“Don’t.” I didn’t know if Ruby was talking to me or him, but when I looked, she was staring right at him. “I know Americans love British guys, but please…anyone but him.”

Chapter Nine

Holly

Alpine Peaks didn’t do things by halves. Not even seven-eighths. Their Christmas lights were lit.

I stood in the middle of the road, snow drifting down, nodding along to a band playing jazzy versions of Christmas classics. The singer had a voice so smooth, he sounded like liquefied Father Christmas. If I weren’t wearing mittens, I’d pinch myself.

First twenty-four hours were down, and it still didn’t feel real. Six full days left already didn’t feel like enough. Especially for what I had planned.

I got out my notebook and opened my Perfect Christmas Plan: Mission America list.

I’d already checked off loads of things, and Jess had just helped me get my train tickets for Thursday. It was a good way of making peace after I’d made her full-on swear when she’d come home and discovered me in her kitchen with 102 iced festive biscuits covering every surface. And they had a lot of surface. But the American measurements had really thrown me. How can a cup be a measurement? It’s a drinking vessel of no particular size?!

Still, on the plus side, I’d discovered the train ride to New York was only one hour, eighteen minutes.

I was. SO. NEAR. To. Manhattan.

Ha. Even when I thought Manhattan, I thought it in a Nuuuu Yoiiirk voice. Me, Holly Judd, in Maaanhatttan. In four days. Could life get any better?!

Naomi was going to get SO many pictures. Yes, sis, I see your leopard shark, and I raise you the Empire State Building. In the snow.

My trip was already so awesome that I knew by the time I left, I really was going to be able to cross off the final thing on my list. The thing with the big stars next to it.

HAVE THE MOST PERFECT CHRISTMAS EVER!

And it sounded like things were going well back home too. I’d had a long chat with Ruby earlier, and she’d told me that when Fred met Elle, he’d lost the ability to make conversation for almost two hours and just kept repeating “American” and spouting facts about deaths and massacres. I think he even called her a waffle-loving murderer? Classic chat there, Fred. But when she’d gone, he started asking Ruby “just out of curiosity” questions which mainly seemed to be:

Did she ever post about a boyfriend?

Did she ever post about a boy who could be a boyfriend?

Conclusion: Massacres + loss of speech + interrogation = Fred was into Elle. In a major way.