Approximately Yours (North Pole, Minnesota #3)(46)

“The most beautiful people of the year,” Danny said.

“Exactly.” She flipped to a page she had bookmarked with a Post-it Note. “Look who made the cut.” She held the pages open for Danny to see. “Christian Laettner.”

“Hey.” He grabbed the magazine. It was from right after Duke had won the NCAA tournament against Kentucky, after Laettner had put up “the shot” that won the game. It was the kind of sports moment every young athlete dreamed of experiencing at some point in his or her career. Danny and his brother had recreated this shot many, many times in their driveway—with the two of them taking turns playing Laettner and Grant Hill. The shot had put Laettner on the map. It made him a legend, a pop-culture icon. “I remember this picture from that documentary I was telling you about.”

Holly snatched the magazine back and gazed into Laettner’s bedroom eyes. “You didn’t tell me he was a fox.”

“I’m sorry I left that part out.”

She looked up at him, appraising.

“What?” Danny’s eyes narrowed.

So did Holly’s. “Nothing.”

“I don’t look like him, if that’s what you were going to say.” Danny ran a hand through his hair, which was, admittedly, kind of Laettner-like, though that hadn’t been on purpose. That was genetics.

“No, no, not exactly.” She glanced down at the page, and then up at him again. “It’s the nose. You both have that arrow nose pointing down at your lips.” She choked a little on the word “lips.”

Danny’s hand went to his mouth. “Stop.” He couldn’t help smiling, though he fought it hard. Holly had noticed his lips.

“I only noticed because I’m an artist, and that’s what artists do, obviously. We notice things.”

“Of course.” Now Danny was about to choke. He was such a glutton for punishment. This same electricity was completely absent whenever he was with Elda. Holly was the Page girl he should be spending time with, no matter how great his texts with Elda had been, no matter how unsure he was of Holly’s feelings for him. He had to give this a shot.

“Hey.” Danny was about to ask out a girl for the second time in a week. It was no less terrifying, especially since this was the cousin of the first girl he’d asked out, and he wasn’t sure about protocol. Still, this chemistry was too good to deny. He knew she was leaving in a little over a week, and this was a time-sensitive matter. If he waited much longer, Holly’d be out of his life for good. Forever. “The video store is showing Love, Actually the day after Christmas—”

“Ooh!” Holly’s eyes widened, and she cut him off. “Elda and I love that movie.” She glanced toward the lobby and waved over Elda, who was carrying two big bags of popcorn. “We totally have to go.”

…

Holly had choked.

She’d cut Danny off before he could finish whatever he was about to say. In those split seconds, she’d seen every possible outcome—Love, Actually was playing at the video store and he wanted to ask Elda out again, or maybe he’d wanted to go with Holly just as friends, or, completely unlikely, he was asking Holly out on a date. That terrified her more than the other possibilities, honestly. For one thing, she’d have to clear it with Elda first, out of courtesy. For another, Holly had spent the past week or so deceiving Danny. She had misrepresented herself to him since day one. If she went out with him, she’d have to come clean with him at some point, and she wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t forgive her for that.

But they could hang out as friends. “Friends” she could do. Buddies who hung out and never, ever got to the point where they had to discuss the awful, deceitful way she and Elda had kicked off their relationship with Danny.

Holly waved over Elda and Dinesh and scooted toward the middle of the bench to make room for the two of them between herself and Danny. She needed space. Dinesh, who was right next to her, handed Holly a box of popcorn. Here they were, a quartet on a weird sort of double date.

“Did you get the sink fixed?” Holly asked.

“Sure did,” Dinesh said. “Elda’s a pro.”

Elda beamed at him.

Thankfully, that was when the figure skating competition started.

After watching a world championship competition on TV when she was about six, Holly had started to fancy herself a figure skater. They made it look so easy. She’d go down to her basement and perform routines set to, like, the overture from Jesus Christ Superstar or whatever.

She’d come back to North Pole the next Christmas ready to wow everyone with her amazing skills. She’d lace up her skates and wobble out onto the ice, where she’d promptly fall down. She’d get up and fall down again. The routine she’d performed so effortlessly at home on her basement floor was impossible on the ice.

That was the first time Holly understood that just dreaming about something didn’t make it so. Her imagination sustained her. Trying to reach beyond that had always, predictably, ended in disappointment.

Holly was going to be in North Pole for a little over a week. She could dump all her feelings on Danny and face rejection, or she could hang back, be cool, and let their friendship continue to bloom. In one scenario, she’d get to see Danny, to joke with him and work on their gingerbread showstoppers together. In the other, she’d ruin everything and scare him away.