11. Moon
11
MOON
P ress was buzzing, a hum of chatter wrapped in the scent of roasted beans and warm pastries. I’d grabbed the corner table with the leather chairs, the one Holden picked last time, but my focus wasn’t on the room. It was on him. The second he walked in, I noticed everything—his tall, broad frame, the quiet confidence in his stride, the faint trace of sandalwood and leather that reached me as he approached. Then there were his eyes, piercing green and unrelenting, locking on mine like he’d already decided this whole place didn’t exist without me in it.
“Moon,” he said when he saw me, his tone casual but his eyes lingering. Always lingering.
“Heathcliff,” I replied, letting the nickname roll off my tongue like an invitation.
He dropped into the chair across from me, shrugging off his jacket. “You’re early.”
“You’re late,” I countered, drumming my fingers against the table, feigning impatience.
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know we were on a tight schedule.”
“Aren’t you always on a tight schedule?” I joked. “Daily brooding from noon to four.”
Holden’s lips quirked into a half-smile, but there was heat in his gaze. “And what’s your schedule? Charming the world into submission?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“I think you know who’s asking.” His voice dipped, and I felt the air between us shift. Holden had a way of doing that—taking a playful jab and spinning it into something deeper, something that left me breathing faster.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “What would you do if I said I wasn’t feeling very charming today?”
Holden’s gaze didn’t waver. His smile faded into something more intent, his voice dropping lower. “Then I’d say I’m not here for charming.”
There was no teasing in his tone, no room for misdirection. It was raw, unfiltered, and it left me staring back at him, feeling like I’d stepped into a game without knowing the rules.
He set his cup down, his fingers brushing the rim like he was toying with the idea of saying something he shouldn’t. Finally, he leaned forward again, his voice low and deliberate. “You wanna know exactly what I want to do to you right now?”
The words hit like a spark to a dry fuse, and I felt my cheeks flush.
“Think about it, Moon. Right here, with everyone around. Imagine the way you’d squirm if I slid my hand up your thigh, the way your breath would catch if I leaned in close, and licked your neck like I licked your—” He squiggled his brows pointedly.
My pulse kicked into overdrive. He wasn’t bluffing—I could see it in his eyes, the way he studied me like he already had me figured out.
“You’re all talk, Heathcliff. I’m a girl of action.”
The shift in his seat gave him away, and I didn’t hold back the satisfied smile that spread across my face. Slowly, I slid my foot out of my ballet flat and stretched it under the table, brushing it lightly against his leg.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t move. I let my foot trail higher, pressing it against the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, but there was no hiding the flush creeping up his neck.
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “Why, Holden, you’re looking a little…uncomfortable. Something bothering you?”
“Moon,” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.
I felt my cheeks flush, but I didn’t let him see me falter. Instead, I leaned forward, letting my foot press more firmly against him, teasing him just enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled around the edge of the table like he was holding himself back from grabbing me right then and there.
“What?” I asked with a coy smile? “You were getting awfully cocky…” I let a laugh slip into my voice, dropping my gaze as if I could see under the table where he was straining hard against denim. My smile turned wicked as I arched a brow and added, “For someone who would be begging me to touch them again after I dragged my tongue?—”
“Enough,” Holden growled, his voice a low rasp of frustration and need.
But I wasn’t done. I pressed my foot more deliberately, sliding it slowly, mercilessly up and down the seam of his jeans, letting my toe trace the line from the heat of his balls to the aching length of his tip. His hips jerked slightly, just enough to tell me I was driving him to the edge.
“Something wrong?” I asked innocently, tilting my head as my toe continued its slow, torturous rhythm. “You look…tense.”
His hand slammed down on the table, not hard enough to draw attention, but enough to let me know I’d pushed him to his breaking point. His other hand gripped his thigh like he was trying to keep himself still, but the way his body strained against my foot told me it was a losing battle.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Oh, I’m not playing,” I said sweetly, flexing my foot just enough to press harder against him. His breath caught, and I felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he squirmed, trapped and completely at my mercy. “I’m winning.”
Holden exhaled sharply, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward, close enough that his breath brushed against my cheek. “You won this round,” he said, his voice a soft, dangerous promise. “But don’t forget who had you trembling last time.”
“And don’t forget who has you completely undone with just a foot,” I countered, giving him one last deliberate stroke that made his hips twitch.
Abruptly, he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor as he stood. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he muttered, his tone rough and strained as he adjusted himself as subtly as he could.
I didn’t bother hiding my knowing grin as he stood. “Oh, sure,” I said sugared with amusement. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
“Watch yourself, Moon. You know I bite.”
“And you know I bite back.”
As I was waiting for Holden to return, I absently turned the cover of his book on the table, curious to see his handwritten notes. As I flipped through, I found a bookmarked page, a business card tucked between the pages.
I picked it up, running my fingers over the embossed lettering. No address, just the name and a random number. Holden returned just as I set the card down. His eyes flicked to it immediately, his expression unreadable.
“You always snoop through people’s things?” he asked, sliding back into his seat.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I shrugged, holding up the card. “So kill me.” Holding up the business card, I asked, “What’s this?”
He shrugged. “Hendrix showed it to me last night.”
“The Silver Vine,” I read, turning the card over in my fingers. My excitement surged. “No way. Is this the Silver Vine?”
Holden glanced at the card, his expression carefully neutral. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Are you kidding?” I leaned in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “It’s, like, a Charleston legend. Some friends in my theatre company were talking about it a few months ago. They were trying to figure out if it was real, saying you had to find this random back alley off Calhoun Street to even get close.”
He raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his face. “Back alley off Calhoun?”
“Pretty sure that’s what I heard,” I continued, my words spilling out in excitement. “They claimed there’s this unmarked door, and if you knock the right way and say the right thing, you get in. They couldn’t agree on what you’re supposed to say, though—someone swore it was the name of a classic cocktail, but nobody could agree on which one. A sidecar. A gin rickey. Something like that…I don’t know.”
Holden’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “And you believe all that?”
I shrugged, setting the card back on the table. “I don’t know. The way they talked about it made it sound…like a hidden world you could only get into if you knew the secret handshake.” I paused, tilting my head. “So, do you know how to get in?”
He picked up the card, turning it over in his hands. He said finally, “Hendrix found the card. He’s the one trying to figure it out. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Hendrix doesn’t strike me as the speakeasy type. You, though? I can totally see it.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Absolutely,” I said, caught up in the scene I was imagining. “Picture it: you, in a three-piece suit, drinking some obscure Prohibition-era cocktail. Me, your Daisy Buchanan, wearing something scandalously sparkly. We’d fit right in, old sport.”
Holden laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Well, if you ever decide to make the trip, let me know. I’ll make sure to bring the sparkles.”
He chuckled again, but his gaze lingered on the card, thoughtful now. “What else do you know about it?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “Just that it’s supposed to be one of those places you can’t find unless you already know where to look. My friends couldn’t get past the rumor stage—no one could figure out the right address or what you’re supposed to say to get in.”
He nodded slowly, setting the card down and tapping it against the table. “Interesting.”
“Interesting enough to go check it out?” I asked, my smile widening.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice noncommittal. “But if it is real, it’s Hendrix’s thing. I’m just tagging along.”
I tilted my head, studying him. There was something more beneath his words, a weight he wasn’t sharing. But I knew better than to push.
Then, as if feeling out the meaning himself, he added “It’s a thing we’re doing together.”
That made me pause. “You and Hendrix,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “What’s the story there?”
Holden’s gaze darkened slightly, his fingers brushing the edge of the card on the table. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair.
“It’s complicated,” he said, his voice quieter now. “We’ve lived together since our parents got married five years ago. They both had a rough go of it, so I was happy for them. It was…good, in a way. It was a relief to see my mom happy again. Not that you want to hear all the sordid details, but my dad is a dick and basically checked out of our family after my brother—” he trailed off for a moment and looked down at his lap.
“She had been lonely for a while and had lost her luster. And Hendrix’s deal—well, it’s probably best that you hear the whole story from him, but his mom died when he was younger and Blanton had been single for several years. When Blanton and Hendrix moved in with us, I don’t know. Hendrix and I never really felt like family. Not exactly.”
He hesitated, his lips pressing together like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “We were in different worlds, physically and mentally. I went to Wrenmoor Academy, and he went to Charleston Collegiate. He was wild in high school—parties, drinking, all of it. A real free spirit. I was more…I don’t know. I kept to myself. Hung out with Conrad, went to the occasional party. Mostly, I stayed in my own lane.”
“Why?” I asked gently.
Holden exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to the card again. “A lot of reasons, I guess. My older brother James died not long before our parents got married. I didn’t really know how to deal with it, so I didn’t. I kind of shut down.”
The mention of his brother was unexpected, and I could see the flicker of something raw in his eyes. “Tell me about him,” I said softly.
Holden nodded, his voice tight. “James was three years older than me. He was creative, smart, warm. He was…everything I’m not, I guess. An artist. His work is in a few galleries around Charleston. He was going to CSAL too, but he was really focused on his art career when…uh, he died five years ago. He had a congenital heart problem, but he had been on steady medication for years, and we thought his health was good. There was a car crash. They think it was caused by him having a heart episode while driving.” Holden rushed through the last part, his voice raw. “I don’t usually talk about it.”
I didn’t hesitate. “That’s fucking awful.”
The bluntness of my words hung in the air, but I didn’t regret them. Because it was awful. There was nothing to soften, nothing to dress up in a polite apology or a meaningless platitude.
Holden looked at me, his lips parting slightly, like he hadn’t expected that response. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “It was.”
I leaned back in my chair, my gaze steady on his. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry or that time heals all wounds because I know that’s horseshit. The grief doesn’t get better. You just learn how to carry it.”
Holden nodded, exhaling slowly. “Exactly.”
We sat in silence for a moment, not uncomfortable, but weighted. The raw honesty of the moment lingered between us, and for the first time, it felt like Holden wasn’t holding himself at arm’s length.
“It was…a lot. Still is, sometimes. And Hendrix—he didn’t know James, obviously. He’s been through his own loss, but it was different, and honestly, I wasn’t willing to try and be open with him. So we kind of just…coexisted. Separate, but close enough to feel like maybe we shouldn’t be.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. “Close enough to feel like maybe you shouldn’t be?” I echoed.
Holden’s lips twitched into a faint, wry smile, but he didn’t look at me. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press him. Whatever had passed between him and Hendrix, whatever still lingered, was clearly something he wasn’t ready to share. But the weight of it stayed, settling over the table and wrapping itself around the space between us.
And now, somehow, The Silver Vine was part of it too.