Chapter 13
HONEY AND MELTED BUTTER OVER SOURDOUGH
Carry You by Novo Amor · Sleep On The Floor by The Lumineers
Natalie
Today is one of those magical summer days when both girls have camp, and Allie and Cara are picking them up after driving an hour away to go blueberry picking.
I get to close the store without rushing and check a bunch of things off my to-do list. So wearing a fun outfit—high-waisted flare jeans with a white crop tank top and an oak-colored floral-print sweater—it’s the cherry on top.
It’s hot, yes, but the shop is always cold, so I like to dress in layers.
Patrons can always pull a blanket over them, but they can’t take clothes off, so I keep it cold, with baskets and blankets around the place.
Thanks to Holden, my home list is a lot smaller too. I’ve thought about texting him to thank him again, but I didn’t want to intrude or sound needy. There’s also the fact that my hands got sweaty every time I even thought about it, and that’s a feeling I never want to deal with.
It’s been a slow day, but I’ve learned to appreciate those too, especially now that I have to climb up this ladder to shelve some of the fall books that were delivered today. Nobody’s going to be purchasing fall right now, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
Reaching up to the last shelf on the wall seems to be impossible without stepping all the way to the top, but the fear of falling on my ass keeps me from taking the step. The doorbell chimes as I shout, “Welcome to the Blooming Wine. I’ll be right there.”
“You know, Natalie, I’m going to start recording what I find when I step through those doors,” Holden’s husky voice crosses the space. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him, and I’ve known him for what? A few weeks?
“Oh, hi!” I hold the ladder steadily, but in no time, he’s in my line of sight. Not next to me, but standing directly in front of me—well, under me. His back is to the bookshelf as he holds the ladder with both hands.
“Careful. You really shouldn’t be doing this with no one here,” he mentions as soon as my eyes meet his—enhanced by the olive shirt he’s wearing.
The color of his eyes dances with a million shades of brown, green, and gold, mixed with amusement and tied together with a bow as the corner of his lips raises lightly.
“Most of the time, I’m alone, and if there are customers here, I really shouldn’t be organizing stock.” I wobble with a quiet yelp as I self-correct.
Holden tsks. “Gee, I don’t know. If someone would’ve told you they had time to help if needed. I wonder what would happen then?”
Taking advantage of him holding the ladder, I step higher, reaching exactly where I need to and sliding the books where they go. “Why did you say you were going to start recording?”
He chuckles, deep and throaty but somehow light and warm. It feels like a hug without the need to touch. “Well, I’ve encountered complete organized chaos, you performing as if you were on stage, and now we’re in a scene from Beauty and the Beast.”
“Oh, really? And who am I in this scenario? Beauty?”
“Mm, no. I’m clearly Beauty. You, my friend, are the Beast.”
I carefully step off the ladder, landing right in front of him with barely any space between us. I narrow my eyes at him, earning me a laugh.
He raises his hands in the air. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Of course, you’re Beauty.”
“Very funny.” I drag the rolling ladder down the aisle until it lands in its dutiful spot. I love this thing with all my heart; funny enough, it’s inspired by the story Holden referenced.
“Coffee?”
“Is that even a question?” Holden takes a seat at his usual spot while I get to work, mixing ingredients. Today feels like a salted caramel oat milk coffee kind of day.
“Considering it’s four o’clock, I don’t know if you can handle caffeine or not.”
“I can handle a lot, Beauty.” He winks, causing more of a ruckus inside me than the potential innuendo behind what he can handle.
I prep our coffees in silence—his strong, mine decaf, because contrary to popular belief, I’m the one who can’t handle a lot.
The you’re so strong followed by I couldn’t deal with the cards you were given comments got extremely tiresome and borderline annoying when Nick died. And they never stopped.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks with a tenderness I wasn’t expecting.
I slide the coffee in front of him. “Yeah. Just reminiscing.” I bite my lip, not taking my focus from my drink, willing my breathing to settle.
Whenever the little flashbacks happen, the ones that take me to a moment full of emotion from the past, it’s like my body stays there for too long, no matter how hard I try not to.
“About your husband?” I snap my eyes to him, and I find only fear in his. “I-I-I-that was out of line. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I—” I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Damn it.” He stands. “I-I’m somehow really comfortable around you, and I’m used to talking about my mom and sister with my friends, especially if I get lost in thoughts of them too. I’m sorry.”
“Holden.”
“No, seriously. Sorry.”
I’m not going to cry today.
Today has been such a good day, and if I let the tears come, they might not stop.
Sometimes, the guilt of knowing I’m living and knowing damn well that’s not the case for him gets me.
It’s like the relief, the joy, the happiness, it's all stolen from him. It’s something I’m working on hard in therapy. Working on being the keywords here.
“It’s okay. It took me by surprise, but it’s okay. I actually enjoy talking about Nick too.” I sit on the swivel chair and take a sip of my decaf. “And to answer your question, yes and no. I was thinking about things people said that got on my nerves after he died.”
He looks puzzled, riddled, as if he’s searching for answers somewhere in the air.
“It was the I can handle a lot comment. Before you say it—” I raise my hand “—you didn’t do anything wrong. People used to say I could handle more than they could when I lost him.”
He nods. “Same with me and my family.”
“I know sorry doesn’t make it better, but I’m sorry. It sucks.”
“It does.”
I take another sip, relaxing in my chair. “So no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It just sparked that thought.”
Holden’s shoulders loosen. “Good. Because for a second, I thought I’d ruined your whole afternoon, and I was going to spiral dramatically about it later.”
I snort. “You? Dramatic?”
He places a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “Beauty, I’ll have you know, I contain multitudes, including a flair for the theatrical when I say something stupid to a pretty woman.”
There it is: the warmth beneath his teasing—again. The way he says pretty so casually but looks away like he didn’t mean for the truth to slip out.
“Smooth,” I say. “Very subtle.”
He grins into his cup. “I try.”
I take another sip of my drink, calmer now, watching the tension in him settle, only to shift again—and the color of his eyes with it.
It’s incredible how they swim with emotion.
The other day, when sadness consumed him, they were so dark.
When he came over to help at my house, the sympathy filling them made them look green.
And now, well, now, they look like dark honey.
“You were talking about your mom and sister earlier,” I say softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long ago did you lose them?”
“Five years.”
Together? I think so, but I don’t pry.
His jaw flexes once, gently. “Car accident,” he offers.
I don’t push, letting him continue if he wants; I’ve learned that sometimes, that’s the best way, especially if I want to share. I don’t want to be pushed to do so.
He finally leans forward, elbows on the counter.
“My mom…she was the glue to everything. And my sister—she was pure chaos in the best way. Losing them together…” He exhales slowly, eyes dropping to his hands.
“It was like someone turned the world’s volume all the way down. Quiet. Beyond quiet. Just…empty.”
I place my fingers over his hand, so he knows I’m here. I get that feeling too.
“So the other day, when you asked if I wished I had time with someone I lost again, I meant it when I said yes. I would give what I don’t have for another day with them.”
I nod in agreement. I would too.
“Do you enjoy talking about them, or is it like stabbing a knife in a fresh wound? I’ve heard it's one or the other.”
His face softens in a smile. “I like talking about them, especially with someone who understands and won’t pity me.”
“Oh, I won’t, and I agree. I like talking about him too. It’s almost as if I’m keeping his spirit here.”
“I know.” He breathes out. “Can I cash in on that listen and give me advice thing now?”
“Yes, I told you, I’m here.”
He inclines his head slowly. “The whole situation with Jerry—um, my father—” he corrects after he sees the confusion on my face, “only you and my therapist know.”
“Is it because he’s not well?”
“Yeah. He’s really sick now, and I’m trying to give him the chance to explain and forgive him, but it seems like for every step forward, we take ten steps back. I don’t want to include my friends in something that might not end happily, you know?”
“I know.”
“My life is a little bit of a shit show right now, which is why—” he huffs a humorless breath “—fixing things, managing the business, and coaching are my happy and steady things. So going to your house the other day felt good.”
“Thank you again for that. And for dinner.” I squeeze his hand once before withdrawing.
That crooked smile makes a brief return, the one that tugs at one corner first before spreading evenly, almost as if he’s trying to contain it but failing miserably. “I’m glad to hear that because…that’s what I’m here for today. I came to help you with the broken sign you mentioned.”
My lips part. “Holden, you didn’t have to—”