Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Maple
Why is a tall, muscular, handsome man holding a seven-pound fluff ball so damn adorable? And then when he messed up the spaghetti, Holt blushed . Like, cheeks red, eyes downcast, hands on hips, dejected. It was perhaps the most adorable thing I’ve seen a man do since…well…ever.
Which is really unfortunate because I’m here to take care of Grandma Gracie, who’s much worse than I thought, and I do not have time to harbor a renewed infatuation over my childhood crush.
The man makes it impossible to not be aware of his presence though. Not when his gaze is fixated on my lips, right before he brings those sparkling blue eyes to mine and asks me about our kiss all those years ago.
I choke on my bite of spaghetti. The noodle literally slithers down the back of my throat like a worm. I start hacking and Holt has to get up and move about the kitchen, getting me a glass of water. I take it gratefully, and swallow it down. Smooth, real smooth, Maple.
My face is flaming and I’ve already made a mess of myself, so why not put the cherry on top of this awkward sundae and admit the truth?
“I, uh, had a crush on you that summer.”
Holt’s smile is so enticing I find myself leaning toward him just to be closer to it. “I had a crush on you too.”
“What?” My jaw drops. “But you…you walked away! I thought I was a bad kisser or something.”
Holt’s smile turns sheepish. “No, I was embarrassed about my glasses falling off. I’d just gotten them a few months before and I hated them. Still hate them.”
I put down my glass of water and swivel my stool to face him. Our knees are pressed together. “Okay, I can understand that. Teenage years can be brutal. But when I came back the next summer, you were with Macy Bechtol.” My face automatically pulls up into a grimace. Macy’ll do that to you.
Holt hoots with laughter. He takes a swig of his wine and looks like he needs to say something or he’ll explode.
“What?” Clearly I’ve had too much of the wine because I put my hand on his thigh. Hard, hot muscle under a thin sheath of cotton greets my hand.
Holt puts his hand over mine and doesn’t remove it. Just squeezes my fingers. “I married Macy.”
The gasp I gusped is loud in the silence of the cabin. My hand flies out from under his to clutch the necklaces lying on my chest. “No!”
My reaction only makes him laugh harder. “And divorced her two years after that.”
My shoulders drop on a huge exhale. “Oh, thank God. I didn’t think I could stay here if Macy was about to walk in.”
“Big Macy Bechtol fan, huh?” His eyes are twinkling still, but his jaw clenches tighter.
I probably shouldn’t disparage her too much. They may be divorced now, but he saw something in her at one time that made him want to marry her. “Well, let’s just say she wasn’t super nice to me.”
That’s an understatement. The woman was a classic bully, finding your weak spot and poking you in it until you cried. She’d called me a weirdo, which isn’t exactly original, but when it’s the exact word your family uses when describing you, it hurts.
Holt makes a little noise under his breath, but doesn’t comment. He takes another sip of wine. “So what about you? Why does Grandma Gracie seem to think you have a fiancé? Is there a strapping lumberjack I need to worry about barging in here and defending your honor?”
I bark out a laugh, thinking of Dexter as a lumberjack. He’s a jack alright, but more of a jack ass . “No. I was engaged for two years, but never got married. Found Dexter in our bed with one of the other yoga instructors from the studio where we all worked.”
Holt’s grimace matches my own when I brought up Macy. “Dexter the Dick.”
I nod. “Exactly. Anyway, I never told Grandma we broke up. At first, because I was embarrassed. I kept up the lie because she was so excited for me to get married, and then so much time had gone by, I felt like I couldn’t tell her the truth without explaining I’d been lying to her for several years.” I rub my forehead. “I feel terrible about it. She’s my favorite person in the whole world and here I am lying to her.” I look up at Holt. “That probably makes me a terrible person. Are you sure you want me to stay here this weekend? I’m probably one step away from being a murderer.”
Holt laughs, not looking at all worried. He stands, his muscular thighs bumping into my knees as he picks up our plates. I feel like I’m able to breathe easier as he moves away to put them in the sink.
“My first kiss would never murder me in my sleep. It’s against the law of crushes.”
I stand up and take both of our glasses to the sink. “Law of crushes, huh? Pretty sure one of the laws is to not walk away after you’ve kissed your crush.”
Holt’s head whips up, bubbles of soap on his thick wrists as he rinses our plates. Sure hope that watch of his is waterproof. “I knew you were still mad about that!”
I grin and we clean up the kitchen in companionable silence. As Holt hangs the damp kitchen towel on the oven handle and there’s nothing left to do, Holt eyes me up and down. It’s quick, almost like he hoped to not get caught, but I’m so attuned to everything he does, I see it. And my body heats under his gaze. Mookie is back to jumping at my ankles, geared up from her after-dinner nap while we ate. I bend and pick her up, just to have something to do with my hands.
“I’m going to take Mookie for a run, then lift some weights in the guest room.”
I nod. “Okay. I’m going to head to bed early. I left Charlotte before dawn today to beat the traffic.”
Holt comes over and tries to lift Mookie from my arms. The pup bares her teeth and growls. Holt gives her a fierce look in return, the two of them having a face-off. It takes her a couple moments, but she finally puts her teeth away and lets him take her. I feel like Mookie could use a few sessions with me. She’s a hyper aggressive little thing.
“I can take you to Sunny Shores to see Gracie in the morning.” Holt pauses. “Should we keep pretending to be engaged?”
I chew on my lip, surprised when I taste a thread of copper. “If you don’t mind? Doctor Ahmed said not to argue with her. Maybe just until the specialist sees her and gives me his evaluation?”
Holt puts his hand on my shoulder and leans in a little. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’ve been meaning to brush up on my acting skills. The local theater has been begging me to play Thor.”
His twinkling eyes draw me into his joke. “Thor, huh? Pretty sure that’s not a play.”
He shrugs and walks over to the door where he pulls a leash off the hook on the wall and clips it on to Mookie’s collar. “It should be. I’d be amazing.”
He opens the door, and I call after him. “Watch out for that enlarged head. You could tip right over.”
His laughter and Mookie’s bark are the last things I hear. I hurry to my suitcase and wheel it over to the couch. I open it, rifling through to find my pajamas. I slip into them, a short pair of cotton shorts and a flimsy tank top that barely holds in my boobs, realizing quickly I should have packed something a bit less revealing to sleep in. Then again, I didn’t realize I’d be sharing the cabin with Holt McGrath!
Sliding under the blankets on the floor, I go on my phone, searching desperately for a place to rent for the summer. I come up empty after more than fifteen minutes of searching. Frustrated, I get up and run to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before Holt and Mookie get back.
I don’t make it.
I’m running back to the safety of the blankets when the door slams open and Mookie flops down on the floor, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. I spin, water sloshing out of the water glass and onto my chest. Holt stands in the doorway, frozen as his gaze settles on me.
He lost his shirt somewhere on his run, leaving his sweaty, bulked-up torso on display. Holy muscle structure. The man could play Thor and put Chris Hemsworth to shame. His lungs expand and contract rapidly, flexing and expanding his six-pack abs in a rolling motion that becomes hypnotizing the longer I stare.
Oh savasana, I’m staring.
I have to shake my head to physically rip my gaze back up to Holt’s face. He’s got the same expression I’m pretty sure I’m sporting. His golden hair appears darker, some of it sticking to his forehead from sweat.
“You okay?” Dear God, my voice is nothing but a croak.
His Adam’s apple bobs before his gaze makes its way upward. “You, uh…spilled your water.” He lifts his finger and runs it around in a circle before looking away, busying himself with putting the leash back on the hook.
I glance down and see that the water I sloshed coated my left breast, leaving my tank top plastered to my skin, nipple sharp as a thumbtack and viewable through the soaked white material.
“Fuck!” I squeak, shifting my arms to cover both breasts.
I back up in two quick steps, hit the back of my legs against the coffee table, and tumble backwards onto the tiny couch in a graceless heap of arms and legs. The water goes flying behind my head, but I manage to hold on to the glass.
Holt runs over and hovers over me like he wants to help but doesn’t know if he should touch. His gaze drops back down to my chest for a second, his face flaming redder than it was when he got back from his run.
“Good night!” I cry loudly, trying to cover my breasts with my arms while also clutching the now empty glass like it’s a lifeline.
“Want me to fill that back up?” Holt asks like a perfect gentleman.
But I’ve had all the humiliation I can handle for a day. “Good night!” I trill again.
This time, he backs away with his hands up, his gaze darting everywhere but me. “Okay, good night. I’m going to lift some weights and then head to bed.”
“Yep!” I say brightly, still cowering on the couch with my precious glass.
I hear him leave the room, whistling for Mookie to follow. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish I could dig a hole all the way back to Charlotte. It’s several minutes before I can push myself back up, abandon the glass on the coffee table, and dive back under the covers to scroll rental listings.
I’ve gotta get out of this cabin.
After a long night of weird dreams and distorted memories of summers long ago, morning comes and we make it through breakfast without any awkward moments.
Just kidding. It’s all awkward with a side of sexual tension. All I can picture is Holt’s naked, sweaty chest, and based on his own glassy stare, he can only picture my nipples poking through a white, thoroughly soaked tank top. We manage to get to Sunny Shores without actually dying of embarrassment.
Grandma Gracie’s taking another nap after we visited with her all morning. The specialist should be here before noon. Holt’s not working today, something he failed to tell me about last night. I feel bad he’s here on his day off, but he doesn’t appear to mind. Dexter would have been tapping his toe and reminding me he had better things to do than sit in a Barcalounger while I go through Grandma’s old yearbooks. Just Dexter the Dick living up to his new nickname. Holt, on the other hand, is on the floor with me, his muscular arm pressed to mine when he leans over to see a particularly funny picture.
“You keep looking at those crazy sixties hairstyles while I check out Fabio.” Holt shifts and I look away from his ass in a pair of worn jeans while he reaches over to Grandma’s bookshelf. He scoops up a paperback and hoots as he takes in the cover of the old romance novel. “Damn! I need to lift more weights.”
I hum my disagreement under my breath. The man is built like a Greek god, or that Thor character he wants to play. Not even Fabio in his heyday holds a candle to Holt’s physique.
“My sister, Jess, would love these.” Holt pulls five more romance novels off the shelf, each with a busty heroine and a bare-chested Fabio, long hair blowing in the breeze.
I busy myself reading the inscriptions in the back of Grandma’s senior yearbook so I don’t drool over Holt beginning to read a romance novel. The back of the yearbook is filled with lots of “you’re such a good friend” and “be a good girl this summer.” Then I get to one in the far corner of the last page. The writing isn’t loopy and pretty like all the rest. This one is practically chicken scratch.
“You’re a good Catholic girl, Gracie. Except for last night when you proved you have a wild side. Hope to see you this summer, xoxo Hank.”
I gasp, having read that one out loud. Holt scoots back to my side, leaning over me to read it for himself. I’m in shock. Sweet little Grandma Gracie…the one who was married for almost sixty years to my grandfather, baked cookies for the neighborhood kids, and donated her time to the children’s ministry…had a wild side? Holt finally lifts his head and we both stare at each other, wide-eyed.
“Hank’s not my grandpa,” I whisper slowly.
I’m not sure who’s around to hear me, but this kind of revelation feels like it needs to be whispered. Not once in my thirty-two years of life did I hear Grandma talk about a bloke named Hank.
Holt wags his light brown eyebrows up and down. “Looks like we have a mystery to solve, my little moonbeam.”
Maple’s Thirteenth Year Around the Sun Journal
(19 years ago)
Why are boys so dumb? UGH!
All I’ve been looking forward to all year is coming back to Anchor Lake and seeing Holt again. I even grew breasts over the last year! Got a cute haircut. Talked Mom into a jean skirt that shows off the tan I’ve been working on after school. I was ready to walk around this lake and have Holt fall at my feet, begging me to give him another chance.
But no.
I walked around the lake to see Macy Bechtol sucking face with MY crush!!!
Macy Bechtol!
I hate her so much.
She’s tall like me, but has raven-black hair with stunning blue eyes. She had breasts last summer too, but hers aren’t as big as mine. She’s got her red nails digging into Holt’s arms like she’s holding him against his will. Except that’s his hand coming around to cup her butt. Ew!
My face goes bright red and I turn on my heel, ready to run back to Grandma’s cabin and never leave for the whole stupid summer. But then my summer friends see me and come over for a group hug. I try to forget all about Holt, but not even ten minutes later, Macy walks up to our group and sneers at me.
“Hey! Mable, right?”
I clench my fists at my sides. I want to pull every single strand of hair out of her head. “Maple.”
She just smiles smugly. “Whatever.” She looks around at my friends, her upper lip curling. “What are you and your little friends up to this summer?”
My friends might not be as old as her or as sophisticated as her with her dainty ankle bracelet and piercing at the top of her ear, but they’re good friends.
“Same as you,” I answer confidently, meaning the bonfires and the summer activities around Anchor Lake.
But Macy takes offense. Her smug smile turns into a full-on sneer. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m spending my summer with Holt while you weirdos play with bugs. We’re not the same.”
And then she saunters off, purposely going right up to Holt and sliding her arm around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. A few seconds later, she turns her head, looks right at me, and smiles.
GOD, I HATE HER.
He’s too good for her.
What does he even see in her???
And I am NOT weird.
(Okay, maybe a little bit, but we only played with that bug one time trying to save it after it almost drowned in the lake!)
UGH!!! I hate her!!