Approximately Yours (North Pole, Minnesota #3)(3)
To which Holly had responded, “Twilight ruins everything.” Holly was mostly neutral on the existence of Twilight, but she jumped at the chance to bond with her cousin. The two girls hit it off marvelously, spending the next few weeks chatting and texting, reminiscing about their childhood memories, and making big plans for what to do in North Pole over the holidays when their families would make one last pilgrimage here to clean out Grandma’s home and prepare to sell it.
Elda had actually brought up Danny Garland in a text conversation a few weeks ago. She’d sent Holly a picture from one of their trips to North Pole with the message, “Remember this dorky kid?”
Holly played it off like she hadn’t. “Yeah, total dork,” she’d said.
Thinking about Danny Garland had been the only thing keeping her from utter despair over losing her grandma. She’d spent the past few weeks leading up to her family’s trip to North Pole imagining all the ways she might run into Danny—she’d know him right away, of course, but he’d know her, too, the girl who used to enter the gingerbread contest with her grandmother, the girl who came in second place to him three years running, the girl he’d smiled at sheepishly from across the room after their last competition. That smile was etched on her brain.
“I’m sad there’s no snow, though.” Elda held up a hand as if to catch a non-existent snowflake.
It was the middle of December in Minnesota, and Holly wasn’t even wearing a coat. She’d pulled a chunky sweater over the powder blue A-line dress she’d paired with green low-top Chuck Taylors, but that was it. Chicago had been the same before she left—too warm. Holly wanted snow. She wanted Christmas. This wasn’t Christmas. “Global warming is almost as bad as Twilight,” she said, calling back to their earlier conversation.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” Elda stopped in her tracks.
“What?” Holly craned her neck over her cousin’s shoulder to see what Elda was so excited about. Elda crouched down, and the grizzly scene revealed itself—a dead, mangled squirrel. Holly backed up on instinct. “Ew.”
“Not ‘ew.’” Elda examined it. “The intestines look like blooming roses.”
Well, that was one way to look at it. Holly grabbed Elda’s arm and dragged her up. “Whatever you say, my friend. Let’s grab some coffee.” Holly crossed the threshold into Santabucks, where she immediately halted in her tracks.
“You okay?” Elda skirted around Holly, leaving her standing in the doorway alone.
Holly managed to choke out a “fine” as she stared at the ghost from her past. She’d let her guard down for a minute to think about global warming and a dead squirrel, and now here he was.
Danny Garland was wiping down the counter. The Danny Garland. Holly had seen his recent photos online, so she was prepared for the hotness. Modern day Danny was perfection. The dorkiness was a faint memory. He no longer wore glasses. His sandy brown hair was perfectly tousled, and his arrow-like, angular nose pointed straight down to plump, pouty lips.
Danny hadn’t noticed Holly at all, at least not really. He’d glanced at her for a second, then fixed his eyes on Elda.
Holly’s world crumbled around her. The ideal scenario she’d imagined, where Danny caught sight of her, remembered their connection as kids, and fell madly and deeply in love with her, was utter fiction. Holly was the dumbass who’d failed to see the obvious. She and Elda had looked like twins when they were younger (tall, skinny girls with brown hair and brown eyes), but puberty had been much kinder to Elda. Holly’s cousin had blemish-free olive skin and medium brown hair that was so shiny it defied scientific explanation. She was the girl next door of every boy’s dreams. Holly was the girl next door who actually lived next door. Of course he was checking out Elda. Anyone with eyes would have done the same.
Holly hunched her shoulders. She’d been a fool to expect him to recognize her. She was no one. And she was not the girl she’d been at ten. Back then, she’d been a bean pole with long, brown pigtails. Now she was curvy—okay, “plus-size”—with red statement glasses and dyed jet-black hair, which she’d had chopped into a bowl cut after getting ill-advised bangs that parted in the middle and swooped out to the side like little wings no matter what she did. Her tongue touched the tiny scar that bisected her upper lip. It was a nervous reaction, something she did all the time without thinking.
“What can I get you?” Danny stared right into Elda’s eyes, clearly under her spell. “And you.” He nodded slightly toward Holly, but he didn’t take his eyes off Elda. That was about right. Holly’s daydreams had led predictably to disappointment. Again.
“Half skim, half two percent, half caf, no foam latte with one Splenda and one Sugar in the Raw. Extra hot.” Elda blushed a bit on the word “hot.”
“Got it.” Danny typed the order into the computer. Then he turned to Holly and waited expectantly for her order.
Holly searched for a hint of recognition, but nope. It was official. Danny Garland, the guy she’d been dreaming about—off and on, she wasn’t that pathetic—for the past eight years, had no idea who she was. “Iced cinnamon latte,” Holly said. “Two percent. With whipped.” She’d drown her disappointment in sugar and milk fat. Maybe that, too, counted as negative calories. Eating one’s feelings was a tradition of sorts.