Chapter 4
FOUR
I’M PRETTY SURE HE HATES ME.
B riar
“So?”
“Soooo, what?”
“How has it been living with Holden?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he hates me. So, not so great.”
Honestly, the man can be so hot and cold. One minute, he’s making me tea before bed and the next, he’s growling at me for being too messy.
Daisy stops searching through the rack of vintage coats and looks at me with a shocked expression on her face. “What? That can’t be true. Holden doesn’t hate anyone. He’s the nicest guy on the planet.”
“Daisy,” I sigh. “Believe it. It’s true. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful he’s letting me stay with him, but to be honest he’s a bit of a pill.”
Daisy cocks her head at me. “What did you do to him?”
“Excuse me, what ? I didn’t do anything. I’ve been there for one day. How bad could I be?”
We’re thrifting at one of our favorite little local stores, something Daisy and I have been doing together for years. The thrill of the thrift is a very real thing. It’s that exhilarating feeling when you find that perfect pair of vintage Levi’s, a slip dress from the 40s or that handmade one-of-a-kind piece.
“I’ve lived with Holden,” Daisy reminds me. She spent most nights at Tucker’s place before moving into the house they’re in now, so she knows Holden pretty well. “I consider myself an expert on the man. Sure, he can be a little anal, but he’s a really good guy. He probably just needs some time to get used to having a roommate again. I know after he broke up with Aubrey, he seemed a little… lost.”
“Lost?” I look through the racks, trying to keep my tone uninterested.
“I don’t know. It’s his story to tell, but Tucker said he’s on a self-imposed detox. No women. No hooking up.”
I feel my brow shoot up. “Okay, maybe he isn’t looking for another relationship, but I’m sure he must be getting action.”
Daisy shrugs her shoulders. “It’s just what I’ve been told. But I haven’t seen him with a girl in a very long time. It’s such a shame. A guy like Holden is a catch. I’m still curious what went down between him and Aubrey. Something had to have happened for Holden to swear off women, but he’s never said.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, breathing in deeply, taking in the earthy scent of vintage coats I’m searching through. I seriously love thrifting.
“Briar, just get to know him. Talk to him. He has an interesting family. Wait until he tells you about his mom.” Daisy’s eyes go wide. “Speaking of… how’s your mom? Have you talked to her since you’ve been back?’
I smile. “Yeah, she’s good. So much better than two years ago. Other than missing me, she’s acting like herself again. ”
“I love that for her. I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose the love of your life, and so unexpectedly like that.”
Sighing, I stop my search for a moment. “My stepdad was a great guy. It isn’t fair.”
“Briar, for what it’s worth, I think it was good for all of you that you moved back home. But I’m also happy that you’re back.”
I smile at her but feel my mood sober. My family is small, and they all live in Vancouver, B.C., where I was born and raised. My older brother, Lucas, lives a few blocks from my mom, and my grandma and grandpa and my mom’s twin sister all live about a 10-minute drive away. I’ve always been close to them. Growing up, that little extended family made up for the fact that my dad abandoned us when my brother and I were just toddlers. That was 21 years ago. I haven’t seen him since.
My mom says I’m better for it.
Four years after my dad walked out, my mother married my stepdad, Jeff. He treated her so well, and he really put the work in and made my brother and I feel like we were his. We were all heartbroken when he died suddenly of a heart attack a couple of years ago, but it was hardest on my mom. It was clear that she was really struggling, so I decided to move back home to Vancouver.
It wasn’t an easy decision to make. I had a great life in Reed Point. My friends were here, and I had a dream job as the director of sales and marketing for a big cheese company headquartered on the east coast. And the truth is, I left Vancouver in the first place for a reason.
Justin.
I had known that I needed to put some distance between us. Our relationship had become horribly toxic. I chose Reed Point because my mom and stepdad had brought us here on a vacation when we were teenagers, and I fell in love with the place. The people, the small-town feel, the beautiful beaches. So, I packed what I could fit into one suitcase and moved to Reed Point with no real plan. I ended up building a life here. I got a student visa, enrolled at Reed Point University, where I met Daisy, and earned my marketing degree.
Moving away from my family had come with a cost—missing them. But I didn’t have to deal with Justin, and over time I found real happiness in Reed Point. Looking back, it was the best choice I’ve ever made.
So, the decision to return to Vancouver, to my old life and to the same area code as Justin, wasn’t easy. But my family needed me.
Thankfully, with time, my mom started to heal. When she was ready, I encouraged her to reconnect with friends she’d pulled away from in the year after my stepdad’s death and to get back to doing the things that used to make her happy. She still lives with the heartache of losing the man she loved, but eventually she started to seem like herself again.
Unfortunately, while I was back in Vancouver I had a setback and found myself back with Justin. He promised me he had changed, that he’d spent time working on himself while I was living in Reed Point. I believed him. I moved in with him, happy to be out of my mom’s house but not too far away from her. The idea of having my old life back, our old group of friends, was exciting. It all blew up in my face a few months later when I found him on my couch, naked, with another woman. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. I lost it. It was my mom who insisted I return to Reed Point. She could tell I was struggling being in the same city as my ex, and she told me it was time to get back to living .
So here I am, back in the place I’ve learned to call home. When I contacted my former boss, he offered me my old position back. I found a great apartment—at least, I thought I did, until the landlord pulled the rug out from under me. Holden really came to the rescue on that one. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t stepped up and offered me a place to stay.
“I’m happy to be back too, Dais. I missed you,” I tell her before yanking a hanger off the rack in front of me. On it is a jet-black fur coat, the color of ink. “Not trying to change the subject, but you have to see this jacket.”
I take the coat off the rack and quickly throw it over my shoulders. It’s hip-length, soft with short, flat fur. It screams Hollywood glam. I pose in front of the large mirror on the shop’s wall.
“Someone is going to throw paint on you,” Daisy laughs, moving to stand behind me so she can see my reflection. “That’s hardcore. Even for you.”
“You can relax, it’s fake.”
“Thank god. I didn’t want to have to call PETA on you.”
I ignore her, turning from side-to-side as I admire the coat. I’m imagining it with a short black dress, heels, my hair pulled back into a slick bun.
“If only you had a man who you could wear it for,” Daisy teases. “Nothing on underneath.” She smirks mischievously. “It would be so hot. Okay, I changed my mind. You need the jacket.”
“The whole store can hear you, Dais,” I laugh, slipping off the jacket and sliding it back onto the hanger. I reluctantly return it to the rack, then wander over to the home goods section, where I spot some frames and a pair of throw pillows that would look perfect on Holden’s couch. I pick up a pillow to check the price .
“Those are pretty,” Daisy says with an approving nod. “For your new place?”
“I was thinking for Holden’s. The place feels like a prison. I’ve never seen such an empty space in my life.”
Daisy’s eyebrows pinch together. “I get that you want to make Holden’s house feel homier, but something tells me florals and pastels aren’t his style.”
I shrug. “He’ll get used to it.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Daisy’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. She’s right, of course. Holden will probably faint when he sees these pillows propped against his dull, black couch. But they’ll liven up the place, make his house feel more like a home. Besides, maybe he’ll appreciate the effort. It bothers me when someone doesn’t like me, and I can’t quite shake the feeling that Holden falls into that category. Maybe this will help me win him over. I grab a blanket, a table lamp, and a candle for his empty coffee table and bring it all to the checkout. On my way home I’ll pick up some flowers.
“I wish I was a fly on the wall when he sees all this stuff tonight,” Daisy says, shaking her head as I tap my debit card against the machine. “I’m sure Holden is going to love what you do with his place.”
“Are you gaslighting me right now?” I tilt my head to one side, eyeing Daisy.
“Never.” She smirks at me, her eyes sparkling.
“Daisy, I changed my mind,” I say suddenly, dropping my shopping bag to the floor at her feet. “I’m getting the fur.”
“I knew you would,” she calls after me as I head back to the racks to grab it. “You should try it out on Holden.”
That might be the best idea my girl Daisy has ever had.
I’m a ball of nerves when I hear Holden walk through the door after work. I’m sitting on the couch reading a romance book, wearing a pair of shorts and a thrifted T-shirt I’ve cut to fall off one shoulder when he steps into the living room, a takeout bag in his hand.
I dog-ear my page and put the book down on the coffee table, taking in Holden. God, he’s beautiful. And so effortlessly sexy. He does look a little tired, probably from sleeping on a couch that is way too small for a guy his size, but that doesn’t stop my heart from thundering in my chest.
“Hi.” His green eyes find mine as the corner of his mouth tips up in a small smile.
My pulse rate skips.
But his smile is quickly replaced by a frown as his eyes move around the living room, taking in the décor changes— improvements— that I made this afternoon. That frown. It shouldn’t be so sexy.
I keep my eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. He’s wearing the same crisp white button-down and gray dress pants he had on when he left this morning, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up his forearms.
Never in my life have I noticed a man’s forearms. Until now. Smooth bronze skin with a light dusting of arm hair, his muscles tight and sinewy.
“What happened to my house?” His voice is gravelly, with an edge to it.
“Do you like it? I went shopping with Daisy.”
I watch his eyes track the room again. The throw pillows on the couch. The picture frames on his bookshelf—still empty, I figured I’d let him pick the photos—next to the cactus and the fern, the humungous three-wick candle on the center of the coffee table. My personal favorite is the chunky, knit yellow blanket draped over the arm of his couch.
“You’d better be able to return this stuff. I hope you didn’t take the tags off.”
He puts the bag of takeout on the coffee table, then turns to me, looking annoyed. His eyes track down the length of me before jerking away to the living room again.
A flash of heat covers my skin. I like his eyes on me. Something about the way he looks at me makes me feel appreciated. Admired. It’s been a long time since I’ve been looked at that way.
Trying to ignore the fact that I’m turned on, I get up and walk past him to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” he asks me with tension in his voice.
“I’m getting us plates and cutlery. Do you want to eat in the living room?”
“I want to finish our conversation. Briar… this stuff needs to go.”
“Give it a few days. It will grow on you,” I holler from the kitchen. “Did you see the blanket? It’s Merino wool. It’s so soft and cozy.”
“It’s 90 degrees outside, Briar. Why the hell do I need a blanket?” he asks before sneezing.
I roll my eyes. Would it kill the guy to say thank you? Geesh.
“Are you really upset over this?” I ask, returning to the living room with the plates and cutlery. I can feel his eyes on me as I set everything down on the coffee table. I turn to meet his gaze, and notice how his chestnut hair, which was perfectly styled a minute ago, is now tousled and messy from running his hands through it. His brows are furrowed, his eyes are red.
“I’m not upset, Briar. Do I look upset?”
“Holden, there’s a vein in your neck that looks like it’s ready to explode and your eyes are bloodshot, so yes, you look upset.”
“Did you have Bear out here?”
“Just for a second, but I kept her in my arms. I swear. Why?”
His expression softens. “Look, let’s just eat before it gets cold. I grabbed dinner from my favorite Greek place. Chicken souvlaki, salad, tzatziki and rice.”
“Sounds amazing. I love Greek. Thank you!” I say, happy that he appears to be willing to let the argument go.
I settle into the couch while he opts for the floor, stretching out one long leg. My gaze traces his movements as he opens the takeout containers. He’s still frowning, and my heart does this weird fluttery thing at the sight of it.
“I can take everything back tomorrow,” I tell him, softly. “I’m sorry that you hate it.”
Holden grumbles from across the table. “I don’t hate it. It was just… a lot to come home to. It’s fine. I’ll get used to it. Here. Eat while it’s hot.”
He hands me a plate full of food then makes one for himself.
“Thanks.”
He pops the lid back on the container and takes a bite of chicken before he gestures to my book where I left it on the coffee table. “You’re reading a book with a naked dude on the cover. Is this one of your smut books Daisy was talking about?”
I snatch the book from the table, hiding it on the couch next to me. “It’s not smut. It’s romance . And every man should read it. You could learn a thing or two.”
Holden laughs, his eyebrows wing. “There is nothing I need to learn. I could probably write the sex scenes myself.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Just like that, I’m imaging Holden naked in bed with one of his groupies. I bet he knows how to make a woman scream with just his big hands. I bet sex with Holden is beyond incredible. Stop it, Briar . Stop thinking about having sex with your new roommate.
But then another thought pops into my head. Daisy said that Holden wasn’t hooking up with anyone, but I’m not sure I believe that. What if he were to bring some girl home one night? It is his house, he can do what he wants. Jealousy claws at my belly, so I push that thought out of my brain and change the subject.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
He looks up from his plate. “What?”
“Tell me something about yourself,” I repeat. “If we’re going to do this roommate thing, we’re going to need to be friends.”
He gives me a once-over as I take a bite of my chicken.
“Just humor me, Holden.” I poke him in the arm.
He stays quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he says finally. “I hate New Year’s. You?”
“Wait a second.” I put my fork down on my plate. “Why do you hate New Year’s?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Because I love Christmas, and New Year’s Eve is like the nail in the coffin to the holiday season. It’s so depressing.”
I try and fail to hide the smile on my face. I’m not sure what answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Doesn’t everyone love New Year’s Eve? It was always a big deal in my house growing up.
I think about the parties my mom and stepdad used to throw for us. My mom would buy decorations, party hats and those annoying horns that we would blow all at once when the clock turned to midnight. We also had an extra reason to celebrate December 31 st in our house: it was the day my stepdad legally adopted my brother and me.
I wonder if Holden doesn’t celebrate New Year’s Eve at all. Does he stay home by himself while his friends are all out celebrating?
Why does that thought make me so sad?
I want to ask him, but I swallow down the question, deciding to keep the conversation light. After being so on and off with me over the last 24 hours, he’s finally relaxing a little. I want to keep it that way.
“I bet you like Thanksgiving then.”
“My second favorite holiday.” He shoots me a glance. He does a frowny sort of thing as I chuckle. “It’s the lead-up to Christmas. Plus, there’s the dinner: turkey, stuffing, potatoes. What’s not to love?”
“I can’t argue there.”
Holden studies me for a moment, then tips his chin up. “Your turn, Bee,” he says, and my stomach plunges. Hearing him use the nickname makes me feel giddy.
“Unpopular opinion, but I hate ice cream.”
He looks appalled. “How can you hate ice cream?”
“I just do. It’s cold and messy and makes my teeth hurt.”
“If I had to bet, I’d say you’re among one percent of people on the planet who hate ice cream.”
“It’s overrated.”
He raises a brow in curiosity. “Then what do Canadians eat for dessert? ”
“I’m from Vancouver, not Mars,” I laugh. “We like what all North Americans like.”
“Just not the number one rated dessert in North America.”
“Are you always this annoying?” My mouth curves into a smirk.
“Only with you.”
“Tell me another,” I say.
He pokes at his chicken. “I’m scared of spiders.”
“I’m scared of clowns.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he nods. “Why are they so creepy?”
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and my skin pebbles with goosebumps. I’m still trying to figure out why my body reacts to him the way it does.
I continue to ask Holden questions, wanting to know as much as I can about him, hanging on his every word even though, so far, our questions have been mostly surface-level. But with every passing second, I fight the urge to go deeper.
As we finish picking at our dinners, I learn that Holden’s favorite movie is Shawshank Redemption , he prefers mustard over ketchup, and he has one brother who is four years younger than him.
When we’re both done eating, he reaches across the table and picks up my empty plate, stacking it on top of his. “It’s your turn,” he reminds me, eyebrows raised.
I drop my chin in my hand, thinking. “I don’t believe in fate,” I tell him.
He wipes his face with a napkin and nods. “You’re a determinist.”
“It’s hot, right?” I say, stretching to nudge him with my foot.
He’s still not smiling—not fully anyways—as he leans back on his palms, his long legs stretched underneath the coffee table. He is devastating. Cocky and beautiful and absolutely killing me with his green eyes.
“How ‘bout soulmates?” he asks.
“Nope. I don’t believe in them either.”
“Why not?”
“I think the idea of a soulmate sounds really romantic, but I find it hard to believe that there is only one person on this planet for me in a population of 8 billion. What if my ‘soulmate’ lives in Antarctica or Zanzibar?”
He cocks his head as he studies me. “What about Tucker and Daisy? They’re the perfect example. Or Jake and Everly. She got it wrong the first time when she married her dickhead ex-husband, but she found her soulmate when she met Jake by chance at Catch 21. Hell, Grayson found his soulmate in Sierra when she moved in next door to him.”
I shrug my shoulders.
“What’s that shrug for?”
“Sorry to break it to you, but your soulmate doesn’t exist.”
He seems to think on that for a moment. I’m surprised at this. Holden believes in soulmates. That’s unexpected… and hot. “You think I’m being harsh, don’t you?”
“You can say anything you want.”
“I sorta have a bad habit of doing that. My mom always taught my brother and I to speak our minds.”
His expression softens. “You seem like you’re close to your mom.”
“I am. She’s been through a lot. My dad walked out on us when I was four and never came back.”
“Jesus, what an asshole. I’m sorry, Briar.”
“Oh, don’t be.” I wave it off. “I never really knew him, and I’ve never had the desire to. I got lucky when my mom married my stepdad. He adopted my brother and me. ”
“I didn’t know you were adopted. Well, by your stepdad, I mean.”
“I guess I never talk about it. As far as I’m concerned, Jeff is my dad. I don’t remember anything about my bio-dad, and that’s just fine with me.”
Holden leans back, his gaze drifting to my shoulder where my T-shirt has slipped down my arm, exposing my shoulder. He lingers there for a brief moment, an appreciative look in his eyes. Another burst of warmth spreads up my spine. I like the way Holden looks at me.
“You feel like someone whose parents are still together,” I tell him.
He tilts his head to the ceiling. “I would need a drink or 10 to talk about my parents.”
“Beer or wine?” I ask, taking the cue and standing up from the couch.
“Briar, I need to work tomorrow. And you are sitting on my bed. Shouldn’t you go check on Bear or something?”
“One drink. Don’t worry, we won’t make it a late night.”
I catch him glance at my shorts, then his gaze travels down my legs. He blinks then slides a hand through the short strands of his hair.
He sighs. “Fine. But only one.”
Trying to ignore his appreciative stare, I walk into the kitchen and grab two beers from the fridge. He’s sprawled across the couch now, and I settle back into my spot at one end.
“The pillows are so you’re more comfortable,” I note, motioning to the pile of throw pillows he’s moved to the floor.
“They take up too much space.”
I roll my eyes as I drape the thrift store blanket over my legs. Holden is a lot. My body tingles just from being this close to him, and don’t get me started on how it feels to have his eyes on my body. But we’re both emotionally unavailable. After everything that happened with Justin, the last thing I need is to get myself entangled with a guy I barely know—a guy I need to live with for the foreseeable future. That would be a very bad idea. Right now, I just need to take some time to work on myself.
“So, why does talking about your parents make you want to drink?”
Holden groans softly, and I can’t help but smile. He takes a long pull of his beer.
“My mother was married to my father, but now my mother is married to a woman.” He clears his throat. “Try to follow along.”
He settles further into the couch and looks up at the ceiling for several seconds. “My mother and my father are still best friends. The three of them are just… weird.”
That’s not what I expected. “Wow, sounds like a very modern family.”
Holden nods. “I’m fairly certain that my mom is in love with them both. She invites my dad to every holiday and family party. Her wife goes along with it. Sometimes it feels like they’re a throuple.”
“And how are you with it all?”
He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes softening. “My brother and I could care less that my mom’s with a woman, but it can get a little weird when she acts like she’s married to them both.”
Okay, I’m kind of liking that his mom and dad are so progressive. And Holden’s easy acceptance of his mom’s marriage to a woman makes him that much hotter.
I take a long sip of my beer, grimacing as it goes down.
“What’s that face for?” he asks .
“I hate beer.”
“Then what’s your poison?”
“Tequila.”
“Trouble. Isn’t that what makes people’s clothes come off?”
“Feed me tequila and find out.”
Heart racing, my eyes stay glued to his. I didn’t mean for that to come out so flirty, but I don’t regret it. I’m not taking it back.
“I’m tipsy,” I declare.
“Noted… it doesn’t take much,” Holden deadpans.
“So… we should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah, umm… we should,” he says, nodding. He stretches his neck, tilting his head down toward one shoulder and then to the other.
“Does your neck hurt? I feel bad. That’s all my fault.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a stiff neck. I’ll live.”
I must be tipsier than I realized, because what I say next surprises even me: “You can sleep with me. Your bed is huge, I’ll never even know you’re there.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Pretty sure you ripped my head off last night when you thought I was trying to sleep with you.”
“I didn’t rip your head off. Look, sleep on the couch if you want. It’s your neck. But I’m offering to share the bed with you.”
Hesitating, I can see him thinking it over. “You won’t try anything with me if I do?”
“Holden!” I pick up one of the thrifted cushions from the floor and toss it at him.
He half-smiles. “Are you sure?”
“I offered, didn’t I?” I hug my knees to my chest.
“You’re drunk, Bee. ”
I like it when he calls me Bee.
“So are you.”
“I am definitely not drunk.” He scrubs his fingers through the stubble of his jaw. “You promise to stay on your side of the bed?”
“It’s not me we’re going to have to worry about.”
Holden looks at me for a moment longer, then seems to make up his mind. He stands, takes our empty bottles to the kitchen and then returns, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I tell him, smiling. I follow him up the stairs to his bedroom. He flicks on the light, stands at the foot of his bed and turns to face me.
“Which side of the bed do you want, Bee?”
I must be out of my mind because the way he’s looking at me with that little smile on his lips, his deep green eyes crinkling with mischief, it’s going to take everything in me to stay on my side of the bed.