29. Lizzie
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lizzie
Ibolt upright in my bed from a sound sleep.
I hear a sound that my brain must have instinctively known is not one of the normal ones of our new home.
There are creaks in the floorboards when we walk and small pinging sounds when the air conditioner turns on, but the sound was neither of those.
I know I was asleep when it happened, but, for some reason, I think it was a clatter, like something was falling.
I sit stock still as I listen for it again. That’s when I swear I hear a voice.
I peel back my blanket and climb out of bed. The first thing I do is check on Simon, who’s safely asleep in his bed. Then, I grab my keys and lock the door, so he’s locked in.
I’ve got my phone with me in case I need to call 911, and I turn on the flashlight function so I can see at least a little.
Dang it, I realize I forgot a weapon. Not that I actually own a weapon, but don’t normal people grab a butcher knife or something like that when they think there might be an intruder? Well, normal people would probably call the police, I remind myself.
When I get to the landing, Simon’s bat and ball are still there from when we played across the street yesterday. I grab the bat.
I unlock the door that leads into the bakery. It didn’t used to have a lock on it, but I’m paranoid these days, so I had that put in.
Once I step inside, I pause and listen. Hearing nothing right now, I rise on my tiptoes and place my keys on the top of the refrigerator. If Landon or any intruder is in here, I don’t want them to have easy access to Simon.
I don’t hear anything in the kitchen, but just as I am about to go back upstairs, I definitely hear rustling from the other side.
Damn it.
I creep through the kitchen and into the bakery area. Maybe it’s an animal.
My heart races. I would actually totally freak out if I came face-to-face with an animal that didn’t belong there.
With my luck, it would be a skunk or a rabid raccoon.
Wait, there aren’t black bears in Aron Falls, are there?
I don’t think there are, but we’re right near the national park, so maybe it’s possible.
Oh, God.
I prowl around the café area and see nothing, but I realize that I can see better because a slight hint of light shines from under the bottom of the door that separates this area from the event space.
Now my heart not only races, but it pounds, as well.
Somebody is definitely in here.
I should’ve called 911 at this point, I realize, but I don’t want to be the person who does that inappropriately, especially when I may need them for real one day.
Still, I turn off my phone’s flashlight and dial the nine and the first one so that I’m ready to go if I have to. But when I approach the door, I realize that it wasn’t people talking I heard.
What I heard was someone singing very quietly. To boy band music. And I swear it’s Holden’s voice I’m hearing, but it’s two in the morning, so what would he be doing here?
I slide the door open enough to peek through, and sure enough, Holden Aron is in my shop at two in the morning on a Wednesday. Singing. Barely above a whisper but singing. There’s a little bit of hip swinging as well.
He has a paintbrush in his hand and one of those small handheld buckets you carry to dip the brush into in the other.
I glance around at the walls, and I’m stunned when I realize they’re all freshly painted. He’s working on trim areas right now.
I watch him for a minute, and step into the area when I’m ready to get his attention, but he turns, presumably to fill his paint bucket, and catches sight of me. He yelps, and his hands flail. The bucket of paint—fortunately not filled—and his paintbrush go flying.
He aggressively removes his earbuds. “Jesus, Lizette! Give a man some warning!”
“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to let the intruder I was looking for know I was onto him? Plus, you were clearly into your jam there, so I didn’t want to interrupt.” I can’t help but smirk at him.
“I’m not an intruder.”
“Not technically, because I know you, but you are here at my place at two in the morning, painting. What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Painting relaxes me, so I figured I would come over and get started on this place.”
“Get started? You’ve got the painting almost done.”
I look around the room again. He did a great job.
“You didn’t have to do this. It looks wonderful, but I feel bad.”
“Don’t feel bad.” He picks up the brush from the floor and wipes the spot with a throw rag. “I like the color you picked in here.”
“Georgie gets the credit. She helped. I’m not great with matching and making things look pretty, but she’s excellent at all that stuff.”
“Yeah, she basically decorated the whole inside of Heath’s house for him, and it’s a big-ass house.” His forehead furrows, and he frowns. “Where’s Simon?”
I put my hands on my hips and tilt my head, fighting a grin. “Where do you think he is at two in the morning? He’s asleep.”
“Oh yeah. That makes sense. That’s good. Is the door locked?”
I can’t help it now, and I smile at his concern.
“Yes, the door is locked, but I don’t want to leave him up there by himself too long.”
“Yeah. You should go back to bed, too, and I’ll finish up here.”
“No. You have to stop.”
“Almost done, Lizzie. Literally, like ten more minutes. That includes cleanup.”
I bite my lower lip.
“How about I help with the cleanup, and then, I know it’s the middle of the night, but you could come upstairs for a few minutes and have a couple of the cookies I made yesterday as a thank you.”
The smile I get in return is panty-melting. Not because it’s sexy or suave, but because it’s genuine, and he has such an attractive smile as it is. Which then makes it sexy. I can see how women fall prey to his wiles. It’s that damn smile.
“Do you want me to brew coffee?”
“No, not this late. Well, wait. Do you have any decaf?”
“I do have some of those pods for my coffee maker upstairs that are decaf, I think.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Sure. I’ll get that ready. How do you want yours?”
“Lots of cream, if you have it.”
“Okay. Got it.”
I pick up a few things and put them in the trash while he resumes working on the trim.
I smile as his singing starts up again when he turns back to painting.
A few minutes later, I’m upstairs with a cup of decaf coffee brewed for each of us when there’s a light knock on the door.
Rather than yell “come in,” since my boy is asleep, I head over to the door and open it.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi back,” he answers.
“Coffee is over there on the table by the couch. I put a plate of cookies out, too.”
It strikes me that this is the first time he’s been in my space since the day everyone helped me paint the rooms a while back. It’s mildly awkward, but not too bad.
“Thanks.” He strolls over to the couch and sits. “You realize all we need to do in there now is put the floor down, then it’ll be ready for the install of the stove and island? You can pick your tables and chairs to have them ready for delivery.”
“Thanks for helping me coordinate all of that. I do appreciate it.”
“It’s not a big deal. We have connections, obviously, in the industry, and I know finding someone to do massive ovens like that isn’t easy.”
“Yeah, definitely not. I was losing my mind before you started helping me. Speaking of...”
I glance down at my coffee mug and run my index finger along the rim. I don’t look at him, and suddenly I’m nervous. I need to know things from him that I’m not sure he’ll bring up if I don’t. But here goes.
“Why are you doing all of this after the way we left things?”
He says nothing for long enough that it makes me glance up at him.
I can see emotions passing over his face, but I can’t figure out if he’s sad or happy or whatever.
“I... I guess I was just so surprised to see you when you got here that I behaved really poorly, but the longer you’re here, I realize how much I missed my friend. The people we were in the library, what we had between us, I’ve never stopped missing it. I’ve never stopped missing you.”
I’m aware that I’m staring at him now. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thought about those early days of getting to know each other in the library and yearning for it again. My throat tightens with emotion, and I turn my gaze and body away from him. It’s too hard to look at him right now.
“Oh, okay,” I mutter.
A few seconds pass before he speaks again.
“Is it? Do you think it’s okay that we lost everything that really mattered?”
I hesitate and slowly force myself to meet his pensive gaze.
The question is loaded, and I know he doesn’t really expect an answer.
Emotions whirl around inside me, fighting for first place in my heart and thoughts: hurt, longing, jealousy…
even love. I compel myself to answer, even though it’s so hard and my lower belly is tight with anxiety over having this conversation.
“It’s not okay. But it happened, and it transformed us. At least it did for me. A lot has happened since then,” I whisper.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“Life changed us, Holden.”
“I’m sure.” He looks into my eyes, and for a second, I see the boy I loved. But then he’s gone, and it’s almost as if I can see him erecting walls around himself to protect his heart. He leans, elbows resting on his knees, his head looking downward. “Is he Simon’s father?”
“Is who—”
“Lizzie, come on. You know who I’m talking about.”
Yes, I do. He’s talking about the man who threatened his future.
“No. He’s not.” I whisper.
“Did you... Did you marry him?” His voice shakes, and I hate knowing that I’m the cause of his angst.
“I stayed with him for a few years because—well, I just had to. And then, a few years later, actually, he proposed to me, but I said no. Anyway, he’s not Simon’s father.”
He turns his head to look at me.