Chapter 8
Eight
Holley
I don’t hear my alarm so much as feel it—an angry vibration against the side door panel beside my hip, rattling through the cold interior of the car and into my bones.
I’ve been awake for hours anyway, drifting in and out of the kind of half-sleep that never fully arrives.
My toes are numb, even tucked under me the way I’d curled up in the backseat sometime around midnight, and every breath ghosts white in the air before fading away, reminding me again of just how stupid last night had been.
I should have gone to a hotel. I should have turned around the minute I realized how quickly the temperature was dropping.
If my card got declined since the money hasn’t cleared for the stay yet, then I should have gone home.
But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to walk into the house and find him.
Or worse, not find him and worry he cancels the rest of the week.
I don’t want to think about that.
I also don’t want to think about Tony kissing me like he had every right to, like he knew me, like he knew what I needed in that moment even before I did.
But the memory unfurls anyway, warm and dizzying and at odds with the icy ache in my fingers.
His mouth on mine. His breath against my cheek.
The firm, sure way his hands had curled into my hips like he had claimed me in one movement.
A shiver dances down my spine, but not from the cold.
I’m old enough to know desire over butterflies any day of the week.
The teenage giggles of a girl are gone and in its place is the woman inside me that knows what it is to feel a man, desire a man, and leave the emotions at the door.
Tony brings out this need inside of me I haven’t felt in so long.
Sex with Eric was good in the beginning.
Then over time things shifted. He didn’t care about the buildup for me, he didn’t care if I got mine at all.
For years sex has been this thing I did because that’s what married people do, but it wasn’t something that put a fire in my belly like that one single kiss with Tony did.
I groan and sit up, immediately regretting it as a spike of pain pulses between my shoulder blades.
Sleeping in a car sucks. Sleeping in a car while freezing sucks even more.
I try to stretch, but everything feels stiff, sore, tired.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror and wince.
“Perfect,” I mutter to myself. “Absolutely work-appropriate.”
My hair looks like it lost a fight with a squirrel. My eyes are red in a way concealer won’t fully fix. And my cheeks—still pink from cold—are blotchy.
I grab the travel pack of wipes I keep in my purse and scrub at my face until I feel vaguely human again.
The heating vents groan when I start the car, and I sit there for a few minutes, letting the weak warmth finally seep into the cabin.
I hold my hands over the vents, counting down the minutes until I absolutely have to start driving if I don’t want to walk into the dental office late.
Dr. Kline doesn’t tolerate tardiness from anyone.
He also hates anything resembling weakness, exhaustion, or personal emergencies, so there’s no way I’m telling him I slept in my car so I didn’t disturb the house or risk waking a potential stranger.
Or that I didn’t even know if someone was still there.
I also didn’t want it to show how worried I am.
Eric doesn’t give up easily. The last thing I need is for him to come to my work and make a scene like at my house.
Nope. Today, I will put on the smile I’m paid to provide and pretend everything is normal.
Even though nothing feels normal.
Not the cold lingering under my skin.
Not the exhaustion humming through my blood.
And definitely not the memory of Tony’s lips—how they’d felt warm and steady and familiar in a way that terrifies me if I think too much about it.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought, and pull out of the parking area near the trailhead.
The steering wheel is still cold. My hands ache.
My brain feels foggy. But I make the drive anyway, because the world doesn’t care that last night nearly cracked something open inside me.
The world doesn’t care that I’m tired or scared or confused or that I haven’t had more than two hours of real sleep.
The world just expects me to show up.
After a stop at the gym for a shower, space to change into my scrubs, I make my way into the office.
The lobby of Kline Dental smells like minty disinfectant and the faintest hint of burnt coffee.
It’s too bright—everything is always too bright—and the fluorescent lights sting the moment I walk inside.
The heater vents above the front desk hum loudly, and I stand under them for a second longer than necessary before walking to the staff room to drop off my purse.
“Morning, Holley!” comes a chirpy voice from behind me.
Of course. Of course Kendra, the world’s most aggressively enthusiastic hygienist, is already here.
I paste on the smile. “Morning.”
She gasps, dramatically and unnecessarily. “You look exhausted! Are you okay? Are you sick? Oh my gosh, are you getting’ sick? Should we disinfect something?”
She’s half-joking, half-not. That’s the thing with Kendra. She cares, but she cares loudly, in ways that make it seem like you’re an inconvenience for not being in peak physical and emotional shape at all times.
“I’m fine,” I lie, “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Well, don’t give it to me.” She fans her face. “I have dinner plans tonight.”
I nod. “Not contagious.”
“Good.” She bounces past me. Literally bounces. She’s like a hopping bunny in human form.
I lean my head briefly against the row of lockers and close my eyes.
Just for a second. Just to breathe. But the moment they close, I’m back in the cold.
Back in the car. Back in that moment where everything felt like it was unraveling once again last night.
And then Tony. He just stepped into the chaos like he understood every piece of it.
Like he saw me. He read me like a damn book.
My eyes fly open again. Shake it off. Work. I need to think about work.
I put my things in my locker before taking my place at the front desk. The phones aren’t ringing yet, but they will be. They always are.
I turn on the computer. The screen brightens. The schedule loads. And I groan internally because of course today is jam-packed.
My head already hurts.
At 7:58, just two minutes before the first patient arrives, Dr. Kline strides in like he owns the air we breathe.
“Well,” he mutters disapproval laced in his words even though I haven’t done anything yet, “you look rough.”
I swallow my irritation and offer a tight smile. “Morning, Doctor.”
He moves past the desk, flipping through charts I already prepared. “Did you get the insurance pre-auth sent for Mrs. Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“And did you reschedule Martinson’s cleaning?”
“Yes.”
“And did you—” he rattles on more patient names to which I confirm all tasks complete.
“Yes, Doctor.” I pause. “The entire day has been confirmed and all prior authorizations are done and coded.”
He studies me again, something between annoyance and mild concern flickering in his eyes. “Try to hydrate. Your eyes are puffy today. You look pale. Definitely drink more water.”
Then he disappears into the back, leaving a trail of sandalwood-scented authority behind him.
I let myself sag in my chair for a whole three seconds.
Then the door opens.
And the day officially begins.
By ten a.m., I’ve answered seventeen phone calls, scheduled six appointments, rescheduled four more, filled out two insurance claims, and dealt with one woman who insisted she had sent an email two months ago and therefore shouldn’t have to pay a missed appointment fee.
And I am so tired I feel it in my teeth.
The office is warm now—almost too warm—and I realize I haven’t stopped shivering. Not from temperature. From exhaustion, probably. From the residual shock of last night. From everything I haven’t allowed myself to process yet.
I rub my thumb into my palm, grounding myself, and take a breath. Patients come and go. I smile through all of it. The fake receptionist smile. The “yes of course we can look into that for you” voice. The “no worries, it happens all the time” tone. It all feels automatic now.
Around noon, Kendra pops her head out of an exam room. “Hey, Holley? Can you bring me the 4-0 sutures? I forgot to prep my station for the upcoming extraction. I need to check the patient in and don’t want to hold up Dr. Kline when he gets in to do the procedure.”
“They’re in the cabinet by the back sink, right?”
“No, they’re,” She stops mid-sentence and mid-stride studying me. “Holley. Are you okay?”
I blink at her. Once. Twice. Apparently too slowly.
She frowns. “You’re not you, it’s like something is off today.”
I try to smile again, but my cheek feels stiff. “Just tired.”
She studies me longer than she normally would—her chirpy vibe replaced with something quieter, almost concerned. “Okay. Well, the sutures are actually—never mind. I’ll grab them.”
She disappears, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling of being seen.
I hate being seen.
Especially when I’m barely holding myself together.
Lunch break arrives like a blessing, and I slip outside with my coat pulled tight around me, even though the air is warmer than last night by a mile. The cold still clings to me. Like it seeped into my bones.
I sit in my car—not to nap, because I know if I close my eyes I won’t wake up—but to breathe. To stretch. To drink the lukewarm coffee I reheated an hour ago in the office.
My phone buzzes.
For a split second, my chest tightens thinking it might be Eric, even though that makes no sense. My rational brain knows it doesn’t. But fear doesn’t ask for permission to show up. We don’t have much contact since the divorce got finalized. Yet, he shows up at the most unpredictable times.
It’s just a notification for a sale on a clothing store app.
Still, I don’t fully relax. I sip my coffee instead and lean back against the seat.
The sunlight streams through the windshield, warming my face. And for the first time since waking, I feel something I haven’t had in a long time. It’s not peace. But like a pause. A break in the tension.
A moment of quiet.
But quiet lets memories in.
And suddenly, I’m right back at my cabin. Eric is yelling about money. Then Tony—calm, steady, immovable—stepping between us. Then the kiss.
My breath catches.
I shouldn’t think about it.
I really shouldn’t.
But my body remembers it more clearly than my mind does. The warmth of him. The strength in his hands. The way he tilted to me like he’d done it a thousand times. The heat of his mouth. The way my knees had softened, traitorous, wanting more than I should ever allow myself to want.
It was fake.
It was a distraction.
A way to get my ex-husband to back off.
That’s all.
But my stomach swirls anyway, remembering the way Tony’s voice had dropped after, low and intimate and commanding: “Let’s get inside and warm up, baby.”
A flush spreads across my neck. It shouldn’t affect me. It shouldn’t mean anything. But something in me whispers that it did mean something—to him or to me, I don’t know.
I am not part of a let’s anymore. Do I even want that for myself? Before the kiss, I hadn’t even allowed myself to think about what it would be like to kiss another man, be with anyone.
How do I move on when in my mind I committed my life to Eric? Yet, kissing Tony, I felt alive again. I want that for me.
My lunch break ends before I’m ready. I toss the empty cup aside and go back inside.
By the last hour of the workday, I’m running on fumes.
A headache pulses behind my eyes. My throat is dry. My legs ache from sitting too long. My nerves are a mess of tangled threads that I keep trying to smooth down.
Around four fifteen, Dr. Kline emerges with a mouthful of expression that says someone dropped the ball but hasn’t yet decided who.
“Holley,” he says, adjusting his glasses, “did you call the lab about the Raymond crown?”
“Yes. They said it’s delayed until Thursday.”
He frowns. “Thursday? That’s unacceptable.”
“They said there was a staffing issue—” I try to explain and he cuts me off holding up a hand.
“Call again.”
“I already—”
“Call again,” he repeats, sharper.
I swallow irritation and nod.
As he walks away, Kendra mutters under her breath, “He needs a vacation.”
I almost smile. Almost.
But smiling takes too much energy right now.
Finally five o'clock arrives. I shut down the computer. Gather my things. Say the required goodbyes. And step outside into air that feels crisp and, somehow, softer than it did this morning.
I reach my car door.
And hesitate.
I don’t want to go “home.” Not yet. Not alone. Not with the possibility that the memory of last night is waiting to tempt me to have hope to feel like a woman alive again.
I lean against the car, pulling in a shaky breath.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I jump.
But it’s just a message.
From an unknown number.
My heartbeat quickens in a way that’s not quite fear, not quite adrenaline.
I open it.
Come have dinner, Holley. Six-thirty.
My stomach drops as I recognize the number from the booking. The hope and anticipation twists itself into something messy and unsteady. Because I know exactly who it is and how I shouldn’t smile reading the invitation.
Tony Brocato. My guest for a week. This is a business transaction. Dinner sounds intimate. He’s a stranger not a friend.
The memory of our kiss lingers and my lips protest that he’s a lot of things but to my body, he’s a stranger no more.
And suddenly the cold isn’t the thing sending shivers through me anymore.