Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Delaney
When my anger gives way to feeling overwhelmed and frazzled by Harrison’s ridiculousness, I stop mid-pour and glance up at him. I don’t care that there are people around us—I can’t do this right now.
I stop pouring and look directly at him.
“Is this fun for you?” Maybe it’s my shaking voice, but something in his eyes softens. “Does making me tense and—”
“No. Shit. I didn’t mean to upset you.” As if on instinct, his right hand reaches for my face, but I take a half step back, and he loses the ability to reach me.
“Don’t, Harrison. I can’t do this right now. Please go.”
His face falls, and regret washes over his features. He opens his mouth, presumably to argue, but I’m exhausted, and when his expression changes, I think he finally gets it.
The pinched, pained look on his face confuses me. But he steps back and trudges away without another word.
My next customer steps up to the counter, and I plaster on the best smile I can muster. “Just give me one second to wash my hands, please.”
“Okay, sure, honey,” the older man says kindly, his features soft with compassion. Wonderful, now the attendees are feeling sorry for me.
I wash my hands and return to him, feeling more in control of myself.
The gentleman orders a couple of drinks—a vodka mixed with a peach-flavored liqueur, and one glass of bourbon. As I’m creating his order, he says, “You know, a man usually only acts that crazy if he’s got feelings for a woman.”
I finish making the drink I’m on and glance up at him. I smile—a genuine one this time—touched by his effort.
“I think he’s just crazy.” I’m hoping it came across lighthearted, as I intended.
“Trust me. I’m pretty sure I’m right,” he says with a hearty laugh. “Only time will tell. If I ever run into you again, you’ll have to let me know how it ends.”
I chuckle. “All right, will do.”
I ring him up, and when I return his card, he tosses a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar.
“Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, young lady.” As he steps away, he turns back one more time. “Honey, men usually become less idiotic as they age. Just remember that. He seems to me to be a man who doesn’t know what to do with how he’s feeling.”
I smile and look at my next customer. “How can I help you?”
To his credit, Harrison stays away. Then, the announcer notifies the crowd that the award ceremony portion of the night will begin in fifteen minutes, and the bar will close for the duration of the ceremony.
Some regulars I’ve had tonight make a mad dash for the bar to get one last order in before sitting through what’s potentially going to be a bunch of boring awards.
Things are crazy busy for the next fifteen minutes, and even though we’ve only been here a few hours, some patrons have been up to the bar enough times that I already know what they’ll purchase. I hope they’re planning on ridesharing or staying in the hotel overnight.
At the start of the presentations, the emcee recognizes regional nominations and category winners.
When it comes to the main award, a young man takes the stage.
He tells the story of himself as a thirteen-year-old boy, pissed off at the world because his dad had left.
His mom, a single mom, worked her butt off, and they lived with his grandmother.
The only male influence in his life was an uncle, who had no interest in spending time with him.
He speaks about how his mom applied for him to receive a mentor through the organization, and how he thought it was the stupidest thing in the world. That gets some chuckles from the crowd.
He entertains us with a few stories of how he put the guy through the wringer, testing him. But the vibe in the room becomes subdued when he says he convinced himself to make the man leave before he had the chance to go on his own. He pauses and clears his throat.
“But that man didn’t go,” he says. “And he honestly wasn’t much older than I am now. Heck, I can’t imagine being that mature at the age he was.”
He swallows hard.
“He showed up every week. When I started letting him in, just a little, I learned so much. I learned what it meant to be there for someone else, what it meant to give your time. He taught me that it doesn’t always matter if someone’s family by blood—someone who chooses to be in your life and helps you become a better person.
That’s the family that’s sometimes more valuable than the one you’re born into. ”
He pauses and takes a drink of water.
“I graduated from college in May. I’ve got a great job at a financial firm, and a brilliant, gorgeous fiancée.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that if my mentor hadn’t come into my life almost ten years ago, I would be in a very different place tonight.
I shudder to think about the kind of man I would be without the love and guidance of one young man who never left. ”
He peers out at the crowd.
“I ask you to stand with me and give a round of applause to the recipient of the Mentor of the Year award—my mentor, Holden Aron.”
Applause breaks out, and I gasp. I’m honestly a little shocked. Not because I don’t think Holden would do something so kind. Even though he likes to play the clown, he’s got a kind and generous heart. My awe stems from the fact that he’s already been so dedicated to someone for so long.
I turn and look at the table where I know he’s sitting—because of course I followed Harrison with my eyes when he returned to his seat earlier. His brothers take turns hugging Holden, clapping him on the back, and then he makes his way to the stage.
The young man embraces him, and when Holden steps up to the mic, he’s wiping tears off his face with the backs of his hands. His speech is beautiful—eloquent yet funny—and he finishes with a call to action for other men in the room to step up. To be there for boys and young men who need it.
When he’s finished his acceptance speech, the entire room stands again in applause. He steps off the stage, taps his heart, then looks up and mouths something.
Happiness for Holden wells up inside of me. That, and deep admiration.
I glance at Becca—tears roll down her cheeks.
We both chuckle, and I hand her a paper towel to wipe her face.
We take a moment, then we get back to prepping for the last hour of the evening—ensuring we have enough clean glasses, lemon slices, and garnishes.
When all is ready, I wash my hands and reach for a paper towel to dry them.
That’s when I catch sight of Harrison seated at a high-top table in the back of the room, watching me.
He looks… remorseful. I can’t tear my eyes off of him.
“Delaney?”
I blink, realizing Becca’s talking to me, and I totally missed it. “Huh?”
She follows my gaze.
“I see,” she says, grinning.
I glance at her. “Sorry.”
“You have ten more minutes. Why don’t you take a couple and go talk to him?”
“No, really. I don’t need to.” But I want to, very much.
“I think you do, Delaney. Because God only knows what the man’s going to do in the second half to get your attention.”
We both laugh, but she’s not wrong.
“You sure you don’t mind?” I ask.
“Not at all. Also, to thank me, you can get me the phone number of that hottie who won the award. He was sitting at your man’s table.”
“He’s not my man.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. You might want to tell him that.”
I roll my eyes at her, take off my apron, and step out from behind the bar. I make my way to where Harrison sits. His eyes don’t stray from watching me the entire way.
“May I sit?” I ask.
“Of course.”
I take the seat next to him. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
“That was pretty amazing… about Holden,” I say quietly.
“Yeah. Sometimes the little prick can be pretty selfless, huh?”
“It’s hard to think of him as a little prick when he’s changed the trajectory of someone’s life by dedicating ten years to him.” I hold back a smirk.
“Okay, whatever,” he mutters, then grins. It fades quickly, and he looks downward. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I was acting crazy. But seeing you back there in that outfit—”
“Harrison, stop. I need you to stop.” The desperation I’m feeling comes out in my voice.
He meets my gaze and blinks.
“Listen, I know we shared that night, and I know there’s obviously something that makes it difficult for us to be around each other without… sparkling.”
“Sparkling?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Sparkling, sparking, whatever. You get my gist. But I’m not that kind of woman.”
He pulls back slightly, confusion crossing his face. “What kind of woman? Are you slut-shaming yourself about our night together?”
“No. I’m not talking about what happened in the spring, and I don’t care if people who matter know that’s how we met. But I’m talking about the fact that I haven’t put the kibosh on this—whatever this is. You have a girlfriend, and I like her a lot. That makes this feel even lousier.”
His jaw drops and his brow furrows. I shake my head at him.
“I’m sorry, but did you think I’m a total idiot who wouldn’t have noticed? We all work in the same office, Harrison. And honestly, the more these things happen”—I wave a hand between us—“the less I think of both of us.”
“Delaney, please don’t say that. We’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t have—.”
“Seriously? Yes, we are, Harrison.” My level of irritation is rising.
He reclines back. “What in the ever-loving hell are you talking about?”
“Ellie. You’re dating Ellie. Yet you act like a…. a scoundrel whenever you’re around me. It makes me feel shitty, and it cheapens our one-night—”
Jesus, Delaney. Are you really about to say it cheapens your one-night stand?
I’m about to stand and ask him to give me space when he starts laughing. Loudly enough that a man from the nearest table shushes us.
He’s laughing at me.
“Did you just say you think I’m dating Ellie?”
Doubt creeps in. “Why are you acting so insane?” I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him.
“I’m acting insane? You’re the one accusing me of having a girlfriend I don’t have.” In an instant, he stops laughing. “Wait, did she say we are dating?”
I hesitate. Did she?
“She didn’t say it in so many words, but we walk together during our lunch break now, and um... I’ve seen you bring her smoothies—”
“You think I bring her smoothies because we’re dating?” He lifts one eyebrow, and I find even that sexy. Gosh, I have issues.
“I’ve seen you talking with her. Laughing.”
“Delaney, that doesn’t mean anything. She’s not my girl.” His expression grows serious.
“She’s been in your house. When we walked by it, she told me how nice it is inside. Why has she been in your house, then?” It comes out as an accusation.
“Because I host an open house every year during Christmas and invite all our employees. Delaney, please focus for a second. Did Ellie say I was her boyfriend?”
I hesitate. “No. I guess not directly.”
“Did she imply it indirectly?” He leans closer to me.
I don’t answer. I’m doubting myself now.
“Delaney,” he says softly. “Ellie is not my girlfriend. Nor would I ever want her to be. She went to school with Holden and Hayden. When you’ve seen me laughing with her, it’s probably because we’re figuring out ways to mess with Holden. She’s got some pretty hilarious pranks.”
Oh.
“What about the smoothies?” I whisper.
“Has she told you anything else about her personal life?” he asks.
“I’m not telling you anything she hasn’t told you herself.” I unfold my arms and rest my upper body against the table.
“Okay. But you’ll notice I only bring her the smoothies on Thursdays. Not every Thursday.”
He studies me, patiently watching my reaction. Realization dawns. Oh, yeah, I’m seeing it now.
“What do you think that means, Delaney?” His words aren’t teasing, but sweet.
“You’re bringing her kale smoothies… after her appointments?”
“I can’t confirm or deny that. But I can tell you, there’s no other reason I’d do it.” He grins. “Have you also noticed one pops up on your desk on those days, along with a macadamia cookie. The kind you fawned over when Henry brought them in?”
“Oh shit. I thought Holden was doing that. I’ve been thanking him for weeks...”
His mouth falls open, and he throws his head back. “That jerk. Taking credit for my smoothie moves.”
Now I laugh, and he smiles in response.
“Can we call a truce?” he asks.
“No, because there’s no need for one. A truce implies war or fighting. That’s not what we’re doing here, Harrison.”
He inches closer. “I don’t know what I did wrong that first night. I don’t know why you’ve run from me—twice. But something tells me I need to keep chasing you.” His voice is rough, his words earnest.
“Harrison.” It comes out breathy.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to. But only because I don’t want to hurt you.” He pauses and his eyes search mine. “Do you want me to stop chasing you, Bets?”
We stare at each other, saying nothing, for what feels like several minutes, but I’m sure it isn’t.
I bite my lower lip, then shake my head. No, I don’t want him to stop.