Chapter 38
PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY
Call Out My Name by The Weeknd
Natalie
“How’s it going?” I ask Allie, who answered on the second ring. Holden is talking to his friend by the front porch of his stunning modern house. There’s a giant lake behind it, and even though it’s dark, I can tell this place is what dreams are made of.
“It’s all good here. We still have maybe half an hour of game left, then the hour-and-a-half drive home. Jake and I were wondering if maybe you’d like the girls to stay with us tonight? I know we didn’t plan for this, so it’s totally okay if you don’t want to, but I figured it would be easier.”
“Um, I don’t know.” Yes, it would be easier, but without having the I have to go back home looming over me, am I going to want to?
Do I actually want to?
Would it be a terrible idea to not want to? To ask Holden if we can spend the night together? Every time I felt his hands on me today ignited something I haven’t felt in a while. I realized a few minutes ago what it was: desire.
When his hand was on my thigh all the way to the restaurant, it took everything in me not to ask pull over and for him to take me right there and then. Not that I would ever, but the want was there. The need for it too.
But now, I don’t know.
Am I ready?
What if I chicken out like the other day in my kitchen?
“Nat?” Allie asks, snapping me from my thoughts. That’s been happening so much lately.
“I’m sorry. I, um, maybe? We’re actually at Holden’s house now. Something happened, and the fire department is here, but I’m not sure.”
“Oh my gosh, girl, yes, of course. Text me within the hour or so, but take your time.”
“Thanks, Allie.”
“One four three, my Nat. One four three.”
“One four three two.” I hang up, reminiscing on how Jake started telling Allie one-four-three back in high school and how it stuck.
Now, they’ve extended their secret code to the rest of our friend group.
I love them so much, and I’m so glad they got over their nonsense years ago when Allie moved back to Baker Oaks—their own second-chance romance in the flesh.
Holden opens the door, whispering, “Hey, sorry about that.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, my fire alarm went off, and because nobody could get a hold of me, it alerted emergency services.” He sighs. “I need to go inside and check on a few things. Do you want to come in? It shouldn’t take long.”
I nod. “Yes, of course.” I grab the hand he so graciously held out for me.
“Coach King,” I greet him as he passes me.
“Call me Liam, please.” Firefighter Liam King. How interesting. “You two have a good night. See you soon, Clay.”
He walks away into his truck with his buddies as Holden and I walk the oak tree-framed path to his house.
The trees create a magical bridge for us, moss falling over them.
It’s serene, almost mythical, a little bit like him.
His house is nestled between even more trees, and a soft light out back shines over the lake.
Magnolia Springs is famous for the giant lake around which the town was built, and his house sits right on the bank.
I bet it’s even prettier when the sun hasn’t set. I bet you can have coffee sitting by the water and hear the birds sing.
I bet it’s perfect, just like him.
We step through white double doors, and inside is nothing I’d pictured. I imagine Holden’s home to be neutral and minimalist, but it looks more like a teenager decorated it. I smile as I look at the colorful walls and the psychedelic rugs, all in great harmony with his white and cream furniture.
I’m so lost in noticing the green stove and the lamps with birds on the corners, the mahogany credenza with little specks of color, I don’t notice we’ve stopped, or that he’s staring at me.
“What?”
His smile grows wider than the rising moon outside. “Did it surprise you?”
“Are you a mind reader?” I joke, making him shake his head and chuckle.
“You’re very easy to read, Beauty. What? Did my home not hold up to your standards? Too much color?”
I gasp. “You wound me, sir.” I turn, my arms open wide.
“It’s like an explosion of color here in the best way.
” I look past him to the rest of the house—the same vibes, save for the kitchen.
The kitchen is all muted colors and tidy countertops, a coffee pot in the corner, some fruit, and that’s it.
Other than the green stove, everything is monochromatic.
“Liz wanted to be an adult so she could decorate her house with color. She used to say that adults have so many options, and yet, we were all boring.”
His words sober me, but where I expect to find him sad, he looks content. At peace.
“After she passed, I had the hardest time going through their things, so my friends helped me. Daisy, one of my friends, found her planning journal. I was so mad at everything, but not at them, never at them. Liz had so many dreams; she was so young, you know? And then, I had a journal full of her hopes and the space and money to make them come true, even if she wasn’t here to see them. ”
His eyes roam the place as he exhales, continuing. "My friend's sister is an interior designer, and she made this happen.”
“It’s beautiful and so much fun. I love it.”
“Thanks. I think so too,” he replies, looking around his colorful home.
“That’s part of the reason why I wear fun clothes or put sprinkles, sugar cubes, and cinnamon in all my coffees. I’m adult with adult making decisions. I can get a little serotonin boost with every coffee cup or outfit choice if I want.”
He gasps. “Are sprinkles, sugar cubes, and cinnamon the secret ingredients to your coffees?”
My hands cover my chest in mock surprise. “Busted. But also love. I make everything with love.” I swallow hard at the implication, but he doesn’t even flinch, so I clear my throat. "Did you say you had to check on something?”
He nods. “Yes. Can you give me a few?”
“Sure.”
“Make yourself at home.” He squeezes my hand and walks into a hallway, leaving me alone in this beautiful house. There’s a sliding glass door in the back calling my name. He said to make myself at home, so stepping outside a few feet surely is that.
The view from the back is as stunning as I imagined earlier. Even though it’s dark, he has hanging lights on the back, illuminating a neat and well-maintained backyard by the water.
Why am I picturing my girls and me here having a good time with him? Swimming in the lake while he grills for us, or making s’mores by the fireplace on the back patio?
I shake myself out of these thoughts, focusing on anything but this potential future.
Across from the kitchen, there’s a stone fireplace and a large couch, where I can imagine watching movies or playing board games on Friday nights while pizza is in the oven.
It’s so easy to picture a life with Holden for more than a date, and I don’t really know what to do with those feelings.
On each side of the fireplace, there are giant bookshelves full of…wine? My wine? What?
Each bottle is carefully placed as decoration, the labels facing forward, none of them touched. I count them, which ends up being an easy task, since they’re in rows of four. Twelve rows. Forty-eight bottles.
“Twenty-four times I went to your store and left with two bottles,” he says from behind me, rendering me speechless.
“And you, what? Kept them all?”
“Well, I don’t drink,” he shrugs. Of course, he doesn’t drink. His father is an alcoholic, Natalie. How did you not put two and two together?
I’m sure confusion is written all over my face. “So then, um, why did you buy them?”
He steps forward, closing the space between us, a soft smile on his face as he looks at me like I hold the answer to all his problems. “Well, on one of the darkest days of my life, a beautiful, kind girl made me smile, and her wine was the one excuse I had to keep coming back to her.”
He brushes my cheek with his thumb. “I guess I could’ve done flowers, but I would’ve given everything I own and more to hear you talk to me about—well, anything really—and wine kinda stuck.”
“Holden.” My voice is a whispered plea for something. Anything.
“And I can’t get rid of them because each one reminds me of something specific.” He drops my face as he walks to hold one of the peach wines. “This one you told me was the town’s favorite, but you didn’t say it was your favorite, so every time I look at it, I try to figure out which one is.”
He holds another one, a blueberry wine my mom loves. “You handed me this one the day I caught you dancing. Still one of my favorite memories, so it stays front and center.”
He puts it back in its place then grabs a bottle of a red blend, bloody red, and Cara’s favorite. “This one, you handed me the day I came to you in pieces over my life, after you singlehandedly helped me put it back together by listening and being there for me.”
He returns the bottle, coming back to me and drying my tears with both his thumbs as he holds my face tenderly, as if I’m delicate and special and everything in between.
"I want to have as many reminders of you in every space I’m in, until hopefully, one day, I don’t have to, because we’ll share them all. ”
“Holden.”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes, his long lashes kissing his stubbled cheeks.
“I know. Baby steps. Trust me.” He chuckles.
“I know, but I can’t stop myself from dreaming, Natalie.
I lost all my dreams when my family died, and until that afternoon on a sad Sunday in June, I’ve never dared to dream again. Until you.”
I can’t take it anymore, all these hard-to-name feelings about to burst from me. His words wash over me in a wave of pleasure I don’t try to make sense of. Not now, because I want him so badly, I can’t think straight. I can’t form words. I can barely breathe.