Chapter 4 #3
“I needed people to stop looking at me like I was broken,” I said finally. “I needed to not have to explain what happened over and over. I needed …” I trailed off, my eyes stinging.
“My best friend tried. She really did. But she was caught between comforting me and not bad-mouthing Eric’s family, since their brothers are married.
It was messy and awkward, and I ended up just …
shutting down. Telling everyone I was fine when I wasn’t.
” I took a shaky breath. “I needed someone who wasn’t tangled up in all of it.
Someone who could just sit with me and acknowledge that it sucked. ”
“It absolutely sucks that he did that to you,” Luke said simply. “And it fucking sucks that your shop closed and your parents moved and your best friend left. All of it. It sucks.”
A half-laugh, half-sob bubbled up and slipped out. “Yeah. It really does.”
“And now your car won’t start,” he added.
“And now my car won’t start,” I agreed. “Because apparently the universe isn’t done kicking me while I’m down.”
Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “For what it’s worth, you don’t seem broken to me. You seem like someone who’s been through a lot and is still standing. That’s strong as hell.”
My vision blurred with tears I couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t feel strong.”
“I once read somewhere that the strongest people never do.”
I set down my coffee mug before I spilled it, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m having a breakdown in your living room.”
“You’re having a hard day in my living room,” Luke corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Something in my chest loosened at that. A hard day felt survivable. A breakdown felt like failure.
I lowered my hands and looked at this quiet, awkward man who’d spent the afternoon helping me unload supplies and was now sitting across from me, not flinching from my sad tale of woe, not trying to rush me through it or make it better with empty platitudes.
He was just … here. Fully present.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“For what?”
“For not being weird about this. For just … letting me fall apart a little.”
“Anytime,” he said, and I one hundred percent believed him.
We sat there for a while longer, the fire crackling, the silence comfortable now instead of heavy.
I told him about losing my shop—how betrayed I’d felt when the landlord sold the building out from under me to a developer who wanted to put in yet another real estate office.
How I’d scrambled to find a new space and ended up in the attic above Wharfside Bookshop, which was better than nothing, but so much less than what I’d had.
Luke told me about moving to Mistletoe Bay. About how suffocating his success had been, how everyone suddenly wanted something from him—money, access, a piece of the tech golden boy. How moving to a small town meant more anonymity.”
“I hardly think you’re anonymous. People here definitely know who you are,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but they don’t care as much. They’re more interested in whether I’m going to participate in town events or if I’m going to restore this house properly or if I’m going to be a good neighbor.” He smiled faintly. “It’s refreshing, honestly.”
“Is that why you volunteered your house for the Candlelight Walk?”
“Partly. Mostly because I was strong-armed into it by Juniper Hart, but also because I like the idea of sharing something beautiful. The previous owners kept this place looking like a museum. I wanted to show folks it could feel alive, too. Part of now instead of the past. Like a home people could actually imagine living in.”
“It does,” I said. "Feel alive, I mean. You can tell someone actually lives here. In the best way.”
His eyes brightened behind his glasses, and he ducked his head slightly, like he was trying to hide how much the compliment meant to him.
“Holly, I—” He leaned forward slightly, like he was working up the courage to say something. His lips parted—
A knock at the front door made us both jump.
“Uh, that’s probably Jerry,” he said, rubbing his palms over his thighs, the moment broken.
Luke stood and headed toward the front hall. I set down my coffee and followed, my stomach twisting with anxiety about what Jerry was going to tell me. Through the sidelight window, I could see Jerry’s truck idling out front, exhaust visible in the cold air.
Luke opened the door to reveal a wind-chapped Jerry. “Sorry for the wait,” he said. “What’re we looking at today? Dispatch was kind of vague.”
I explained the symptoms while Jerry nodded, pulling on a pair of work gloves. Luke and I followed him down the brick walk, and I stood there shivering while Jerry poked around under the hood, making thoughtful humming noises that told me absolutely nothing.
After about fifteen minutes, he straightened and shook his head.
“Bad news, Holly. Your alternator’s shot, and some of these belts are on their last legs, too. I’ll have to tow it back to the shop.”
My stomach sank. “How much is this going to cost?”
Jerry sucked in air through his teeth. “Parts and labor? Probably around nineteen hundred. Could be up to twenty-five if I find other problems once I get in there. These models are notoriously finicky.”
Twenty-five hundred dollars.
I didn't have that. Not right now. Not without draining my savings down to absolutely nothing and praying I didn’t have any other emergencies.
And yet, what choice did I have? I needed a car.
“Okay,” I said, my voice coming out calmer than I felt. “How long will it take?”
“I can get the parts in a day or two, and can probably have it done in three. I’ll call the tow truck—they should be here in about an hour.”
An hour. Another hour of standing here watching my one remaining nice thing get hauled away.
“Thanks, Jerry.”
He nodded and pulled out his phone to make the call.
Luke touched my elbow gently. “Come back inside. You’re freezing.”
I let him guide me back into his house, my mind spinning. Two thousand dollars. I could put it on my credit card, but that was already close to maxed out. I could ask my parents, but they were on a fixed income, and I’d already borrowed money from them earlier this year.
I could—
“Holly.”
I looked up to find Luke watching me with concern.
“I’d like to offer—”
“No,” I said immediately, the word rushing out before my brain could screw it up by wanting to say yes.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to offer to pay for the repairs. Or loan me money. And I appreciate it, I do, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I barely know you, and I’m not a charity case, and—” I broke off, barely holding in a frustrated growl. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
For a moment, Luke looked like he wanted to argue, but then thought better of it. “Okay. But at least let me give you a ride home after the tow truck comes.”
That, I could accept. “Okay. Thank you.”
The next hour passed in a strange sort of limbo.
Luke poured me another coffee, and we sat in the living room together, not talking much.
When the tow truck finally showed up, I stood on Luke’s porch as the driver hoisted the one nice thing I’d kept from my old life onto the flatbed.
Watching it get loaded onto the truck felt symbolic in a way that made my stomach hurt.
Or maybe that was all the coffee I’d drunk.
Luke stood beside me as the tow truck pulled away, his proximity oddly comforting.
I exhaled slowly.
“You know what?” Luke said suddenly. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
I turned and blinked at the sudden change in direction. “What?”
“My friend Rosa makes the best lasagna in New England. It can fix almost anything.”
I almost laughed. “I don't think Italian food is going to magically repair my alternator or turn into a pile of cash.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it’ll taste good, and you won’t have to cook, and you’ll have company instead of going home alone to a house with shag carpet from 1952, where you’ll stew over everything that’s gone wrong lately.”
He had a point. And honestly? I didn’t have it in me to argue. Or to go home alone. Or to pretend I was fine when I very clearly wasn’t.
“Okay,” I said. “Dinner sounds good.”
His face broke into a smile that made something in my chest flutter.
“Great. Let’s go.”