“You go ahead.” His leg was up on a chair. “I’ll be your audience. I need to save my voice for my solo.”
“Fair enough.” Dinesh, who had some pull at Santa’s Playhouse, persuaded the DJ to let them jump the line. Holly fought against every nerve in her body telling her to run home and hide. This was for Grandma, to honor her. This was what the day planner had been instructing her to do. The five of them huddled around two microphones—Holly, Sam, Tinka, Dinesh, and Craig.
Laughing through the tears flooding her eyes, Holly let the others take the lead, keeping her distance from the mic. Arms linked, they all swayed in time to the music, belting out a slightly off-key version of the Sinatra song. She glanced over at Craig and Dinesh, who were basically treating this like an audition for America’s Got Talent. The crowd cheered them on as they added melismatic runs to the melody.
Holly straightened her shoulders, mimicking the guys. She was always so guarded, so practiced, so calculated. She never let go like this. Even when sculpting, she kept her subject matters benign, unemotional. When dealing with matters of the heart, like with Danny, she always took the practical route. But tonight, she leaned in closer to the microphone, nudging Craig and Dinesh out of the way, and sang the final chorus as a solo.
The crowd—except Danny, because of his crutches—jumped to its feet in raucous applause. They were cheering for her. Or, well, they were cheering for the entire group, but they hadn’t booed Holly after her solo. She hadn’t let the team down. She hadn’t let her grandma down.
Though she fought it hard, Holly couldn’t stop smiling. When their group returned to the table, her eyes met Danny’s accidentally. She’d kind of forgotten he was there. Almost.
After Holly sat down, Danny reached across the table and squeezed her hand, but she jerked away quickly, like she’d been burned. He wasn’t supposed to touch her like that, especially not when it made her body go all weak and tingly.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s fine.” She turned her chair so she didn’t have to look at him.
The DJ called Danny’s name. “I hope I’m half as good as you,” he whispered, before hobbling up to the stage.
“I don’t normally do this kind of thing,” Danny said, once he’d situated himself behind the microphone stand, leaning forward on his crutches, “but I’m feeling inspired tonight.” He got all serious then and nodded toward the DJ, who pressed play.
After the first few bars, everyone knew what song Danny was singing, and the crowd started whooping and cheering. He grinned. Danny Garland, former captain of the basketball team and person who had previously been “too cool” for karaoke, was singing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
And he was rocking it.
His voice wasn’t the best or anything, but that didn’t matter. He was feeling the song. He was on crutches, yes, but he still had moves. Everyone in the crowd started singing along, cheering and clapping. Danny flipped his hair off his forehead like a total rock star, and his eyes met Holly’s.
She nearly melted.
This wasn’t good. Melting was not the appropriate response. All of this was getting too heady, too real. Holly rose out of her seat without really knowing what she was doing. Danny was going out with her cousin. He liked Elda. She, Holly, was the one who’d made this happen. But the way he’d just looked at her, it was almost as if he wanted her, Holly, which was obviously completely ridiculous.
He was being friendly. He was putting on a show. That was all this was. Holly had gone to a Justin Timberlake concert a few years ago and had wound up in the front row. She could’ve sworn she’d locked eyes with Justin for a moment, and maybe she had, but it had been part of the act. Danny looking at her like that just now was all part of his performance.
She had to stay cool. She was the one who was going to get hurt here.
With Danny still belting out his song, Holly ducked her head and bolted for the crowded arcade, losing herself in the lights and dings and people. She barreled to the very back of the room and hid inside the empty Star Wars racing game to think. She gripped the steering wheel, wishing it could transport her to outer space for real, right this second.
Holly had handed over the rights to Danny days ago. He and Elda were going on an architecture tour together in two days, their first official date. That was happening. For her own sanity, and for Elda, Holly had to stay far away from Danny. She did not want to get in the middle of this any more than she already was.
Someone knocked on the door. Holly said nothing, willing whoever it was to go away. But instead the door opened, and Danny was standing there, balancing on his crutches. Super. Just who she wanted to see. Why couldn’t he just take the hint and leave her alone?
“You okay?” he said.
Holly shrugged. “I’m fine. Just playing a game.” She kept staring at the welcome screen in front of her. Danny’s eyes were kryptonite.
“No, you’re not,” he said.
“Well, I’m about to.” She’d keep her sentences short and clipped. That’d give him the hint.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he said.
Turning toward him, Holly let out a laugh, then covered her mouth, hiding her nervous chuckle. She hadn’t been expecting that. Also, if only he knew.
“Did I do something?” he asked.
“Danny, oh my God.”
He frowned. Man, his eyes were beautiful, especially when they were all sad like that. Sometimes she got caught up in how hot he was now, but sometimes, like in this moment, she caught a glimpse of who he was as a kid—the dorky, competitive gingerbread master, the boy who would totally understand her, if only they had the chance to get to know each other.
“Why do you care so much?” she asked. But of course he cared. Popular people always cared about being liked, because being liked was their default. That was Danny’s downfall, his weakness. Holly never expected to be liked, and she found strength in that solitude. Accepting her alone status had helped her survive high school. It would help her get through the next twelve days in North Pole.
“You’re always frowning at me like you think I’m an awful person, and I want to know why. What did I do to you? Was I a jerk when we were kids or something?” he asked.
Maybe she did frown sometimes. Maybe she suffered from a mild case of resting bitch face. Why did he care? He had Elda; why did he need her, too? Holly was tired and emotionally drained, and him coming around all the time wasn’t helping anything. “Okay, no. I don’t like you.”
His jaw dropped.