Approximately Yours (North Pole, Minnesota #3)(4)

Elda leaned against the counter in a way that Holly assumed was supposed to be casual. “So, North Pole, am I right?” She said it like a bad actress in a bad movie trying to read her lines, moving her body deliberately, as if she’d forgotten how to control the muscles in her arms and face.

Danny didn’t watch her display, which was probably a lucky thing for Elda. He seemed too busy focusing on his task at hand—navigating the tiny space behind the espresso machine while on crutches. “North Pole,” he said in agreement.

To which Elda replied, “North. Pole.”

This was perhaps the most pathetic mating ritual Holly had ever witnessed. Every cell inside her body groaned in second-hand embarrassment for her cousin. Maybe Holly didn’t have the physique of a model, but at least she knew how to talk to a guy and not give off the impression that she was an alien trying its darnedest to impersonate human interactions.

Danny glanced up at Elda with a faint smile. Holly couldn’t tell if he was patronizing her or if he was truly interested in seeing this banal conversation through to its conclusion.

Elda batted her eyelashes. Ah, she was bringing out the big guns, going in for the kill. Holly started picturing herself as a bridesmaid at their wedding. She’d survive it. She’d give a lovely toast, relaying Danny and Elda’s meet-cute to a few hundred guests. But then Elda said, “I found a really mangled dead squirrel in the street outside.”

Danny, no doubt alarmed by Elda’s unorthodox idea of foreplay, dropped one of his crutches.

Holly, without even thinking, dashed behind the counter and rescued the crutch from the floor.

“I have a girlfriend.” Danny looked right at Holly, as if enlisting her help, like he was expecting her to break the news gently to her roadkill-obsessed cousin. “I really do. I have a girlfriend.”

“Okay.” Whatever, Danny, we got it. You’re not single. “Here.” Holly handed him his crutch.

“Thanks.” Danny’s eyes softened. He was staring right at Holly, and now her insides were melting for a whole new reason. His eyes were a striking blue, but it was more than that. She could sense Original Danny behind those eyes. His brilliant brain hid behind those eyes, analyzing the situation, working through this cousin-related foolishness. “I like your glasses,” he said finally.

Holly opened her mouth to introduce herself, to tell him she knew him back when, but she held back. She’d been thinking about Danny forever—she’d googled him, for goodness’ sake—but he didn’t remember her. He hadn’t been waiting around, pining over her for years. He had a girlfriend. He really had a girlfriend. Holly handed him the crutch and retreated to her rightful place on the other side of the counter.

When he finished their order, the girls grabbed their drinks and left the shop. Elda smacked herself on the forehead after the door to Santabucks had shut behind them. “Gah, he’s so cute! Maybe I should’ve gotten his name instead of talking about squirrel carcasses.”

“Danny,” Holly blurted, her eyes down on her beverage.

“Danny? How do you know that?”

Holly clamped her mouth shut for a moment. She’d tipped her hand. “Um…Elda, that was Danny Garland, the dorky kid from the gingerbread competition.” She made sure to emphasize the word “dorky.”

“That was Danny?” Elda spun around and stared at the door to Santabucks.

“That was Danny.”

“Well, he got cute.”

“Nah,” Holly said. “I didn’t notice.” She’d never admit to her cousin the eight-year torch she’d carried for Danny Garland, beautiful human and king of the gingerbread contest. She’d never tell anyone that, because it was sad and moot. She’d imagined a connection eight years ago. Holly had been living that lie for too long.

“Well, I did notice,” Elda said, “and I made a complete fool of myself. As I do.”

Holly dropped a few coins into the bucket next to an elf collecting donations for the local food pantry. “You were fine.” Ah, the lies we tell our loved ones.

“I was a complete goober, like always,” Elda said. “And you were cool as a cucumber.”

Holly glanced up at her cousin, who was blowing across the lid of her beverage, making a low whistling sound. “Hey, Elda.”

Elda stopped blowing on her drink and looked up.

Holly wiped her cheek. “You’ve got something on your face there.”

“Shoot.” Elda spun around and peered into the window of the nearest storefront, the flower shop. Using the window as a mirror, she wiped away the smudge on her cheek. “God, I’m so awkward. Do you think Danny noticed?”

“No way.” Holly linked arms with her cousin. “He was definitely looking at you, but I’m positive the chocolate on your cheek was the last thing on his mind.”

Elda rested her head on Holly’s shoulder. “I wish I had half your chill around guys.”

Chill was all Holly had. It was self-preservation. “And I’d love to be half as hot as you are.” Holly had always assumed girls like Elda had it so easy—that all they had to do was exist, and they’d get any guy they wanted. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Elda still had her insecurities. She didn’t care about sports or music or movies. She found beauty in the things other people found disgusting. She enjoyed exploring the guts of almost everything—animals, cars, houses. The grosser and more covered in hair and scum, the happier she was. But those weren’t easy topics to pursue in the early stages of a relationship.