CHAPTER 4
ELWOOD
Keeping dinner simple and quick is a must tonight which means spaghetti and red sauce.
Garlic bread is going to take this meal up a notch along with the salad I’m tossing together at the moment.
Even though she’s not making a sound as she gets settled in my guest room, my entire being is attuned to Hollyn.
I’m shocked that she’s in my house right now.
The last thing I expected when I offered her my spare room was for her to say yes.
I’m still not sure why she agreed to it.
Maybe it was all the information I spewed at her about me.
Maybe it was just as simple as she didn’t want to go to Rosseau Paradis.
I don’t know, but I’m grateful she’s here no matter what.
From the moment the Easton Auto tow truck stopped outside of the library to pick Hollyn up, I was on edge. I had never looked at the clock as often as I did this afternoon. While I wanted to shoo everyone out and close up, I didn’t. It was so fucking tempting, though.
I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find her, even in a small town like Storyville. I was terrified that the fix on her car was something quick and easy, something they’d already have the parts in stock to make happen.
Which is why I was heading into Storyville Stories. I figured buying a new book was a good way to drown my sorrows and regrets. Because what I wanted to do was haul Hollyn over my shoulder and lock her in the backroom of the library until I could take her home with me.
I was pissed at myself that I didn’t give into that craving, while knowing how completely unhinged the impetus was in the first fucking place.
Then I walked into the bookstore and saw Hollyn. I swear the light was shining down on her like her sassy and untrusting self was on display as the perfect Christmas gift. One thing that became very clear to me was how nothing was going to stand between her and me.
Now she’s in my house. And I’m cooking dinner for her.
I almost can’t believe it.
As I pull the garlic bread out of the oven and plate up our dinner, I can only hope that she likes it. And that I don’t look as overeager as I feel.
I’m not even a little bit ashamed when I need to take a few deep breaths before I head out of the kitchen toward the guest room. While I would have preferred to have her in my room, I figured it wouldn’t go over very well.
Not yet at least.
I knock on the door and open it after she calls out to me. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed surrounded by paper and a miniature printer of some sort along with little scraps she must have collected along the way. On her lap is a scrapbook.
She doesn’t clutch it to her chest like I’m a troll on a mission to steal it from her, but her reaction comes pretty close. It’s clear when she looks into my eyes that she’s wary. I don’t know why or what she’s afraid of, but I know going right at her and asking will only make her defensive.
If you were to ask me how I know, I couldn’t answer. Yet here we are.
“I made some dinner,” my words are an offering.
“Oh?” She looks down at the book on her lap before putting it to the side and climbing out of bed.
My cock goes hard as steel as I watch her. It’s dangerous being this close to a bed with her. I want her like I’ve never wanted anyone else.
“Yeah,” my voice is strained, “it’s just spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread.”
To me it doesn’t sound like much, but the way Hollyn freezes and looks up at me with awe written on her normally shuttered face tells a different story. Does it make me want to puff my chest out? You better fucking believe it, and I give into the feeling. Just a little bit.
“That sounds delicious.”
Her words feel like a gift. She might be in my home, but it’s clear she has walls around her. I don’t know why, but I want to know. As much as I want to find out, I can’t push her. I have a feeling she’ll shut down if I do.
“Good.”
With that, I force myself to walk out of her room without looking back to make sure she’s following me. I don’t stop until I’m standing behind her chair at the small table in the breakfast nook attached to the kitchen.
I grab the bottle of wine I opened and put it on the table while watching Hollyn out of the corner of my eye. The way she flits at the edge of the table reminds me of a hummingbird.
“Come on, Hollyn,” I keep my voice gentle as I pull out her chair.
When she sits, I push her chair in, and she looks up at me like she can’t quite understand if what she’s seeing is real. It is. She’ll figure it out soon enough.
“It looks good,” she murmurs without looking up at me as I sit across from her. I pour some wine and watch as emotions flit across her face. She swallows hard and forces her gaze up until it locks with mine. “Thank you for cooking, I would have helped.”
“I had it under control, Hollyn,” I assure her. “This was easy to make.” I nod toward her plate and hope she likes it. “I enjoy cooking.”
What I don’t tell her is how much I enjoyed cooking for her, specifically. It unlocked something primal in me, something I didn’t know was there. Cooking for her felt like providing, and a bit of myself clicked into place deep inside me.
As we eat, the silence settles. It doesn’t feel dangerous or charged, it feels almost normal, as if there are supposed to be moments of stillness between us.
It’s what life should be. No one can maintain excitement all the time.
Who you truly are shines in the moments in between, the parts of life which aren’t always glamorous, but are just as important as the big moments where cameras flash and memories are made.
“What was the book you were working on when I came to let you know about dinner?” As much as I try to keep the question inside, it’s impossible.
I’m not going to apologize for wanting to know everything about this woman. She’s intriguing and I’m on the edge of desperation for answers. I doubt she’ll give them up without me asking.
Hollyn bites her lip, and I can see her deciding whether she wants to answer my question or not. She takes a big drink from her glass of wine before she blows out a breath.
“I was working on the scrapbook for the road trip I’m on.”
I nod and keep my voice low, not wanting to scare her. “You said you were driving through when you were in the library earlier.”
She nods, the movement slow and measured. “I’m on a road trip.” She looks away from me, her eyes going unfocused like she’s living a memory. “It’s all because of a promise I made to one of my best friends.”
“A promise?” My question is whispered in the space between us, something about her story pulling me in while everything else falls away.
As she swallows hard, her face falls with a look of pure grief and heartbreak which has my own heart dropping and clenching.
“When we were teenagers, Hillary was diagnosed with leukemia.” Fuck me.
My palms itch to reach for her, to hold her against my chest and give her comfort.
“It was a hard road, but she beat it and was in remission.”
“That’s amazing,” I keep my words gentle because my gut is screaming at me that this story doesn’t have a happy ending in regard to Hillary’s illness.
“It was,” her words are thick with sadness. “Then it wasn’t,” she whispers and I have to strain to hear her.
“What happened?”
“I got a phone call,” she starts, but her words die and morph into laughter, but the sound doesn’t hold even a hint of amusement.
“Isn’t that how it always starts? A phone call.
” She meets my gaze, and her green eyes are filled with so much pain and grief.
“I thought it was just a regular phone call, just a check in with one of my best friends. I had basically just graduated from college and wasn’t sure what my next move was.
I thought she was calling to check in and persuade me to move back to Seneca Falls. ”
When I arch an eyebrow in question she presses her lips together. I’m not sure if it’s in amusement or annoyance.
“Seneca Falls is the small town where we grew up. In Nevada,” she explains.
“Were you in the desert or the mountains?”
“More mountains. The land around the town has a lot of ranches. Our other best friend, Montana, grew up on a ranch and we’d go out and help her and her family on the weekend sometimes.”
“Sounds like a beautiful place to grow up,” I offer.
Tears fill her eyes, and she swallows hard as she blinks them away. Fuck, this woman is strong. But does she know it’s okay to be vulnerable? She might not know and trust me, but my new mission in life is to make her feel safe enough to fall apart if it is what she needs.
“Hillary wasn’t calling to ask me, again, about my plans.” Her words are so small, spoken so softly, but the weight of them is undeniable. “She was calling to tell me that she was no longer in remission. It was back and she was scared.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words are inadequate. Fuck, anything and everything is inadequate. How do you take someone’s grief and hold it for them until it will no longer feel like a chain pulling them down?
“Yeah,” she looks away from me, “me too.” She twirls some of the pasta left on her plate with her fork but we both know she’s not going to eat it.
“That phone call changed the course of my life. I wasn’t applying for jobs in my college town anymore.
I was packing everything up and getting on the road.
There was no way I was going to allow Hillary to face her illness alone. ”
“She didn’t have any family?”
“She did,” Hollyn is quick to shoot the words back at me, “but that’s not the same. With her parents, she had to be strong for them. Montana was needed on her family’s ranch. I wasn’t leaving my friend to fight for her life alone.”
“It sounds like you were more than friends.”
“We were sisters,” she agrees. She sighs, “I miss her.”
“But you were there for her. That matters.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and a tear escapes her eye. She brushes it away like it personally offended her and an ache blooms in my chest.
“One of the things we did while I was sitting next to her through her treatments was talk about the road trip we wanted to take together. It was extensive,” there’s a hint of amusement in her voice and she rolls her eyes, “which was all Hillary. Being trapped in a car and driving for hours isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but she wanted to see the country.
She didn’t just want to see the big cities; she wanted to visit all the little no name places in between. ”
“How long have you been on your road trip?”
“Two weeks.” She looks up at the ceiling, but another tear escapes. “She fought so hard, but…,” her words trail off, and she shakes her head before looking at me again, “we buried her three weeks ago. I put plans in place and set out.”
“Until arriving in Storyville,” I tease her, trying to add some levity to this conversation.
“Who knew that a picturesque town with an adorable name would be the one to derail me,” she sasses, relief coming off her because I’m not pushing her deeper into her feelings and am trying to lighten the conversation.
“Maybe there’s a reason you broke down here,” I offer, unsure of how she’ll take my words.
I can only hope there’s a little Christmas magic, or something, at work. If she hadn’t broken down at the edge of town, she would have driven right through.
There’s no way I would have met her if that had happened.
Her lips quirk to one side as she considers my words. “Yeah, maybe.”
When she smiles, with a faraway look in her eyes again, I get the same feeling I used to on Christmas morning—joyful anticipation.
No matter how she got here or why, she’s here now. I don’t know how to convince her that she’s right where she belongs, but I have until her car is fixed to figure it out.
Hopefully some more Christmas magic will help me out.