Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Maple
I stare up at the wood ceiling of the cabin, snuggled into the blankets on the floor, even though I’m sure the temperature outside will be rising the second the sun makes it high in the sky today. Summer is definitely here. Although I can’t blame the sunshine for the heat that’s flooded my body reliving that kiss last night.
Shitting shiva, that man can kiss!
It was nothing like our first kiss, except for the complete warmth that seeped into my soul the second our lips pressed together. We’d finally broken apart when Mookie started barking at some people kayaking on the river by the cabin. Holt’s mouth had immediately hooked into a smile that was hotter than the bonfire next to us. The rest of our conversation last night around the fire had been laced with electricity. I’d been so hot and bothered, I had a hard time falling asleep.
Remembering what I have planned today, I roll out of the blankets and fold them up on the couch before getting dressed in today’s cutoff shorts and tank top. I have to remember to ask Holt if I can use the washing machine. I’m officially out of clean clothes.
“You sure you don’t want me to make up the guest room for you so you don’t have to sleep on the floor?” Holt’s voice comes from the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.
I spin around and immediately experience a hot flash seeing him in workout shorts that hug his tree trunk thighs and no shirt. His hair’s a mess and there’s a pillow crease across his cheek. He looks good enough to eat. Knowing I had all those muscles under my hands last night as we kissed is making my insides leap. Not that I felt him up. I kept my hands strictly waist up.
But I sure did wish they could go exploring.
“I prefer the floor. Honestly.”
He shrugs, but seems to accept my answer. I know it’s weird, but trauma does weird things to one’s brain. Lying in a bed just brought up memories that made sleep impossible. Holt walks by me to get to the kitchen, pausing briefly to put his hand on my hip and kiss my cheek, before he keeps going. It’s such a sweet gesture. Exactly what you’d expect from a real fiancé. What does this say about my choices that my fake fiancé is fiancéing better than my actual fiancé ever did?
After a quick breakfast of yogurt and fruit—an additional protein smoothie for Holt—we’re out the door and on our way to High Tide Vintage, the secondhand clothing shop on Main Street that I remember from my youth. Lottie, the owner, is still there, proving that sometimes the best things in life really don’t change.
“Welcome to High Tide Vintage, darlings,” Lottie trills as the little bell over the door rings out our arrival. She’s helping a customer at the register, her short snow-white hair teased within an inch of its life and hair-sprayed enough to never move, not even in a stiff breeze.
“Good morning,” I call right back. Holt looks around at the racks and racks of clothing, his nose wrinkling. “Whatsa matter? You don’t like clothes shopping?”
“I pretty much only wear scrubs and workout clothes.”
I glance down at the T-shirt he threw on right before we left the cabin, grumbling something about shirts being required in downtown Anchor Lake. “I noticed, but it won’t hurt you to dress up this one time. The chili cook-off will be so much fun and I want to be dressed for the part when I win with Grandma Gracie’s recipe!”
Pulling a black leather vest with fringe and a biker’s logo off the rack, I hold it up to him. He immediately pushes it back. “Absolutely not.”
I smirk and grab what’s on the hanger next to the vest. “Then how about this?” I hold up a pair of leather chaps to his hips and he jumps back with a yelp. I’m laughing, but secretly think seeing him in these wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. Pants optional.
“The older ladies can get handsy enough when I wear scrubs. I don’t need to add chaps,” Holt mutters, scraping hangers across the rod as he searches for something suitable. He holds up a navy-blue plaid button-down, and while it’ll make his eyes pop, it’s a little boring.
Lottie comes over, looking exactly as I remember her. She’s rail thin with more layers of necklaces than me and a flair for clothing not seen on people except for Halloween parties. Today she looks like a sexy geriatric pirate lass, complete with an eye patch she’s shoved to her forehead.
“What can I help you with?” She directs the question at me, then turns to wink at Holt. “If it’s for this cutie, I think we’re going to need him to try it on for us. Try it all on.”
Holt gives me a look that says, “See? Handsy old ladies!”
“Hi, Lottie. I’m Maple Thatcher, Gracie Thatcher’s granddaughter.”
The wrinkles on Lottie’s face stack up as she smiles broadly. “Oh my goodness gracious! It’s so nice to see you again! Gosh, you’ve grown some nice…” She makes a gesture at her own chest like she’s squeezing watermelons. “…since I saw you last.” She turns to Holt. “Bet you love those, don’t you, Holtie?”
My face flames red from her implication about my large breasts. My eyes pop open at her nickname for Holt. Now his cheeks match mine.
Lottie carries on like she hasn’t just embarrassed the crap out of both of us. “Thank goodness you traded up for your second wife. That last one had a bit of the she-devil in her. What can I help you find, Maple?”
Holt looks like he’s ready to run right out of here and never come back. Maybe getting a costume for the chili cook-off isn’t my best idea, but since I’m here, I need to quiz Lottie about Grandma’s old beau.
“We’re going to find some western outfits, but first I was wondering if you remember a boy named Hank that may have graduated with you and Gracie?”
Lottie runs a gnarled finger back and forth over the blonde chin hairs she probably can’t see in the mirror anymore. “Oh, yes, I remember Hank. He sure had a thing for your grandma. Used to follow her around like a puppy dog. All us girls were jealous. Hank was a real looker. New in town too. Wasn’t even here a full year before his family moved again. Poor Gracie was heartbroken when he moved away.”
My heart starts pounding. I’m actually getting somewhere in this search for the mysterious Hank. “Do you remember his last name?”
Lottie’s lips purse before she smacks them. “Nope! Can’t remember a darn tootin’ thing about his name. That was a long time ago, Maple. I remember how strong he was though.” She winks, eyeing Holt up and down.
He shifts uncomfortably in his sneakers and grabs the first plaid shirt off the rack he can find. “Better try these on, moonbeam!” He grabs my hand and about runs to the fitting rooms at the back of the shop.
“Let me know if you need any help getting that on, Holtie!” Lottie hollers after us.
Holt doesn’t stop until we’re both in a fitting room and he yanks the ancient drape across the opening. He slams the hangers onto the metal hook by the mirror and drops his chin to his chest. I can’t help but giggle at his panic.
“You okay there, my hunky monkey?” I coo.
Holt raises his head, eyes twinkling again. “Save me from that woman.”
I give him my best sultry smile—and to be honest, it’s probably not so great since I haven’t used it in awhile—and grab the bottom hem of his T-shirt. “Yes, sir.”
I pull the material up and over his head, tossing it to the ground. All those muscles I keep seeing are just a measly inch from my hands.
“Maple,” Holt grumbles. I’m not sure if it’s a plea or a warning.
And I don’t care.
Lifting my right hand, I trail my index finger across his chest, the muscles quivering under my touch. Then I swoop down, the bumps of his six-pack giving my finger a roller coaster ride. Holt snatches my hand and presses me up against the wall of the fitting room, his other hand in my hair and tilting my head exactly where he wants it so he can kiss me.
His lips are hard and rough and not at all hesitant like last night. His tongue plunges inside and I let him, wanting this kiss as much as he does. His body presses me into the wall and I lift my leg to hike it up and around his hip. He lets go of my hand and hooks it under my knee, pulling my hot pulsing center into an impressive erection. I whimper as I grind against him.
“How does it fit?” Lottie says from the other side of the curtain.
Holt’s mouth wrenches away, his forehead pressed to mine as we both try to silently suck in air. After a moment or two, he releases my leg and I try to stand on both feet, realizing my knees are shaking. Damn. The man just kissed the stability right out of me.
“We’ll take them,” Holt barks, grabbing both shirts off the hook and yanking the curtain aside. He pulls his own shirt over his head and I’m pretty sure it’s on backwards.
Lottie stands there with a gleam in her eye that makes me think she was standing right here the whole time, knowing exactly what we were doing. Honestly, I can’t blame her. Holt is just that hot. I have a feeling news of our kiss will spread amongst the full-time citizens of Anchor Lake before lunch.
Lottie rings up our purchases that we didn’t try on. Holt insists on paying, even though I’m the one who dragged him out here. On our way back out to the Jeep, I remember what Lottie knew about Hank.
“So if Hank wasn’t even here in Anchor Lake a year, that’s probably why I didn’t see him in the yearbook. He probably missed picture day.” I slump into the passenger seat. “I’m no closer to finding out who he is.”
Holt starts the vehicle and reaches over to squeeze my knee. “I know a way to cheer you up.”
I look over, instantly intrigued. If it’s more kisses like what went on in the fitting room, count me in. “Oh yeah?”
“We’ll break all the rules.”
My brain instantly tries to figure out the rules of kissing your fake fiancé, but Holt’s brain had gone in a different direction.
“Let’s go get ice cream at Ripple’s.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Ice cream before lunch? Who are you, Holt McGrath?”
He grins and my heart instantly lifts. Ripple’s Ice Cream Parlor is the same one that fed all of us kids way back when. As Holt pulls into a parking space on the street, I see that it’s had a paint job and some updated landscaping done, but largely looks the same. We head inside and the menu board hanging on the wall is exactly the same as I remember. Time doesn’t seem to work the same way here in Anchor Lake.
“Want to share a banana split?” Holt rubs his hands together like a little kid. I wholeheartedly agree since that’s what Ripple’s is known for.
We sit down at a pink-and-white checkered booth that’s cracked so many times over the years I’m in danger of roughing up my bare thighs. Holt waits not so patiently for me to have a seat and pick up my spoon before he dives in. No words are spoken, just the occasional moan and grunt as we go back for bigger and drippier bites. Pretty soon we hit the bottom and both of us sit back with a groan.
“Oh. My. Savasana. That was incredible!”
Holt pats his belly, which is still in the shape of washboard abs. “I might never eat again.” He sits forward suddenly and crooks his finger at me.
I sit forward, wondering if it would be uncouth to unbutton my jean shorts. “Huh?”
“You got something…” Holt points a finger at the side of his own mouth.
I lift my hand to rub away what’s most likely a drip of caramel sauce, but he beats me to it, hooking his hand around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss across the table. His tongue swipes up the caramel before he kisses me gently. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, making me forget all about how full I am. He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes while he smiles.
“Got it,” he whispers.
Heat spreads everywhere. I wish this damn table was gone so I could climb on his lap and taste the ice cream on his tongue.
“Nice to see you, Holt. Do I get to meet your new fiancée?”
Holt lets go of me and we both turn to see a man standing next to our table. He’s got a beer belly that matches how I feel after that banana split and a stained trucker hat on his head. His smile is friendly though. Holt clears his throat and sits back, sticking his hand out. The two men shake hands.
“Bob, nice to see you. Maple, this is Bob Franklin. He owns Bluefin Bait and Tackle. Bob, this is Maple Thatcher.”
Bob shoots me a beaming smile during the introduction. We shake hands too, but when I go to pull back, he holds my hand a little longer than necessary. “It’s good to meet you, Maple. Such a pretty girl.”
Bob turns to Holt again after he releases my hand. “Happy for you, Holt. Never did like Macy for you. You two weren’t compatible. Everyone could see it.” He turns to me. “She was a looker too, but not a lover, if you know what I mean.”
“Um, thanks, Bob,” Holt answers diplomatically.
“Come by the shop this summer. I’ll get you two hooked up with some free bait.” He tips his dirty hat and off he goes.
Holt looks back at me. “Guess word about our engagement has gotten around. Lottie, I expected. She’s a gossip. But if Bob knows, it’s truly gone around the whole town.”
I grimace, feeling guilty for dragging him into the lie. “Yeah, we should probably talk about how we’re going to break up.” I used air quotes around the words.
Holt slides out of the booth and reaches back to take my hand in his. “We’ve got all summer to figure that out. Let’s go get the chili ingredients and visit Gracie.”
My sigh is a little swoony as I slide out of the booth. He’s such a good guy.
Gracie’s diary
(62 years ago)
Dear Diary,
Mama and Daddy went to a couple’s retreat with the Baptist Church this weekend. I promised them I’d be fine on my own. I’m eighteen, after all, and in just three weeks I’ll graduate high school.
Hank came over Saturday night, and I made him dinner. You should have seen it! It was like we were playing house, seeing what it’ll be like when we’re on our own and married. He ate every bite of the casserole I made. He has such a cool head, whereas I could barely eat. I was so nervous. Linda and I drove all the way to Fayetteville last week to go shopping. I bought a bra and underwear that are so hip. So scandalous. I was hoping they’d come in handy this weekend.
Hank stood up from the table and held his hand out. I took it, feeling fluttery already just from our hands touching. He took me to the couch, sitting down next to me and immediately pulling me into his arms. His big strong hand crept up my skirt right away. Like he just couldn’t keep his hands off me. But this time, he didn’t waste any time. He touched me between my legs! I must have cried out as his fingers brushed against me because he pulled away. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back to my lips. Gosh, he felt so good.
“Are you sure, Gracie?” he asked against my mouth, his fingers stilling.
I nodded, totally ape for this man. “Yes, please, Hank. Make me yours.”
I’m still a lady, so I won’t write out the details, but he was a gentleman, asking me if I was groovy at each step of the way. It didn’t even hurt like Linda said it might. In fact, I hope we can do it again this morning before my parents come back.
Later on, when we were lying in my bed, Hank wrapped me in his arms and played with my hair. He didn’t even look at my boobs, even though they were bare. He just looked me right in the eyes and promised to love me forever.
“I’m going to marry you, Gracie. Just as soon as we graduate.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from splitting my face. “Are you asking or telling me, Hankie?”
He dipped his head and kissed me, making me melt. “I’m telling you. You’re it for me.”
Maybe I should feel guilty for going all the way with Hank, but I don’t. I love him so much! Besides, we’ll be married in a few months!