we’ve come out of it pretty good. Don’t you want to enjoy that a little bit?”
“Do you know what I enjoy? Freedom. The freedom to walk around frowning and stomping if I want. To go out onto the ocean for as long as I want. I don’t have to answer to anyone. And I don’t have to suffer anyone’s wrath. Hell, at this point if my old man tried to raise a fist to me? I could just kick his ass.”
Holly looked down into her empty coffee cup. She’d suspected as much about Ryan’s past. About his father. But they’d never talked about it. He said it now lightly, like it didn’t matter. But she knew it did.
“I don’t have to perform anymore,” he continued. “So, I don’t. I spent twelve years walking on eggshells, and then a few more until I was sure I wouldn’t get sent back. I like not doing it.”
She studied his face and evaluated the lines around his mouth, his eyes, across his forehead, differently than she had before. Lines he’d won the right to after he’d gotten out from under his father’s thumb.
“I
