How Nick and Holly Wrecked...Saved Christmas (2 page)

“Fine, fine,” she says and heads for the door. “We don’t have to put up a tree.”

“Oh no, Granny, did I say that out loud? Sorry.”

“No you did not, but I can read that beautiful face. We can enjoy the decorations in the recreation center downstairs. There will be festivities all week for the residents. There’s a Christmas film festival with everything from
It’s A Wonderful Life
to
Elf.
There’s a Christmas dance, karaoke... You name it.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t an old folks’ home.”

“It’s not. But there’s an activity director who plans events to keep residents involved. And that reminds me. Don’t call me “granny” in front of my friends here.”

“Excuse me?”

“That word makes me sound old.”

I gasp and fake distress. “Why Granny, are you ashamed of me? It’s this train wreck of a face, isn’t it?”

“Oh no,
cheri
. You are the brightest gemstone, the most brilliant and fiery diamond of my existence.”

Must. Stop. Her. Now. Once she’s making gemstone references, it’s only a short hop to memory lane and hours of stories about her work as an international jewelry, er, something-or-other. It remains a mystery what she actually did for a living once my grandfather disappeared.

“OK, lady, take your foot off the gas. What would you like me to call you?”

She shrugs. “Call me by my first name. Call me Collette.”

“Done. Anything else I should know? Do you have a boyfriend hidden around here? You didn’t by chance find us a nice new wealthy grandpa for Christmas now, did ya?”

“Oh, Holly, don’t be gauche.”

“
Wh-at
? You know I need a car. A wealthy new grandpa might come in handy.”

She pauses near the door to smile at me.

“
Je t’aime,
Holly,” she says and blows me a kiss.

“
Je t’aime
, Collette.”

Day Two—The Terror Continues.

“Nick? What are you doing back here?”

“Hey, Holly,” he says as we press against the crowd at the popcorn machine. “It is a free country, you know. I can visit my aunt any time I want.”

“Sorry.” I don’t know what it is about this guy that gets on my last healthy nerve and makes me forget my good manners. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean, I’m stuck here because I don’t have a car and my mom’s out of town. But you have transportation. You have a choice.”

“No, I don’t. But yes, I’m free to come and go—as is everyone here, Holly. It’s not a prison.”

I scan the rec room. There is no one else near our age. “Debatable,” I snap back and then once again feel the need to apologize. “Sorry. What do you mean you don’t have a choice?”

“My dad’s out of town. He wouldn’t let me stay at home alone. I’m staying with my aunt for a few days.”

And now I feel sorry for Nick the way I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.

We push forward with the crowd. Nick towers over the others and stretches around them to grab bags. “I’ll get it,” he says. You should step back. Someone might bump your nose.”

I glance at the old guy beside me and then smile at Nick. “It’s not exactly a mosh pit, but OK.”

“How many?”

I want to say two, but then I’d look like a pig. “One. For Granny.”

“Meet me at the drink table.”

I slide my phone and bottle of green glitter nail polish into my pocket as I approach the table. I catch my reflection in the large silver coffee maker. Granny was right. The swelling is down and the angry red streak across the bridge of my nose is slowly turning pink.

“I got what I could.” Nick has six small paper bags trapped between his fingers. “These old guys are serious about their popcorn.”

I push hair away from my face and unsuccessfully try to take a bag from his grasp.

“Uh... Sorry,” he says and pulls his hand away. “If I let go of one, I let go of them all.”

“I’ll get the drinks,” I say and pick up a cup. “May I offer you red stuff or yellow stuff? Or there’s coffee.”

“No coffee. My uncle used to say this coffee is like Army coffee. He suggested I stay away from it. That one looks good.”

“Red stuff it is.” I fumble with the spout on the large plastic dispenser. “I know what you mean. My granny drinks some crazy-strong brew so I’d do about anything to see a venti red holiday Starbucks cup right now.”

“Anything?” He is teasing-slash-flirting with me. His smile is wide and shy and I turn away because semi-bad-boy and rumored loser, Nick Zernigan, must never know I think he’s a hottie. Especially since I’m wearing navy yoga pants and a vintage—meaning tattered—WVU sweatshirt. Who knew he’d be back?

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Nick. I was upset about something else and was rude to you.”

He shrugs. His oversized mustard-colored thermal shirt moves on his slender body as he now cradles the popcorn bags in his arms. “A hard blow to the nose with a board will do that to a person.”

“About that,” I continue and separate two more cups from the stack. “I’m over it. I know it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

His eyes get so big I want to laugh. Leave it to me to make any guy feel completely uncomfortable.

I look away. “So... Does your aunt want red stuff, too?”

“No. She brought something.”

I pick up the full cups.

“It looks good,” he says too fast as if the words were trying to escape from his mouth.

“What?”

“I mean you look good. Your nose.”

“Thanks. It feels better with the tape off. I tried dusting some powder around my black eyes and adding some make-up, but I don’t think it helped. I look like a seriously deranged raccoon who knows how to use lip gloss.”

He laughs. “No. It’s not—”

His words are cut off when a short—like real short—woman slaps him on the back. A few pieces of popcorn bounce out of the bags.

“Nick! Glad you could make today’s movie.”

From the polo shirt with the complex’s name on it to the ID badge and coiled key ring bracelet at her wrist, I know this is the great activity director I’ve heard so much about. And I have to say it. She has a man’s haircut. I’m not saying it looks bad or anything, but if she’s trying to look like a female Ryan Seacrest, she’s pretty much nailed it.

“You must be Holly.” She extends her hand. “I’m Tanya Bates, the activity director here.”

I put the cups back down. “Nice to meet you, Tanya.”

She motions over her shoulder. “I’ve been visiting with your grandmother and Nick’s Aunt Ivy. I understand you’re a very talented vocalist.”

I look their way. Granny and the assumed Aunt Ivy are cozied up in a cluster of chairs around a small table not too far from the big screen. Granny waves and, like a dork, I wave back before I remember how embarrassed I am.

“Thank you, but no, I’m not that big a deal.”

“I hope you’ll consider participating with us this week. Tomorrow is Christmas karaoke. We’d love to hear you sing.”

Wow. Just
wow
.

Nick is no help at all as he looks at the ceiling as though he doesn’t hear.

Tanya returns her attention to him. “We’re on for tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Great. We have karaoke tomorrow night and the dance is the day after. We can also talk about setting up the room for the interfaith Christmas Eve candlelight service. Father Jonathan and Pastor Allen are going to let me know what they need.”

“Sure thing.”

“And Holly. Glad to have you. I hope you’ll consider performing for us. A lot of our older residents don’t get out much in the winter. They have an understandable aversion to the snow and ice on the roads. They would consider it an honor and a real treat to hear you sing.”

“If the nose permits,” I say with a smile and point to my face like it’s not obvious what I mean. “It’s much better, but I still sound like I’m stopped up.”

Tanya pats me on the arm. “We appreciate the effort,” she says and moves on.

Nick tries to maneuver a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “You’re going to sing?”

I pick up the cups again and head for Granny. “I will try. Why are you so surprised?”

“For starters, you haven’t seemed like you’re in a Christmas carol singing mood.”

“Well, first of all I love to sing. There’s always stage fright and nerves, but I try not to miss an opportunity. I have to practice and you never know what will look good on a college application. I can’t get off this mountain if I don’t get into a good music school.”

“You know what would really look good on a college application? If you came here every week and led the sing-a-long. Colleges love that community service cred. They talked all about it at our last class meeting. What’s the second thing?”

I pause and turn to look up at him. I’m not ashamed of my faith, nor do I hide my relationship with Christ. I don’t, however, Bible-thump in the halls of Black Diamond High. I’ve already committed enough social suicide simply by being a choir nerd. But I have to ask myself: Do I care what Nick Zernigan will think of me when he hears I’m a Jesus freak? Not really. Especially since the highlight of my Christmas vacation will not be a party or a date, but rather a senior citizen Christmas dance—where I will probably bust a move with my granny. Or some old guy named Otis.

Shame is no longer a concern here.

“The second thing is the Parable of the Talents.”

Nick twists his gorgeous face into a question mark. “Parable. That’s Bible talk, right?”

“Yes.” I start walking again.

“Cool, cool,” he says and catches up. “Uh... What does—”

“Over here,” Granny shouts and waves and I find this hilarious because we’re ten feet away and walking right toward her.

“Wait,” Nick says and stops again.

“What?”

“I have to go check on my house later and get the mail. Do you want to come? We can go by Starbucks.”

I try to stay calm, but Christmas bells are going off in my head, and my inner choir nerd is singing about gingerbread lattes at the top of her lungs.

And it’s not Nick I’m excited about. I know he’s only asking me because I’m the only woman on the premises with seventeen-year-old breasts—which he doesn’t get to touch, by the way, no matter how many red Starbucks Christmas cups he hooks me up with. No. I’m excited because I might actually get to leave this place for a couple glorious hours out of five long days.

I shrug and walk on. “I guess so. If my grandmother doesn’t mind. Thanks for asking.”

I set the cups on the table and Nick hands out bags of popcorn.

“Nick, this is Gran…uh...This is Collette.”

“
Bonjour
, Nick,” Granny says.

I roll my eyes as Granny flirts with Nick. I whip out my phone to text Amanda.

Christmas might be saved.

****

“I’ll get it,” Nick says and jiggles the passenger door handle of his old truck. “Sometimes it sticks when it’s this cold.”

I smile politely and catch his return smile in the glow from the street light in the complex’s parking lot.

The door creaks like ancient metal as it comes open. I toss my small backpack inside and pray I don’t slide off the frozen running board.

Nick’s hand is steady at my back. “Got it?” he asks sweetly and waits for me to settle in.

“Got it.”

He hops in the truck and flings off his gloves. “Takes it a minute to heat up.”

I nod, but I’m already cozy in my boots, scarf, vintage wool coat, and jeans.

And I’m far too excited for this outing. Note to self: Lose the goofy grin. You haven’t won a walk-on appearance in a Broadway show. You’re riding around the mountain in Nick Zernigan’s old truck.

A new cigarette drops from somewhere, bounces on the seat, and lands near my foot. I grab for it in the dark before it finds moisture from the slush dripping off the bottom of my boots.

“Here,” I say.

He puts the truck in reverse and holds out a lighter. “Fire it up.”

“I’m not firin’ it up, Nick. I don’t smoke. Do you know what that does to your vocal cords? And what it would do to my nose? It’s yours. I found it on the floor.”

He laughs as he wedges both items in the visor. “Chill,” he says. “I didn’t think you smoked.”

“You shouldn’t smoke either,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

I mumble under my breath and turn toward the window. I shiver from embarrassment more than the cold, and realize I just sounded like my mother and Nick Zernigan is laughing at me.

Is Starbucks worth this humiliation?

If I only had a car...

“I don’t smoke all the time,” he says. “Sometimes I do when I’m out with friends. Or at a party.”

He drums his thumbs on the wheel as he waits for an opening at the exit. “Did your grandmother give you a list?”

“Yes. She and your Aunt Ivy must’ve talked because when I left she handed me an envelope and said we would be picking up a few things. I hope that’s OK.”

Nick shrugs. “Doesn’t make any difference to me. I’ve been running a lot of errands for my aunt. She doesn’t have a car and relies on the shuttle.”

“My granny has a car, but she doesn’t drive in the winter. It’s a classic car so she stores it at Melvin’s Body Shop to keep it out of the weather and off the treated roads.”

“What is it?” His huge, dark eyes shimmer as he glances my way at a stop sign.

“It’s a red 1970 Camaro Z-28.”

“No way! That is
sweeeet
.”

“It is,” I agree. “Mint condition. Not many like it.”

“That’s... Wow.”

“I know. It’s pretty awesome.”

“Do you know what’s under the hood?” He’s smiling now like a happy baby or like my mom when Jake hugs her in the kitchen and says he’ll clean up.

“I’m not sure. Maybe something with a three in it?”

“Gotta be a 350. Gotta be.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen it around town. Or heard it. It rumbles like a thunder storm when she rolls up to an intersection.”

“You are killing me.”

“Sorry,” I say and laugh. “When the mountain thaws out you can ask her to go for a ride.”

He is still smiling and when he does, Nick Zernigan doesn’t look so much like a dangerous-smoking-loser-bad-boy. I try to relax.