Love holly, p.1
Love, Holly, page 1
Love, Holly is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Emily Stone
Book club guide copyright © 2023 by Penguin Random House LLC
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Dell and the D colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Random House Book Club and colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Published in the United Kingdom as The Christmas Letter in 2023. Published by arrangement with Headline Publishing Group Limited.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Stone, Emily, author.
Title: Love, Holly: a novel / Emily Stone.
Description: New York: Dell Books, 2023.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023014899 (print) | LCCN 2023014900 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593722114 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593722121 (Ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Christmas fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PR6119.T6743 L68 2023 (print) | LCC PR6119.T6743 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92—dc23/eng/20230407
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023014899
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023014900
Ebook ISBN 9780593722121
randomhousebooks.com
randomhousebookclub.com
Book design by Alexis Capitini, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Sanny Chiu
ep_prh_6.1_144937134_c0_r0
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Three Years Later: December
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
March
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
June
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
August
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
October
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
December
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
One Year Later
Chapter Thirty-five
Acknowledgments
A Book Club Guide
By Emily Stone
About the Author
_144937134_
serendipity
(noun) finding something good without looking for it
Chapter One
Holly kept her eyes peeled as she drove along the main road that led through North Devon, her sister resting her head on the window, eyes closed. Which was not helpful, being as how Lily was supposed to be keeping Holly awake on the long drive from London to the little holiday cottage in the middle of bloody nowhere that their parents had rented for Christmas. And right now, Holly was flagging. Despite the cold, damp air, it was toasty warm inside her parents’ little Fiesta, the Christmas songs on the radio were now making her sleepy with their repetition, and her and Lily’s car game of Who Am I? had long since been abandoned.
And what kind of main road was this, anyway? All these winding turns made it impossible to go safely above about forty miles an hour. All Holly wanted right now was a coffee, but there hadn’t been any sign of a petrol station for miles. It was beautiful down here, though, she’d give it that. There were hedgerows lining each side of the road, slightly bare at the moment but no doubt full of life in spring and summer, with fields stretching out eternally beyond them. Under the gray December sky, it looked brilliantly moody and almost ethereal.
At the next sign for the nearest village, Holly hung a right, causing Lily to sit up, blinking her eyes blearily. “What are you doing?”
“I need caffeine; I’m finding somewhere to stop.”
Lily wrinkled her nose, but that was the only sign of protest she made as they drove into the village. It was buzzing with life—more life than Holly would have expected. Maybe that was because it was Christmas Eve: Everyone was out doing their last-minute shopping here too, just like in London. There were Christmas lights hanging up on what Holly presumed was the high street and a giant Christmas tree stood on the green, opposite a clock tower. A mini version of Big Ben, Holly thought, snorting quietly to herself.
When she saw a café, just past the clock, she flicked the indicator and swung over to park on the road outside it, earning a beep from the car behind her.
Lily frowned. “You can’t stop here—there’s no parking.”
“I’m not going to last the remaining forty-five minutes without caffeine,” Holly said, by way of contradiction.
“You wanted to drive all the way,” Lily pointed out.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to drive; I’m saying I need a coffee. Besides,” she added, “you can’t drive, in your condition.” She patted Lily’s tiny baby bump, which was only just beginning to show.
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” Lily muttered.
“Can’t you be both?” Holly asked sweetly, and Lily hit her lightly on the arm.
“Be nice. I’m funding this.”
“Only until I pay you back.” Not that she was totally sure how she was going to do that. She’d forgotten her bank card, leaving the house in a last-minute rush, because she never learned, according to Lily. But really, that was beside the point. She couldn’t afford this family trip. After two years of trying and failing to make money as an artist—something she’d wrongly thought would be straightforward, since she’d graduated from one of the best universities for art in the country—she’d caved and got her PGCE, qualifying as a teacher and earning a nod of approval from her parents and sensible sister. However, until she actually got a teaching job, she was back to living with her parents, and living off their goodwill.
“You can’t park here,” Lily was saying again, barely holding back a long-suffering sigh. “Your front tire is on a double yellow.”
“Oh no one will notice that, come on.”
“Holly,” Lily said firmly, using her responsible “big sister” voice. But Holly switched off the engine.
“Come on, we’ll only be two minutes. Plus, look at how Christmassy this place is!”
And it was—there was a blackboard outside with the Christmas specials, including a delicious-sounding camembert and cranberry sandwich, with a hand-drawn chalk snowman to the side of the menu. Mistletoe hung above the entrance, and the windows were decorated with silver tinsel. Fairy lights were draped around the low thatched roof, giving the place a delightfully rustic appearance: somewhere you’d want to curl up with a hot chocolate and a good book. Christmas had always been one of Holly’s favorite times of year—perhaps because she’d felt the need to live up to her Christmassy name—but the Christmassy vibes weren’t the reason Holly was feeling increasingly drawn to the coffee shop. Quite aside from wanting to get her coffee and be done with it, she was now intrigued by the name of the place: Impression Sunrise Café. It had to be a nod to Monet’s famous painting, and any coffee shop named after a piece of art had to be good.
Relenting, Lily got out of the car and followed Holly onto the pavement, sticking her hands in her coat pockets as she walked and making Holly wish she’d grabbed her coat from the trunk. Side by side, they looked so similar they could almost be twins, even with the six-year age gap between them. It was the red hair that did it—twin little redheads. Holly’s hair was wilder than Lily’s, though that was probably because Lily tamed hers religiously with all kinds of fancy products, whereas the most Holly ever did was stick it in a bun when it annoyed her. I’m owning my wild mane of red, she’d said when Lily tried to get her to brush and straighten it before leaving today. I’m like Ariel in The Little Mermaid.
Not all redheads can be Ariel, Lily had said with a sigh—no doubt because both of them had been subjected to more than enough Ariel comments while growing up. And anyway, Ariel brushes her hair. She’s literally always brushing it with a fork or whatever.
Well, like you said, not all redheads can be Ariel.
But it w asn’t only the hair. They had the same cheekbones, same pointy jaw, same arched eyebrows (even without plucking them obsessively like Lily did). Only their eyes were different—Lily’s were brown, whereas Holly’s were a bold green.
Holly pushed through the café door without really concentrating on what she was doing because she was distracted by an absolutely gorgeous painting hanging inside the doorway, the kind of art that demanded your instant attention. It was a rainforest, depicted in a way she’d never seen before—bold and abstract, with vibrant colors that shouted life. She wanted it. That was her first thought. She wanted to hang it opposite her bed so she could wake up to it every morning and take in some of its vibrant energy. Her second thought was that she’d been right about the café—not just an arty name but real art inside and that was—
Her second thought was cut off as she slammed straight into an alarmingly solid chest. She noticed the crisp smell of a freshly washed and ironed shirt, along with a darker, woody scent, before heat seared down her arm. She yelped and yanked her arm back.
She swore, loudly, at the same time as a deep voice said, “Jesus Christ!” Something heavy thumped to the ground, along with two takeaway coffees.
Holly shoved back from the stranger, which caused her to slip on the liquid that was now coating the wooden floor, flailing her arms in the air but then catching herself, just managing to stay upright. She swept her hair back in one angry motion before looking up into the man’s face. And Jesus, that face. She wanted to sculpt that face. Bring it to life with clay, capture the impressive contours of it, the sharp jawline, the dark eyes, the nose that was slightly off-center in a way that made it all the more perfect.
But hot embarrassment was curling in her veins. “What the hell!” she shouted, causing a few people to look over at her, including the woman behind the counter, who was peering over the metal jug of milk she was frothing. “You could have burned me!” It was only her sweater—a Christmas one, black with sequined writing on the front saying let Christmas BeGin—that had protected her skin from the scalding coffee.
“Are you kidding?” the man exclaimed. “You’re the one that walked into me! Try looking where you’re going, why don’t you?” That impressive face tightened as he sucked in a breath, looking down at the mess on the floor, where two coffees—one milky, one black—were definitely beyond rescue. His briefcase was also there, one of the clasps sprung open. A briefcase, really? Who carried a briefcase around on Christmas Eve? He was wearing a suit, too—a suit that fitted him perfectly, she couldn’t help but notice.
Holly scowled and opened her mouth to snap back, an automatic response, but felt a light hand on her arm. She glanced at Lily, who was giving her a look. A look she’d seen many times before.
Holly forced herself to take a calming breath. Lily was right. “I’m sorry,” she said gruffly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Her words were stiff and awkward.
“Clearly,” he muttered.
Though her temper flared and the words Well, I said I was sorry! were trying to fight their way out, she could still feel Lily watching her. So she made herself look up to meet the man’s gaze instead. Which was a mistake, because his brown eyes—like black coffee, she thought, though maybe that comparison was because of where they were—were impossible to look away from. They had a slightly unreadable quality, unlike hers, which she’d been told time and time again always gave all her emotions away.
Right now, his jaw was held tightly, as if he, too, was biting back words he wanted to snap at her. And as he reached up to run a hand through his hair—dark brown curls that set off the rest of his features—she noticed that his white shirt was stained with coffee. Oops.
She wrinkled her nose. “I really am sorry. I got distracted.” She waved a hand to the painting she’d been looking at and his expression softened.
“I like that one too. It makes me think of…life.” He made a face, like he thought that sounded stupid, and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but Holly cut him off.
“That’s exactly right. It’s so vibrant.” She gave a helpless little shrug, feeling Lily’s stare burning into her back. “I couldn’t look away and…” She gestured to encompass both him and the coffee now spilled on the floor.
“They’re for sale, you know. The paintings.” He waved a hand around the café—which was buzzing, she realized belatedly—and noticed more paintings hanging on the walls. She doubted she could ever afford any of them. But still, a coffee shop that doubled as a gallery—that was pretty cool.
Next to Holly, Lily cleared her throat. “I’ll get us some drinks, shall I?”
“No,” Holly said, “you sit. I’ll get them.”
Lily scrunched up her face. “I told you, I’m not a—”
“Sit,” Holly repeated firmly, and Lily sighed, going to perch on the nearest empty table—of which there weren’t many. There were tiny little Christmas trees on each of the tables, Holly saw now, each with a wooden star on top. Cute.
“She’s not a what, exactly?” asked the man.
“An invalid.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good to know, I suppose.”
“Look,” Holly said, over the sound of “Last Christmas.” “Let me buy you another coffee.” She glanced down at the mess on the floor. “Or another two, I should say. As for your shirt…” She wrinkled her nose again as she looked at it. “This is the one and only time I wish I was one of those girls who had cleaning supplies tucked into her handbag or knowledge of some kind of secret stain remover, but I have neither of those things, so in all honesty I think all hope might be lost for the shirt.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”
He laughed, and the sound was open, those deep brown eyes warming so that their depths weren’t quite so unreadable. “That’s OK, I have another one hanging up in the car.”
“You carry a spare shirt in the car?”
“Well, I was right to, wasn’t I?”
She couldn’t imagine ever packing a spare of something, just in case—it required a level of organization she wasn’t capable of. She wasn’t convinced she even had enough clean underwear for the Christmas mini-break—she had thrown pants in at random while shouting downstairs to Lily that she was coming.
She wondered what was so important that he had thought to come prepared with a spare shirt—a wedding, maybe? His wedding? No, surely not—if it was his wedding, he wouldn’t be standing here with her; he’d be all flustered and running off to get to the church on time. He did have two coffees, though. Off to meet someone? It shouldn’t bother her. She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake: What right did she have to care if he was off on a date?
He picked up his briefcase and they headed to the counter together, where the woman serving was surprisingly calm and friendly, given how busy it was. Was this what life was like in the countryside? No London barista had ever beamed at Holly like that before.
“What can I get you?” She tucked a strand of her honey-blonde bob behind her ears, showing off sparkly earrings.
“Ahh…” Holly glanced at the man.
“A black Americano and an oat milk latte, please.”
The woman looked at Holly expectantly. “And, umm…” She caught sight of the specials. “A cinnamon spiced latte and a mint tea.” Not that she saw the point in paying for mint tea, but Lily was drinking it by the bucketload these days, refusing to even drink decaf coffee in case it was bad for the baby.
Holly glanced at the man. At five foot ten she considered herself pretty tall, but she felt small next to him. It wasn’t just his height—it was the way he was standing there all broad-chested in his black suit jacket, confidence somehow radiating from him. “Um, can I get you a cake or something too? To make up for almost knocking you over?”
