Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,4
few curls left free to add a touch of softness to the overall look. “Hair up or down?”
Her mini fashion consultant poked her tongue out the side of her mouth, deep in thought. After much consideration, she exclaimed, “Princesses look better when they wear it down. It makes the tiara stand out more, I think.”
“Hair down it is. Now hop up in bed. It’s lights-out time.” Regan pulled the blankets taut, tucking them snugly around Holly’s petite frame. She brushed another kiss across her daughter’s forehead, one across each eyelid, and a final one across her button nose.
She clicked off the bedside lamp. Holly looked around the room, her eyes wide with wonder at the twinkle lights that went around the ceiling. They might not be anywhere near unpacked, but her daughter had Christmas lights in her room. “This is the best house ever.”
Their house, a perk of her new job, was a modest two-bedroom casita off the Silverado Trail. It had a bright kitchen, a gnat-sized bathtub, and stucco walls that were covered in fuchsia and scarlet bougainvillea. It also had a leaky bathroom faucet, avocado tile, and a tiny patio that passed for a yard. But who needed grass when your house was set in the middle of thirty-nine acres of Syrah vines?
And for Holly, who had spent a lifetime living in one-bedroom apartments, this place was like Disneyland. It was also the kind of house that they could call home. The kind of place Regan had dreamed of raising Holly in.
“So tell me about school.” Regan sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to displace the red envelope, which had “Santa” scrawled across it in green crayon.
“I already told you.” Holly’s balled fists rubbed at her eyes and she snuggled deeper into the sheets.
“Then tell me again,” Regan said, knowing Holly was bursting with excitement to repeat her week.
“I made a new friend, Lauren, who sings just like Beyoncé and she loves kitties almost as much as I do. And she said she would come to my birthday party since she’s not going away for Christmas.”
Regan smiled. Holly was truly her Christmas miracle. Born five weeks too early on Christmas Eve, she had come out a fighter. Just like her mama. Holly had always loved her Christmas birthday; she said it was special, because how many kids got a birthday present from Santa? But the last few years, Regan had come to understand that birthday parties around the holidays were hard to plan. People were out of town or busy decorating trees and making memories with their own families. Not to mention that living in a cramped apartment had made it all the harder to host any sort of gathering. This year, though, they could have a party right here, in their new home. With her new friend Lauren.
“My teacher, Mrs. Collette, is really nice except she smells like saltines and says ‘shhh’ too loud.” Holly interrupted herself to explain. “A fact, not gossip, so it’s not bad. Then today we had the tryouts for the Christmas musical, and I went out for the role of Christmas Kitty and the music teacher, Mrs. Dee, said my purring was ‘purrrrfect.’”
Holly demonstrated said purr, and it was pretty dang perfect.
“You know what I was thinking?” A long blink was Holly’s only response. “Maybe next weekend we could go chop down a tree.”
“Chop down a tree? Like a real one?” That got her attention. “For the front room?”
“Yup. I saw a banner for a Christmas tree fund-raiser in town. It sounded fun.”
“I want a big one, like they have in the middle of town, with twinkle lights, white ones only, and snow. Real snow. It has to smell like camping and have Grandma’s star on top. Maybe even birds in it. And when I come out Christmas morning, there will be presents with red and green bows all around and the birds will sing.”
Regan was already making a mental spreadsheet of the cost. Then stopped herself. This Christmas was going to be perfect. She had a new, plush job and a little in savings. “How about tomorrow we measure the front room and then go and see what they have that might fit?”
“How ’bout we measure it now?” Holly suggested, eyes alert, already sitting up.
“Tomorrow.” Regan placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, steering her back down. “Now we go to sleep.”
Holly stared at her, clearly trying to think of a way to buy just five more minutes