Chapter 12 #2
I go upstairs and change out of my work clothes when I hear knocking on the front door. I pause, pulling a clean T-shirt on, and then I hear it again. It’s loud and persistent, the kind of knock that says Hurry the fuck up.
I jog downstairs and see Sammy’s truck in my driveway. I open the door, and he’s standing there with a six-pack of beer, wearing a look I recognize but don’t like. It’s the same one he had senior year when Theo Williams made Holiday cry at prom.
“We need to talk,” Sammy says.
I step aside, letting him in. “Everything okay?”
He enters my living room and sets the beer on the coffee table, then looks around.
“You don’t have a fire goin’? It’s cold as hell in here, Lucas.” He’s already moving toward the fireplace.
“I got it,” I tell him, grabbing logs from the stack and arranging them. Seconds later, flames lick the wood, filling the room with that smoky smell that means winter’s arrived.
He cracks open two beers, hands me one, and drops onto my couch.
“So,” he says. “Dominic fucking Laurent.”
I take a long drink, following his lead. “Yeah.”
“That piece of shit is coming here.”
“Next week.”
“He’s going to try to win back my sister.” Sammy’s jaw tightens. “Which is why I’m here.”
I sit in the chair next to the couch and glare at him. “Only one part of that is my business. Your sister does whatever and whomever she wants.”
“That cannot happen.” He leans forward, and his blue eyes narrow. “I need to tell you some things that she won’t tell you because she’s ashamed. Things I only know because Mom dragged it out of her last Christmas when she canceled coming home again. Keep it to yourself.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t need—”
“Yes, you fucking do.” Sammy takes a drink, and his jaw clenches tight. “Holiday met Dominic her final year at culinary school. He was guest teaching a pastry course, and she was starstruck because this famous chef with connections was paying attention to her.”
The fire crackles. I say nothing, not wanting to hear about their love story.
“Years later, after she interned at a few elite bakeries, he offered her a job in Paris. They immediately started dating. He told her she was talented, special, and that he could take her far.” Sammy’s voice hardens.
“Within six months, she’d moved into his condo.
Within a year, she was managing his bakery. He took credit for her hard work.”
My heart races, and the beat pounds in my ears. “How?”
“Every recipe she developed, every technique she perfected, he put his shitty name on it and told her that’s how the industry works. That she was learning from the best and should be grateful, and they were getting married, so it was something they could share.”
My hands tighten around the beer bottle.
“Oh, it got so much worse,” he says, kicking his feet up on my coffee table.
“I can’t fucking listen to this unless you want me to fly to Paris and John Wick him.”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says.
“I’m not joking.” The more I think about that scum taking credit for Holiday’s cookies, the angrier I grow.
“He controlled what she wore to events. How much she weighed. Who she could be friends with. Everything she posted on social media had to be approved.” Sammy’s voice drops.
“He told her she was too small-town. Too unsophisticated. And she believed he held her professional career in the palm of his hand. Without a reference, years of experience were wasted.”
The words land like punches.
“He trapped her,” I say.
“Yes,” he whispers, staring at the fire.
I breathe out hard, but it’s ragged.
“She escaped Paris, knowing she would lose her entire career.”
My blood runs cold. “Did he hurt her?”
“Mentally.” Sammy’s knuckles are white around his beer. “Mom confronted her, and Holiday eventually broke down and admitted everything. He isolated her and made her doubt herself. It took years, but he had her convinced she was nothing without him and never would be.”
I can’t breathe.
“When she returned, Dominic wouldn’t stop calling her. He’d send letters, telling her how much he loved her. When that didn’t work, he tried to ruin her professional reputation. Called her ungrateful, selfish, talentless, and made sure she was a nobody. He caused a lot of anxiety attacks.”
“She left him, knowing she’d lose it all,” I whisper.
Sammy meets my eyes. “Yes. His connections run deep. Every door she knocked on, he’d already closed and locked it.
She’s applied to bakeries in all the major cities.
She hasn’t received one call in spite of having over a decade of experience.
He knew she’d keep going, and whoever hired her would be his new competition. ”
As I stare at the fire, anger surrounds me. A few minutes pass, and then Sammy speaks up again.
“He’s not here to judge cookies.” Sammy leans back. “He wants her back. He needs her to return to Paris. Holiday working for Emma is dangerous for him.”
The fire pops. A log shifts.
“Should we quit this competition?” I ask Sammy, not wanting this to cause Holiday any unnecessary stress, especially if this man was mentally abusive. “If you think we shouldn’t do it, I’ll go down to city hall tomorrow and withdraw, which will pull her out, too.”
“No.” He points at me. “Holiday needs to prove to everyone she doesn’t need him and she never did. She’s been running Emma’s bakery for three weeks, and it’s currently the most successful thing on the farm.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you? Because from where I’ve been sitting, you’ve been doing nothing but pushing her away and treating her like shit.
She needs someone to believe in her. I’m her twin brother.
I love her. But I can’t be what she needs right now.
” Sammy walks to the fire and stares into it. “You can, though. You always could.”
“Please, don’t—”
“Before she left for culinary school, you two had something special. Then everything got fucked up.” He turns to look at me. “I watched you guys fall in love. Watched you sneak around, thinking no one knew. Watched you fall apart.”
I don’t deny it. I can’t.
“She made mistakes. But that’s not what matters now. The past is in the fucking past, isn’t it?” He crosses back to the couch, sits down. “Dominic is coming here, and you have a choice to make.”
“It’s never been my decision,” I say, nostrils flaring.
“Don’t let him manipulate his way back into her life.
You can’t fucking let him whisk her back to Paris or New York or wherever the hell he wants to take her and watch her disappear into his dark web again.
” Sammy’s eyes are stern. “Fight for her, show everyone who she belongs to. She doesn’t need his validation or his name or his fucking Michelin stars. But she needs you.”
My heart pounds. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Deny it all you want. That contest isn’t about a trophy anymore, Lucas. It’s about proving a point.” He moves back to the couch and leans his head back on the cushion. “Don’t be a pussy. This is your last chance.”
“Well, this conversation wasn’t on my bingo card for today,” I say, chugging the beer and grabbing another one.
Sammy does the same while the fire crackles. The bottles are leaving rings of condensation on my coffee table.
I lick my lips, replaying every conversation Holiday and I have had. “The first night we baked, she told me I reminded her of him.”
Sammy’s head snaps toward me. “What?”
“We fought, and I said some shit I shouldn’t have. She told me the way I was acting reminded her of her ex.” The memory carries a late punch. “How he made her feel like she was never good enough.”
Sammy shakes his head. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I left.” I stare at my beer. “Been trying not to be that guy ever since.”
“You’re not that guy.”
“How do you know? What if I am? What if I can’t do any better than him?”
“You’re sitting here, gutted that you hurt her. Dominic never gave a shit about her.” Sammy’s voice softens. “You loved her. You never stopped. You were broken. It’s different.”
I don’t confirm or deny it. Don’t need to. He already knows.
“When Dominic shows up next week, you look him in the eye and show him exactly who Holiday Patterson should be with. And if you break her heart, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Thanks, bestie,” I say, chugging my beer. “I’d deserve it.”
“You two are both stubborn and honestly deserve one another.” Sammy heads for the door. “Now win this shit. Please. Not for the money. Not for the trophy. But because fuck Dominic Laurent.”
I follow him to the door.
He stops on the porch, turns back. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know she still has those glow-in-the-dark stars you put up in her room when we were sixteen? She never took them down.” He gives me a small smile and leaves.
I stand in the doorway, watching his taillights disappear down my driveway.
The cold air bites at my skin, but I don’t move.
Holiday still has those stars. She always hated sleeping in the dark alone, something she never grew out of.
Sometimes, when she’d text me that she couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak in through her window and hold her until she drifted off to dreamland.
We wished upon the stars together, and then I put them up there so her eyes could focus on something else instead of the darkness.
Countless nights, we’d lie under the neon green stars and make wishes about her dreams of owning a bakery, me expanding the farm, and us being together.
Knowing she’s still sleeping under them does something to me.
I go back inside and sit on the couch. I grab another beer, crack it open, and watch the roaring fire.
Sammy’s right.
This isn’t about the trophy anymore or keeping Mawmaw’s winning streak alive. It’s not about the money. This contest is about proving to Holiday that she’s always had everything she’s ever needed.
Guilt washes over me, and I pull out my phone to text her.
Lucas
You’re right. I am an asshole.
The dots appear for a long time before she finally responds.
Holiday
Always have been, always will be.
The smiley face doesn’t erase the awful things I’ve said to her. Knowing this information changes so much for me. My heart aches for her, and I barely understand what she went through. But it’s more than e-fucking-nough.
All Holiday has ever wanted is to be loved by someone who loves her just as much. Fifteen years ago, I couldn’t tell her she was the love of my life. If I had, would things be different?
I set my phone down and watch the fire until it burns low.
Some women never leave situations like that. My strong girl did, and she came right back to me, where she’s always belonged.