Chapter Forty-Three. Rowan
FORTY-THREE
Rowan
“Holden?” I look down at the take-out dinner that was just delivered to my gran’s house.
“Hi.” The rumble of his voice has an automatic smile crawling across my lips.
“Why did you just have dinner delivered to me?”
“I’m assuming you’re hungry.”
“Well, yes. I’m always hungry, but that’s beside the point.”
“It’s from that restaurant a few towns over. The one we went to that night—”
“That we danced on the beach.” I glance down to the take-out bag again, the memory of that night so very clear. The first time we ever ventured out in public together and only because it was far enough away from here that no one would notice.
How did I miss the name on the bag and the meaning behind it?
“Yes. That one,” he murmurs.
“But why are you sending me dinner?” I ask.
It’s been a whirlwind week. The meetings with our suppliers and subcontractors have eaten up all daylight and well into the night.
Then after the negotiations came the schmoozing.
The dinners out. The breaking of bread. The drinks shared to reinforce these relationships that are so very important to us.
Add to it that Holden’s been out of town for a few days. Some kind of investors’ meeting for the software company he bought and sold but remains on the board of.
It’s been all work and no play.
“Why did I send you dinner? Because my flight is grounded due to weather and because we need this.”
“What’s this?”
“Dinner. Together. Without distraction. Without the endgame of sex—although that’s never something that’s a hardship when it comes to you.”
“Holden.”
“We’ve both been under a lot of pressure for various reasons and I thought it would be nice to have dinner together. To rewind a bit and take it back to how this should have started instead of how it actually did.”
“I like our story.” Is that whatever this is? Our story? I guess so.
“It’s unconventional, yes. But I like it too.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” The man gave me Clayton Seaburn. That night in New York was out of this world and over-the-top, but right now he’s giving me something that is so much more. It feels so much more.
Him. Time with him. Out of the bed, out of the office and free of distractions.
“Tell me you’ll have dinner with me.”
“Yes. Of course.” Who in the world would say no to that request?
“Thank you.”
There is rustling on the other end of the connection as he opens whatever it is he’s eating. Not doubt it’s something wonderful as he sits on the tarmac in the jet, but what he sent me is wonderful too.
“So you’re at your gran’s house?” he asks. “Why?”
“Yes. I’m still sorting through all of her things.” A needle in a haystack. “Organizing. Throwing some things away and saving others. It’s just taken me longer than expected.”
“Memories have a way of creeping up on you like that.”
“They do.”
“Any more dreams about her?” he asks and has me stopping the fork midway to my mouth and smiling.
“No.”
“Ever since you said that—that you have dreams about her—I’ve caught myself wishing I’d have one with my brother. Silly, but…”
“Not silly at all.”
We fall silent for a beat, and I pretend it’s because we’re chewing but I know it’s so much more than that. Again, Holden is showing me tiny bits of himself without me asking and for some reason, I know that’s huge.
“Your gran. She meant the world to you, didn’t she?”
“She did. So much of who I am is because of her.”
“Tell me about her. I want to know more.”