“I’m cooking,” I explained.
“You?” she said in shock.
“I couldn't book a caterer.”
“Of course not! For Christmas Eve? You’d have had to book way in advance.”
“Well,” I said, “I didn’t.” I looked at Holly. “But maybe you want to have beer? Christmas is about spending time with people you love.”
“Yes, but call me old-fashioned, I like food on Christmas.” She looked at me then looked around. “The least I could do after destroying your cars is host your Christmas party.”
Belle threw our mom, Sloane, and Amber out of the tower. She tried to eject Morticia and Fiona too.
“No, they're with me,” Holly said.
Belle peered at them. “I didn't recognize you two under all that cake.”
“We probably shouldn’t track all that into the building,” Holly said, stopping in the doorway.
“I’m going back home to shower,” Fiona announced. She took a bite of the last remaining cupcake.
“Same,” Morticia said from behind a cake-covered car, where she was recovering her baseball bat.
Holly waved to them then followed me to the elevator.
My brothers and Belle exited the elevator two floors below to adjourn to Belle's condo.
“I am sorry about everything,” I apologized once we were in my penthouse. I pulled Holly to me, kissing her, little flakes of dried icing raining on the freshly swept floor.
“I think I might haveslightlyoverreacted,” she said against my mouth. “The holidays, right? Makes people crazy.”
“You aren't crazy,” I said seriously. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Owen.”
I wrapped her in my arms again. She was exactly where she belonged. “I have a favor to ask,” I said after a moment.
“Of course I’ll help you with your holiday party,” she told me. “And I'll even wash your cars off. I have a Christmas-themed bikini!”
“Not that I wanted—” I ran a hand through my hair, streaking the platinum silver with red frosting. Holly tried not to giggle. I looked down at my hand wryly.
“I know you said you wanted to go to Paris if you didn't win,” I said. “And if you still want to move, I’ll help you as much or as little as you want.”
She opened her mouth, but I held up a hand to stop her.
“But I was thinking maybe you’d like to open a restaurant here in the lobby? I have money allocated for it. My employees want it. So do the Svenssons.”
“What do they have to do with it?” she asked, confused.
“They have these weird feuds… Never mind them. You don’t have to give me an answer now,” I assured her.
“Yes.”
“You can take time to think about it—”
“Yes!” she practically shouted.
“It doesn’t have a window, because all the retail space is used up,” I said.
