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“Seriously?” Delilah set the box back on the counter, her mouth set in a grim line. “And for that you deserve glitter in your face?”
“Apparently, but have no fear. That man is going to pay.”
“You should put some itching powder in his underwear. Or hair remover in his shampoo.”
“That would involve me getting into his house, and while it’s doable, something tells me the guy would look good with a bald head.”
“Oh, really?”
Holly sent Delilah a withering look. “No, thank you. I’m not into angry giants with mile-long whiskers.”
“Come on, his beard isn’t long at all. It’s about the same length as Pike’s and I think his looks great.”
“That is because you’ve been in love with Pike since you were twelve.”
Delilah’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Holly didn’t claim to be an expert on what other people found attractive, but Pike was loud, dramatic, and over the top confident. If Holly ever thought of him as anything more than her older brother’s friend, he’d have driven her crazy within a week, but Delilah still carried a torch for him after all these years and the dork was too blind to notice.
His loss, in Holly’s opinion.
“I’ll make us some fresh coffee while you scheme,” Delilah said, hopping off the stool and picking up both cups. “We’ve got floaties.”
Holly let the topic of Pike rest, her irritation simmering once more. “Thank you. It’s one thing to sparkle me up, but to ruin my coffee after I’ve put my creamer in? That stuff is expensive.” Holly shook herself out, watching glitter fly around the room. “I’m going to have to shower forever to get all of it off.”
“Plus sweep and mop. Maybe you should call a truce.”
“No way. I never back down from a fight, and this,” Holly said, waving her hand over her glittery self, “is war.”
CHAPTER 6
Declan double-checked to make sure the front door was locked and set the alarm, something he hadn’t done in years. While they got some tourists in the summer months, they’d never had a break-in until Holly pulled her garbage on Sunday, and he wasn’t taking any chances of her retaliating after the gift he’d left her this morning. He’d been ready and waiting for her to show up today and rip into him, but nothing. He hadn’t even heard her music kick on next door.
Maybe Holly didn’t bother to open her shop today. The snow hadn’t let up until after one, dropping nearly five inches, and he’d only had a customer stop by for ice melt. The rest of the day had been quiet—just him and the gnomes.
Declan glanced over at the display window, his jaw tightening when he thought about all the attention he’d received from the citizens of Mistletoe. Praising him for joining in on the festivities and setting an example, when it wasn’t even his doing. He felt like a fraud leaving it up, but the damage had been done and if he took it down now, it would only draw more attention. Better to just let things go and be proactive in keeping Holly from wreaking any more havoc on his life.
It was twisted to admit, even to himself, but he’d been looking forward to seeing Holly covered in glitter and spitting fire at him. While Declan thought she was a pill, at least Holly didn’t just roll over and admit defeat. She was tough, and he could appreciate that.
Putting his ear buds in, Declan pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed play on his music app, his playlist blasting in his ears as he headed to his studio located in the back of the store. He always kept the door locked unless he was in there, mostly because he didn’t like to show anyone what he was working on, even his dad, until it was finished.
Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and stripped, hanging his clothes up in the small armoire he kept in the corner and sliding his shoes and socks in the bottom cubby. Tuesday nights he brought home tacos for dinner, which only gave him about a half hour to work. He pulled on a paint-splattered t-shirt and some scrub pants, and the minute he picked up his paints a calm rushed over him like a spring breeze, and he smiled.
Therapy had nothing on standing in a room alone, listening to his favorite tunes, and using brushes to turn nothing into something. His sure, swift strokes across the canvas in various shades of green outlined the rows of Christmas trees he’d seen over the weekend at the Winters farm. The image stayed with him, locked in his mind, and he couldn’t resist the nagging urge to capture it on canvas.
Declan had always loved art, but it wasn’t until he was in seventh grade that he discovered he had a real talent for it. Kids in his classes would pay him to draw their favorite superheroes, monsters, even sports stars. He’d used the money that he made to buy sketch books, pencils, and eventually an easel and canvases. Art became his constant, his passion, and even after coming back to Mistletoe he hadn’t given it up.
When his alarm went off, Declan cleaned his brushes and stopped his playlist. He still had some details to add on the trees, but he should be able to start on the main house in the painting tomorrow.
His phone blared to life with his dad’s ringtone and Declan answered it with a hurried “I’m leaving in a few to grab the food. Should be home in twenty minutes.”
“No need to rush. I was just calling to tell you don’t worry about me. I’m going out.”
Declan paused, sure he’d heard his dad wrong. “Where are you going? And who are you going with?”
“Out to dinner with an old friend. Don’t worry about it.”
“Dad, how are you going to get there? You know you can’t drive—”
“I’m not an idiot or a child, Declan. Enjoy your night off from babysitting me.”
