While You Were Creeping - Poppy Rhys Page 0,42

been passed down.”

I turned to Holly and reached out to drag my knuckles across her soft jaw, convinced now, more than ever, that she wasn’t a berchta and had no idea they existed.

When she pressed her cheek into my palm, I was also sure of one other thing...

I wanted to stay with Holly for however long she’d have me.

NINETEEN

HOLLY

“Merry Christmas!” my family echoed around the great room after Kye’d dragged me from my apartment, nearly kicking and screaming.

“Right back at you,” I grumbled, flopping down on the couch, and accepting a mug of coffee from Aunt Gretta. “Did you spike this? I’d really like some booze right now.”

Mom sighed as she handed out presents from beneath the enormous tree. “For heavens sake, Holly, it’s not even seven in the morning!”

“There’s always time for spiked coffee,” Gretta argued and shot me a conspiratorial wink.

“This is why you’re my favorite aunt,” I whispered, testing the coffee to discover that, yes, there was a lovely cream liqueur in there.

God, Gretta was amazing.

“Kye, dear, how do you want your coffee?” Gretta asked, heading back to the café cart.

“Black is good, thank you.”

“We made you some gingerbread cookies!” Wendy chimed.

“With a dash of hira-hira cinnamon,” Willow added. “That’s the secret.”

Would it be rude to eyeroll at how my family sucked up to Kye? I was starting to believe they liked him more than me, which surprisingly made me smile against the lip of my mug.

I understood. Kye was hard to dislike. I’d tried. Repeatedly. But the longer he was around, the harder and harder it became to steel my heart against him.

My uncles had taught him how to play moco, and my dad had shown him his wooden sculpture collection, which was a huge thing because Dad kept his hobby to himself.

No one outside the family really knew about it. And no matter how many times I’d tried to convince him to start selling his work, he’d change the subject.

But one remark from Kye and Dad was interested.

“Have you considered selling these?” Kye had asked. I’d stood by, silent, waiting for Dad to brush it off and move along.

So, imagine my surprise when Dad said, “Think folks would buy these old things?”

‘Old things.’ They were unique masterpieces.

“I know I would,” Kye responded, moving around the workshop, enthralled with all the pieces, from thumb-sized miniatures to larger, life-like sculptures.

Honestly, I didn’t feel slighted in the least. Finally, someone had gotten through to Dad about his art and that was satisfaction enough.

I was pulled back to the moment with Kye’s loud, delighted groan.

“This gingerbread,” he held up the bitten cookie, staring at it like it was the holy grail of baked goods, “is the best—absolute best—damned cookie I’ve ever tasted.”

And then he scarfed the rest and downed two more.

My gaze skipped to Wendy and Willow who beamed with pride, like Kye was top judge at The Bowl and he’d just declared them winners of the gingerbread bake off.

Even Aunt Dot, who usually fussed from her rocking chair through Christmas morning, was bright eyed and smiling.

Aunt Helen was helping the younglings tear open their gifts and the state of her ‘sagging tits’ hadn’t even entered the conversation yet.

What was happening in this house right now?

Jag, Dirk, and Troy shot up off the floor when they opened their gifts, making a masculine ruckus and chest bumping one another.

“Season passes!” They hooted and hollered about their love of tiko, a full contact sport that usually ended with players missing teeth and unwanted buzz-cuts.

The worst part about it all was, I found myself feeling a sliver of the old me. The one who loved everything Christmas and lived for this time of year.

Christmas morning had been my favorite day of December. I’d been the first one up and helping Mom pass out gifts.

Holiday spirit wasn’t something I’d felt in a while, and I hated to admit it was warm and familiar and tempting.

I watched Ivy beam when she opened my brother’s gift. A new pair of fancy heels, which she obsessed over.

“Holly? This one’s for you.”

The room grew quiet as Mom walked over, holding out a small, expertly wrapped gift. The silver paper had glittering white snowflakes on it and a handtied gray ribbon.

“Err...”

This wasn’t right. Everyone knew I didn’t want gifts. It was a rule we’d established that first terrible Christmas after George left.

“Do you like the snowflakes?” Kye asked, breaking the quiet. “Reminded me of that sad ornament you claimed was a Christmas decoration.”

I squinted and repeated the same