Page 9 of The Holiday Exchange

“It’s not a hardship, believe me.”

And the way he says it makes something prickle on the back of my neck. When I look over, our eyes connect before he glances away. Dawson is a good, kind, pleasant human to be around. Him being so handsome doesn’t hurt either.

I force those thoughts from my brain because I don’t need to complicate this trip for either of us.

4

DAWSON

The closer we get,the more nervous I am, but strangely, the more excited I feel too. I know that sounds wild. It doesn’t even make sense in my own head. I’ll be lying to people, which I don’t condone, but I tell myself the only thing I’m not being truthful about is the fact that Briar and I aren’t boyfriends who’ve been dating for the last three months. That’s not a big deal…right?

I turn into Bright’s Hollow, and immediately feel a smile pull at my lips. “It looks like a postcard.”

“Or a holiday movie,” Briar adds, and he’s smiling too.

It’s a mountain town in the middle of nowhere, with just one main road passing through, which could get sketchy when there’s a huge storm. It’s the type of place you read about people getting snowed in and trapped in a cabin together.

We’re driving down Main Street now, and there’s greenery everywhere, bookending each strip of buildings. I can only imagine what it looks like in the fall when the leaves are all bright orange and yellow, especially since the buildings are all painted in fall colors—reds, browns, yellows, and lots of brick, everything from restaurants to a candy shop, ice cream parlor, antique stores, and other shops. The ground outside and theroofs are covered with a couple of inches of snow. Christmas trees, lights, and holiday decorations brighten every window display and outside each shop.

“It feels like make-believe,” I say, the awe in my voice noticeable. Maybe I should be embarrassed by that, but I can’t find it in myself to feel that way. I’m just…happy.

“You really do love this, don’t you?” Briar asks.

“I’m sure it sounds silly. I love the city too, but there’s something so…so wholesome about this place. It reminds me of a dream or a fairy tale. Sorry. I know that’s dumb?—”

“It’s not,” he interrupts. “It’s sweet.”

Ugh. Sweet. The kiss of death. Most guys don’t want sweet. Sweet is boring. “Me tough man. Me hate cute small towns,” I joke, earning myself a laugh from Briar. It feels like hitting the jackpot, and I know when I look at him, my grin is ridiculous.

“What?” Briar asks.

“Nothing.” I pay attention to the road again, determined not to make this weird. Briar and I are friends, and I’m doing him a favor. That’s it. I don’t need to sit around thinking about how good it feels to make him laugh. “I’m sure it’s different to you, having grown up here. Some of the magic is probably gone.”

“Well, maybe I’ll find it again. Your excitement is contagious.”

I like the idea of that, of helping him remember the magic of a place like this. Maybe then he’ll feel better next time he comes home and not as if he must have a fake boyfriend to prove himself.

“If anyone can help you with that, it’s me. I’m excellent at magic.” I mentally groan.Excellent at magic? What the fuck was that? Why do I say the dumbest shit around men I like?

“I don’t doubt it.”

Oh…well, that’s nice and helps soothe some of my embarrassment over my terrible flirting…flirting with a man Ihave no business flirting with because he was just dumped by my twin.

His parents’ place is a two-story, wooden-plank home, with three large windows in front. It sits back away from the road, on who knows how many acres of land. It too looks like a picture, all snowy and tucked away in an army of trees.

“It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe you grew up here.”

“It definitely didn’t feel exciting when I was a kid.”

“I can see that. We always want what we don’t have, right? And I’m sure at times it felt boring or small. I’ve always lived in cities or bigger suburbs, so for me, this is…”

“Magical?” Briar fills in my wording from earlier.

Warmth spreads through my chest at the beaming smile he’s giving me. “Yes.”

I turn off the car, and as soon as I look toward the house again, the front door opens, and an older woman steps out and waves wildly. She’s tall and thin, with dark hair that matches Briar’s. It’s up in a loose bun, whisps of it hanging around her face. She’s got comfortable-looking jeans on and a thick sweater with a Christmas tree on the front. She puts her hand to her mouth, then drops it and rushes down the stairs.

A barrel-chested man comes out behind her, with a thick brown beard and what might be the world’s largest smile. It’s impossible to look at these people and not see how much they love their son, excitement radiating off them and penetrating the car.