I've always thought that the universe has a twisted sense of humor. 

As soon as I pulled the slip of paper out from Dex's beanie, I knew what it was going to say. Before I unfolded it and read the name scrawled messily between the blue lines, I knew what it was going to say. And, even as I read it, even as the word itself became a blurry, swirly mess of smudged black ink, I knew what it was going to say.

James.

Because of course I got James.

I sped-walked through store after store, scanning the posters of ridiculously-attractive models and their ridiculously-overpriced apparel for even the tiniest hint of inspiration.

It was futile. Because what on earth was I going to get the heir of a seventy-acre estate for Christmas? An heir who I was very inconveniently head-over-heels for to the point of not being able to think clearly in his very intoxicating presence?

Did I get James something basic—a decorative mug filled with Christmas sweets? Did I get him a gag gift—a picture of his face on some socks from the graphic kiosk opposite Barnes and Noble? Or did I get him something more intimate? A gift with a message? The message being that I was totally, completely, and irrevocably into him?

No. I couldn't possibly do that.

But all of the other ideas that I had—cologne, clothes, aftershave ... They weren't quite right either. They all felt too basic. Like James and I were acquaintances. Or co-workers. Like we didn't have the bond or history that we did.

At the end of the day, I knew that I couldn't win. Because buying a gift for an ex-fling-turned-best-friend is impossible.

"Can't I just tell you who I got?" I asked Noah, throwing my head down on the makeup counter in our second department store in ten minutes.

He was busy comparing two (identical) shades of purple eyeshadow, barely looking up from his latest swatch when he groaned, "It's Secret Santa, Madi. Secret."

"I get that, but I have half an hour—twenty minutes now, actually—to come up with something. So far, I have a gift tag. But," I explained matter-of-factly, "if I tell you who I got, then you can help me, and we can cut this whole process in half." I pursed my lips together, completely persuaded by my very persuasive logic.

Truthfully, there was more to my attempt to get Noah onside than mere logistics. Because maybe if I told Noah that I was James' Secret Santa, I could also tell him about my real problem.

My real problem being that I didn't know what the hell to get James because I didn't know where the hell we stood. I didn't know who Blair was, either. I didn't know what she wanted and, worse, I didn't know what—if anything—James wanted from her.

But Noah would know. Surely, Noah would know.

My friend, however, didn't fall victim to my very persuasive logic like intended. He simply moved on to examine a third pot of glitter.

I exhaled dramatically, racking my brain for a more convincing bargaining tool. "What if I got you? Don't you want the opportunity to pick out your own gift?" I picked up one of the pots, waving it under his nose like a jar of honey. "I could get you this. In fact, I could get you all three—"

"You didn't get me."

"You don't know that—"

"I do."

"You don't—"

"I do," he insisted, whipping his slip of paper from his pocket to reveal the name scrawled on it.

His name. 

"Noah!" I exclaimed, covering my eyes with my hands. I spun on my heel to back away from the revelation, more so out of instinct than because I actually cared about undermining the sanctity of Kris Kringle. "What happened to Secret Santa—"

I couldn't stop every vein in my body from freezing over. I certainly couldn't stop my jaw from locking shut. I'm sure that my blue eyes were bulging from my skull, and all I knew was that I had to run and hide.

The store around us was positively bustling with customers and staff. Tears and tantrums erupted in almost every corner. But it was a petite figure on the other side of the aisle that caused my heart to race three times faster than before.

I turned back around, redirecting Noah away from her faster than a child opening presents on Christmas morning.

That only roused his interest.

He looked back in the direction I was leading him away from.

He grinned.

And my stomach fell to the floor.

While Noah and I had a lot in common—our love of makeup, of eighties music, of Christmas and of Mexican food—one crucial detail set us apart. Noah was a social butterfly. Seriously. He took the mantra 'the more the merrier' far too literally for my liking.

So, within a second of peeking over my shoulder, he stood on his tiptoes to wave over the packed store and bellowed, "Holly!"

A hot second later, I smacked him hard in the ribs. "What the hell did you do that for?"

He laughed at my sad attempt to beat him into silence. "Because this solves your problem, doesn't it?"

I glared at him in response. That was not how math worked.

"You want someone to help you pick out a gift," he explained as Holly edged closer. "It can't be me, and it can't be one of the other guys. So, here's your neutral third-party."

I arched an eyebrow. "It's Secret Santa. Not a cold war."

I expected him to roll his eyes. To laugh or swat me as I had him. Instead, he sighed. The humorous veil over his face lifted, and his chocolate eyes darted between mine. His voice was so low that it was hard to hear above the fanfare and carols playing through the overhead speakers. But, somehow, I knew exactly what he said.

"I hate seeing you like this. I hate that this whole trip, you've been running."

"Running?" I questioned, my voice just as low as his as Holly finally crossed over to our side of the aisle.

"From her," he clarified with a subtle nod. "And I thought that you weren't doing that anymore."

My mouth floundered as I tried to find words. Any words. Words of dissent or words of dismissal.

I had nothing.

"You guys!" Holly beamed, joining us by the counter of ornate bottles and sweet smells. Her hands were stuffed with brightly colored shopping bags, suggesting that she'd done a little more than just last-minute Christmas shopping for her brother's girlfriend. "What are you doing here?"

"A little gift shopping of our own," Noah replied, that humorous and cheery mask back over his face. "We're doing Secret Santa."

Holly's eyes lit up like an overdecorated Christmas display. The squeal that roused from her throat was enough to earn us a suspicious look from the clerk at the counter. "That's so fun! Who did you get?"

"That's the thing. We can't tell each other who we got, but Madi here needs a little help—"

"I do not need help."

"It's been fifteen minutes and you have a gift tag," he retorted, his grin broad and irritatingly smug. "Remember?"

I blushed. And, okay, I might have needed help. But not from Holly freaking Tapia.

I'd sooner ask Krampus.

"Well," she said, readjusting her dozens of bags to a more comfortable position. "You've come to the right place! I'm the world's best gift-giver."

Of course she was.

"Aw! Wow, Holly. That's so nice. Isn't that nice, Madi?" Noah asked, his inflection far too pointed for my liking. "Well, I don't want to get in the way of a good time between good pals! I'll leave you ladies to it." He waved down a makeup artist before I had a chance to call him back, then strutted over to her with his selection of glimmering golden pots. Within seconds, he was gone.

And I was left alone with the one person in that entire mall that I had no business being left alone with.

If I thought that the universe was laughing at me before, it was positively having a riot now. 

My body was still locked, as if it was preparing for one of Cape Capri's rare but ferocious storms. And, in fact, it might have been. Holly Tapia was like the wind—wild, unpredictable, and capable of startling change at any moment. But, just like driving duty, I knew that I couldn't avoid her forever.

I'd still tried to, of course. 

Holly, on the other hand, didn't seem to share my resentment of the situation we'd found ourselves in. Rather, she was just as pleasant as she had been all trip long, seemingly unbothered by the fact that we had spoken to each other since we found out that the other had been lying about ... everything. 

But mostly about James.

"So ..." She wiggled her perfectly threaded brows, leaning in close as though anyone in earshot cared about what we were discussing. "Who did you get?"

My face tensed with the desire to grimace while my body felt airy with the desire to run away. If I'd been looking for a way to make things more awkward between Holly and I, then having to bring up our mutual crush in conversation was certainly it. 

"James."

The light in her eyes dimmed, just like I'd expected it to. Silence enveloped us as she processed what I'd said, just like I'd expected it to. Little Drummer Boy was playing in the speaker overhead, but suddenly, those drums sounded remarkably like a death march.

But then something happened that I didn't see coming. An even wider grin than before lit up her tanned face.

And, then, time increased to double speed.

"Oh, that's a tough one. I mean, great guy, but what on earth do you buy a person who has literally everything?" She indulged in a sparkly laugh before spinning on her platform Converse, pursing her magenta lips thoughtfully as she continued to babble on. "Music is a good one, so long as you know what kind he likes. That shouldn't be a problem for you, given that the two of you are practically joined at the hip these days. Where did you guys wander off to at the bonfire last night, anyway?"

I didn't get a chance to answer—not before she'd disappeared from the cosmetic section and back across the aisle.

"Or you could go with something more conventional?" she was saying when I caught up to her, her back to me while she swept a hand along the green tinsel hanging off a festively dressed mannequin. "Say, slippers and some cozy pajamas? I don't know about you, but I can think of quite a few types of PJs that I'd like to see that fine piece of meat in. Of course, it all comes down to the vibe that you want to give off. What kind of vibe do you want to give off?"

I startled at the question as she turned back to face me, my mind groggy like I'd come up from the depths of the sea. Actually, Holly's rambling might have been the literal equivalent to traversing the unknown clefts of the ocean. I'd lost my bearings totally, and I'd only caught about a third of what she'd said between breaths.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain a semblance of composure amongst my confusion. I couldn't help but feel confused. Holly sweeping everything that happened between us under the rug was exactly what I wanted but, surprisingly, it had me on edge. Like I was facing a shaken soda can that threatened to burst.

Because I knew better than anyone that the truth can only be bottled for so long. 

"I don't know," I admitted.

I straight away wished that I hadn't. Because by the flash of intrigue that seeped through her expression, I could tell that my answer stirred her interest.

Which made me wonder—was this Holly's way of figuring out where James and I stood? Of trying to worm her way back into his life? After all, she had done it before.

The thought left me cold. The last thing that I needed was to compete with her, all glittering and tanned and perfect and Holly.

We perused the menswear section, speed-shopping through racks of flannel, denim, and leather, which were admittedly far more me than they were James. We looked at books, at movies, and at music. James and Dex had just bought a record player for their dorm room, and I knew they were on the hunt for new albums for their budding collection. Still, and even with the clock counting down my half-hour timeframe, I knew that my brain was one thousand light-years away from that store. I couldn't shake my anxiety. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

We ended up deserting the department store and stepping back out into the mall, the latter just as overrun with shoppers as the former. The center of the plaza had been transformed into the North Pole, and kids were lining up to meet Santa Claus while the sweet sound of carollers painted the complex in shades of green, red, and gold. Holly stopped to enjoy the sights and sounds.

I stopped to gather the nerves that were rattling in her presence.

"What are his interests?" she asked. "I mean, aside from being an all-around hottie?"

My breath grew shallow at her very clear, very vocal words of adoration, and I broke her eyeline to scan over the excited children lining up to meet the man in red. "Music. True crime. He runs." I swallowed a laugh. "At least, he says he does—"

"But that's all so general," she moaned. As if I didn't know that already. As if that wasn't precisely my problem. "Like you two are cousins or something. Not like you're two people who pretended to be in a relationship for, like, weeks."

"I know, but I can't think of anythi—"

I took my brain a second (or several) to fully register her words.

Her inference.

Her accusation.

And when it did, it might have stopped working completely.

What do you think that Madi should get James for Christmas?

And how do you think the long-awaited (and overdue) Madi v Holly showdown will play out?

I hope that you all had a lovely Christmas! Please be advised that over here at TCT, we're still in (major) denial that it's over.

So, Happy Holidays!
- Danielle🎄❤️