CHAPTER FOUR #2
“Um. Hi.” Holly finishes putting something under the counter and comes around, wiping her hands on her jeans.
She is wearing a green sweater with a reindeer on it and long sparkly earrings that are candy canes.
Her blonde curls are pulled back in a short ponytail, and I long to reach out and free those beautiful curls so they bounce around her face. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” No point in lying.
“Why?” She crosses her arms, one eyebrow raised. The customer is definitely watching us now, not even pretending to look at cards.
“Because I can't stop thinking about you.”
The customer makes a small, interested sound. Holly shoots her a look, and the woman suddenly becomes very focused on a birthday card.
“James, you made it clear this was just one night,” Holly says quietly, stepping closer so we're not broadcasting our personal business to her customer. “I'm not interested in being a booty call.”
That term makes my lips twitch. I’m way past the booty call stage of life.
Though Holly, probably only in her late twenties or early thirties, might still be there.
We didn’t really talk about such things, and obviously, that was a huge error on my part.
One I need to set straight. “That's not what I want either.”
Her eyes flare, and the sparkle that had disappeared when she left my hotel room Saturday morning returns. “Then what do you want?”
I look around the shop, taking in the handmade items and quirky displays, the Christmas decorations everywhere, the sheer personality of the place.
This is her world. Colorful and warm and completely opposite from my sterile condo and structured life.
My place is all beige and gray, with minimal furniture and barely any personal items. I've lived there for several years, and it still looks like a model home.
“Dinner,” I say finally, meeting her eyes. “Let me take you to dinner for a real date. No expectations, just two people getting to know each other.”
“Why?” She studies me, those green eyes seeing too much. “You said you weren't looking for a relationship.”
“I wasn't. I'm not.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. I probably look like hell. I've been sleeping poorly and have been distracted at work. “But I can't seem to stay away from you, and I'd like to understand why.”
It's honest and open. Far more open emotionally than I've been with anyone in years.
Holly is quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Behind her, the customer has given up all pretense and is blatantly eavesdropping as she leans closer. Holly seems oblivious.
Then she sighs. “One dinner. But I need you to know something, James.”
“What?”
“I'm not interested in casual. I'm thirty-one years old and I want the whole thing. Marriage, kids, the white picket fence.”
My heart begins to beat faster at her words.
“If you're not capable of wanting those things, then we're wasting each other's time.”
Her directness should send me running. Especially since she listed all the things I thought I no longer wanted. Instead, I find it refreshing. No games. No pretense. Just honesty laid bare between us.
“I understand.”
Holly’s eyebrows lift in disbelief. “Do you? Because I'm not going to fall into bed with you again if this is just about sex.”
The customer snickers. I ignore her and step closer to Holly.
Close enough to see how amazingly green her eyes are and to smell her perfume, a sweet vanilla scent that makes me want to press my nose into her neck and just inhale.
“It's not just about sex. And I respect what you want, even if I'm not sure I can give it to you.
But I'd like the chance to figure out what this is between us.”
She searches my face and after a moment, she nods slowly. “Okay. One dinner.”
Relief floods through me, unexpected and intense. “Tomorrow night? I'll pick you up at seven.”
Her lips thin and she shakes her head. “I'll meet you somewhere. I'm not giving you my address yet.”
Smart woman. “There's an Italian place on 6th Street, Giovanni's. Do you know it?”
“I do. Seven o'clock.” She walks back around the counter, creating distance between us again, which I hate. “Now I need to get back to work.”
“Of course.” I head for the door, then pause and look back. She's watching me, her expression unreadable. The customer is still watching too, with a giddy grin on her face and I can’t help but wonder if she’s rooting for me. “Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“I like your shop. It suits you.”
Her smile this time is real, reaching her eyes and lighting up her whole face. “Thank you.”
I walk out into the cold December air, the bell jingling behind me, and my mind spinning. What am I doing? I just asked her on a date after spending days telling myself to forget about her. I've been clear about not wanting a relationship, and she's been equally clear about wanting exactly that.
This is a mistake. I can’t give her what she wants.
But as I drive home through the snow-dusted streets, passing Christmas decorations and houses with no doubt happy families inside, I can't bring myself to regret it. Something about Holly makes me want to take the risk, even knowing it will probably end badly.