A Copper Ridge Christmas

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 was just invisible,” she said, feeling the need to trade with him now. He’d shared with her, and she got the feeling he hadn’t really meant to. She wanted to level the field. “So nobody cared what I did.”

They’d cared once. Before it had all faded away. Before her mother had realized her little red-headed daughter wouldn’t keep her husband from sleeping with other women or disappearing for days at a time. Before she’d realized Holly wasn’t a Band-Aid.

Before Holly had betrayed her in the worst way possible.

She looked up and caught Ryan’s eye and her heart stopped for a moment. His expression was intense, focused. “I can see you just fine,” he said, his voice rough.

She wanted to touch him. Wanted to do something to extend the connection between them. She wanted—

Just then, Cassie came over and set Ryan’s coffee and biscotti on the table before quickly walking away, obviously not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

Ryan picked up the biscotti first, and the moment of tension between them was gone. “I called Margie a couple of hours ago.”

“About?”

“Arrangements for picking her and Dan up at the airport. And to ask her a favor.”

She pushed the plate that had once held her biscotti back, then pulled it forward, looking for something, anything to do with her nervous energy. “What kind of favor?”

“Not a huge one. But you wanted this party to be a tribute to a Margie Travers party, and...when I think of her parties, I think of the village. The little snowy village she put on the mantels. And her garlands, with the shiny ribbon and the little berries in them.”

Holly nodded. “Me too.”

“So I asked her if she minded if I went and borrowed some of her decorations. She said it was fine, and she didn’t even give me the third degree, though I have a feeling she’s decided I want to impress a woman, even though I would never use Christmas decorations to impress a woman.”

Holly wrinkled her nose, not particularly wanting to imagine what Ryan did with women. Ever. “What would you use?” She couldn’t hold back the question. Apparently, something inside her was masochistic.

“My boat.”

“No way.”

“Women like my boat.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not me.”

“I guess that’s why you didn’t make a pass at me when you came aboard yesterday.”

Her whole face felt hot and she looked down, desperate for a focal point that wasn’t his face. “Among the many other reasons. Anyway, thank you for talking to Margie, but I can use the decorations I have. I don’t have a key to their house. And I would feel funny about going in by myself.”

“I have a key,” he said.

“You do?” She resisted the urge to ask why he had a key and she didn’t.

“Yes. And I could go with you.” He sounded pained, and obnoxiously long-suffering.

“Well that’s...nice. If a bit grudging.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m nice, Holly.”

“And grudging!”