Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
It turned into so much more.
What does that mean about today? It’s supposed to be a fun trip, “grab some video,” and soak in the Christmas theme. What if it turns into something else?
I grab the Secret Santa phone, deciding to find out once and for all if Asher’s my texting buddy before we go on this … date.
Can I think of it like that?
After packing my bag, I sneak down the hallway and peer around the doorframe into the kitchen. Asher sits at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and staring into the distance like he’s reliving last night. I need to ice myself. Why would I assume that? He could be thinking about anything.
Hiding behind the wall, I text. Me: I wasn’t ignoring you. I just don’t want to talk about this.
I’m almost sure I hear a vibrating noise from the kitchen. Almost. It could be the sound of the refrigerator or the heating.
I peer around the edge. He isn’t checking his phone. Maybe he left it in the office, but my Secret Santa has texted me out of office hours plenty of times.
I hide again and send another text.
Me: Are you going to ignore me to get me back now?
Again, I’m sure I hear that noise—a short burst of zzz, then nothing. When I peer around the door, Asher isn’t checking his phone. I sigh and walk down the hallway.
My phone vibrates.
My Secret Santa: I’m cringing reading through these texts. I’m never typically this needy.
I rush back down the hallway, poke my head around the door, and come face-to-face with Asher. He smirks down at me. “Why are you sneaking around, Snowflake?”
“I’m not,” I say, noticing his hand is in his pocket.
“I’ll get changed, and then we’ll hit the road,” he says. “About last night …”
I shake my head. “Last night didn’t happen, remember?”
If I didn’t know any better, I would say he looks hurt, but if he is, he quickly hides it. “You’re right. Today, we’re just friends. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Not just today.” I hate that I have to say this. Things are so much easier over text. “Always. We must put whatever happened—or didn’t happen—behind us. Today is only about getting some cool footage and soaking in the Christmas vibes. Deal?”
He offers me his hand. “Deal, Snowflake.”
We shake hands. His touch makes my resolve feel weak already. I should probably tell him to stop calling me Snowflake. I like it too much, and I think he enjoys calling me it too much.
He walks down the hallway. About thirty seconds after his bedroom door closes, I get another text.
My Secret Santa: We should make a deal to keep our texts about Secret Santa. I think we can both agree this is getting out of hand.
I stare at the word “deal.” It seems like a sign. It’s like Asher is messing with me, which would annoy me if I didn’t like it so freaking much.
CHAPTER 14
ASHER
She thought she was so sneaky when I was drinking my coffee. I heard the floorboards creaking, then saw her out of the corner of my eye as she tried to spy on me. It’s like she thought she was a Christmas elf. I made sure I wasn’t texting when she could see.
Is that why she was watching me? The timing of the texts seemed too coincidental for it to be anything else.
When I emerge from the bedroom, she laughs, putting her hand over her mouth. Her face lights up with delight. It was the response I wanted when I wore this old Christmas sweater.
“I never thought I’d see this,” she says.
I shrug. “Today isn’t about me. It’s about you, Holly. So, for you, I will subject myself to the humiliation of this sweater.”
She rolls her eyes, so alluring, so magnetic. “Of course, the Grinch would have to phrase it like that.” She looks at me closely. She’s trying to trip me up. I’m only the “Grinch” in the world of my Secret Santa.
“Let’s hit the road, Snowflake.”
We get into the elevator together. I’m relieved when somebody else climbs in with us. Being in confined spaces alone with her is not good for my willpower.
Being together in the car is very difficult. I focus on the road, my heart pounding, my body temperature rising. She’s effortlessly tempting.
“Are you excited?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thanks for doing this.”
“It’s not a favor,” I say. “I’m excited too. I haven’t been rock climbing in years.”
“Did you and Mia used to go?”
Where did that come from?
Maybe she can read my reaction. “We’re friends, remember, Asher? Friends can talk about their exes.”
“No, Mia and I never went rock climbing. I went with a work buddy a few times.”
I stare at the road. She stares at me. I can tell she wants to ask me more about Mia, but I’ve got no interest in talking to her about it. Along with the stuff about Mom, it’s just another reminder of how difficult Christmas can be.