The Holiday Switch(59)
My breath leaves my body. “You and your belts and straps.”
“You know it,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll text you. Good night.”
By the time I pull into my driveway, there’s already a text from Teddy: Hang out with me today?
I don’t think twice: Yes
TINSEL AND TROPES
A HOLIDAY BOOK BLOG
Title: The Christmas Dare by Dahlia Nguyen
GENRE/CATEGORY: ADULT PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER
What aren’t you willing to do?
In this holiday thriller set during a hostage situation—replete with candy canes, Christmas cookies, and a comical main character with an addiction to gingerbread lattes—our main character is dared to sabotage Christmas in her town, or else her secret is revealed. The book spans twenty-four hours, and with every strike of the clock, she must decide if the dare is worth keeping her secret—before time runs out.
What a mind game of a book, for us and for the main character! This combination of holiday joy with literal bombs, stalking, and impending death (By the way, the author posts content warnings here. Thank you, author!) was, at times, difficult to figure out how I felt about it. But when I say that this book is tropetastic, I’m not kidding. There is kidnapping, a secret identity, and an antihero whose goodness emerges through the magic of the holiday spirit. The pace doesn’t let up, and I did not take a breath until The End.
It makes me wonder what I’m willing to risk for a secret. And, here’s the thing, since secrets come out anyway, were any of the main characters’ sacrifices worth it in the end?
Pros: Perfect with a gingerbread latte.
Cons: It’s quite dark! Just saying.
Recommended for: Those who are willing to forgo bedtime. This was a page-turner!
Rating: 4 stars
TUESDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 28
“Earth to Ate Lila. Hellooo.” Irene’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. I shake myself and resume flipping pancakes. After getting home after one in the morning and writing up a quick blog post, I took what was basically just a short nap, then woke to the house in a flurry.
My entire family is here: Us kids are still on break, Mom is off the clock for the next twenty-four hours (which means she’s determined to spend the day with us), and Dad’s not due at work until 10:00 a.m. “Lean on Me,” the karaoke version, echoes through the house—because Christmas lasts the full twelve days here—and behind the instrumental is Dad’s voice and my brothers’ yelps.
For some people, this would be considered chaos, but for me, usually, it’s white noise.
Except when you’ve only gotten what feels like four hours of sleep; then it is plain old annoying.
From the kitchen island, Irene scrunches her nose.
I scrunch my nose. Then I pick up the scent of something burning. Belatedly, I remember. “Oh crap. The bacon.”
A plume of smoke escapes the oven door when I open it. Irene, a whiz in the kitchen, rushes to the window above the sink and pries it open. I slap the vent fan on.
The bacon is just shy of charred. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“I’ll eat any kind of bacon, but that was close,” Irene says as she picks up a piece, gingerly crunching into it. “Next year, you won’t be home to make breakfast like this.” Our parents are lunch and dinner cooks. Breakfast on the other hand? Bagels, cereal, oatmeal, and fruit—the kids take our pick. Until Mom taught me how to cook.
“That means you’ll have to take my place, Irene.”
“You won’t mind if I use your apron?”
“No, I won’t mind.” I look down at the threadbare canvas apron I’ve used since I was little. It was from the holiday cookie decorating party for Carm’s tenth birthday. “Hold that thought,” I say, then reach for my phone. Sure enough, after checking the calendar, Carm and I have cookie decorating planned for tomorrow—number seven on our Mission: Holly list.
A notification flies in. A text from Teddy. My breath hitches.
Teddy: What are you doing right now?
Lila: Cooking breakfast
Teddy: Still up to hang out?
Lila: Half hour?
Teddy: Great! Come to the climbing gym I’ve got to practice for the competition Wanna show you why I love it
Lila: Okay.
A mixture of thrill and relief courses through me. That he doesn’t think last night was a mistake.
I sure don’t.
I press my fingers against my lips, relishing the gentle and sure way he kissed me.
“Ate!”
I look up from my phone as Irene grabs the ladle and flips the pancakes. The bottoms are burned.
“Maybe I should take over even before you leave,” she quips.
“You know what?” An idea rushes through me. I untie my apron and slip it over her head. “Maybe you’re right.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve got to go. You finish up. There’s only a couple more to make from the batter.”