CHAPTER SIX
HOLLY
Giovanni’s is small and intimate, with maybe fifteen tables total. All of them are occupied except one in the back, which the hostess leads us to.
As we walk, I take in my surroundings and wonder why I’ve never come here before.
It’s utterly charming with its exposed brick walls decorated with vintage Italian posters and black and white photos of what looks like someone's family in Sicily.
White tablecloths and flickering candles are on every table.
The lighting is dim enough to be romantic without being dark, and the whole atmosphere whispers of quiet conversations and drawn-out meals.
James pulls my chair out for me, and then he lingers, staring down. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
“You already said that,” I say, grabbing a menu the hostess left on the table.
His blue eyes glint in the flickering candlelight and his smile is full of devilish charm. “And I’ll continue saying that because I mean it.”
I don’t have a smart comeback to that, so I busy myself deciding what to order.
Which is good because our waiter appears almost immediately, an older Italian man with kind eyes and a thick accent that takes my brain a few seconds to understand.
He introduces himself as Giovanni and I blink in shock. The owner waiting tables?
I order sparkling water with lemon, wanting to keep my head clear tonight. James orders red wine, a Chianti, and Giovanni nods approvingly before disappearing toward the kitchen.
“So tell me about It's Always Something,” James says, leaning forward in his chair, all his attention on me.
It hits me again how attractive he is.
And older.
I knew that last Friday, but now I can’t help but think that might be where his reluctance is coming from.
“How old are you?”
He lets out a chuckle. “Well, that came out of nowhere. I’m forty-five.”
Yep. Definitely older. Fourteen years to be exact. Would I go out of my way to date a man in his forties? Probably not, but you can’t fight who you are attracted to.
“I’m thirty-one.”
Nodding, James opens his mouth to reply when Giovanni reappears with our drinks and to take our orders. He writes nothing down, just smiles and nods, and then he’s off again.
“You were saying?” I prompt when James doesn’t say anything after Giovanni departs.
“Hmmm… Oh, that you’re older than I thought.”
I laugh. “You too.”
At his surprised face, I laugh harder. “Sorry, that was rude. To be honest, I didn’t really give your age or mine much thought.”
Picking up his wine, he looks at me over the rim of the glass. “It doesn’t bother you?”
Shrugging, I grab my glass of water. “Why? I can’t change it.”
He laughs and sets his wine down. “Well, that’s certainly one way of looking at it.” His smile dims. “I’m also divorced.”
Now that doesn’t surprise me as I had suspected it was that or a bad relationship that had turned him off future relationships. We’ve all been burned before though, and most of us managed to get up, dust ourselves off, and get back out there to try again.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry you’re currently single. I am sorry that you were hurt before.”
James sucks in a deep breath and grabs at his wine, taking a quick sip. “Maybe that was part of the problem. I wasn’t hurt, not really. By the time we got around to talking divorce we were like two strangers living in the same house.”
I drink my water and wonder how much truth there is to that. I suppose if two people drifted apart, that may be the case. I just can’t understand getting to that point and not doing something about it before it got that far.
But I don’t push. This is only a “first” date after all, and I’m hopeful of having many others after this one so we can fully learn about each other.
“Well, I’ve never been married. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
James’ eyebrows go up. “I truly find that hard to believe.”
“You are great for my ego.”
“Holly, I mean it. You’re beautiful, successful, and from the little I’ve been around you, you are truly a sweet woman.”
I lower my head as heat fills my face and my heart thuds fast at his words. Needing to change the subject, I circle back to his original question that I never answered.
“My store, It's Always Something, was a long-time dream of mine,” I say, relaxing into the familiar topic.
This I can talk about confidently. “I've always loved making people smile.
In college, I studied business at Delaware State, but what I really loved was finding unique things.
I'd spend hours in thrift stores and craft fairs, looking for items that had personality.
Things that made me laugh or sparked joy, you know?
After graduation, I worked in retail for a few years at a big box store, saved every penny I could, and finally, four years ago, I opened It's Always Something.”
“That took courage.” His expression is admiring, and I feel warmth bloom in my chest.
I shrug and sweep a curl behind my ear. “It felt right.
I'd rather take the risk and fail than spend my life wondering what if. My parents were fully behind me, which helped. Family is important. In fact, my cousin Natalie works for me, and my dad was the one that knew the owner of the building and helped secure my lease. Without them it would have taken me longer to get my dream off the ground.”
“They sound wonderful.”
“They are. Aggressively cheerful, all of them. My dad does HVAC work, my mom is a librarian at the elementary school that I went to, and my baby brother Frost is studying environmental science at UD. They're all just relentlessly positive people.” I smile, thinking about them.
Leaning forward, I ask, “What about you? Why cardiology?”
His expression shifts, becoming more serious. He's quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on the tablecloth. The candlelight flickers across his face, casting shadows that make him look older and tired in a way that hurts my heart.
“My father died of a heart attack when I was fifteen,” he says finally. “It was sudden, with no warning. He was only forty-five years old.” Pausing, his jaw tightens beneath his goatee. “My age.”
I let out a soft gasp.
James continues. “One minute he was mowing the lawn on a Saturday afternoon. The next, he collapsed. Despite our doing CPR by the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. He was gone.”
My chest tightens with sympathy. I can hear the old pain in his voice, still raw after all these years. “James, I'm so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
He says that, but it was his father and I can see it still affects him in the way he won't quite meet my eyes and in the tension in his shoulders.
“I wanted to understand why.” His eyes lift to mine.
“How a healthy man, or what we thought was a healthy man, could just collapse and die. So I studied cardiology and specialized in prevention. I tell myself that if I can catch things early enough, screen for risk factors, and educate patients about lifestyle changes, I can save others from what my family went through.”
My heart aches for the fifteen-year-old boy who lost his father and for the man who turned that tragedy into purpose. “He'd be proud of you. The work you do, the people you help.”
I reach my hand across the table, offering my sympathies and my support. Our fingers lace together, his hand warm and strong around mine. The touch sends electricity up my arm, but it's not just attraction. It's connection.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
We sit like that for a moment, hands linked across the white tablecloth, and I feel that amazing pull again. Stronger this time. Like something inside me recognizes something inside him. Like we fit together in a way that transcends logic.
Giovanni returns with our meals, and we reluctantly separate. Butternut squash ravioli for me and James got the Osso Buco. With another smile from Giovanni, we’re left alone again.
The meal is delicious. The ravioli is perfectly cooked, the pasta thin and delicate, the filling sweet and savory with sage brown butter that makes me close my eyes in appreciation.
After all the serious talk of just moments ago, we move on to lighter topics.
He tells me about his practice, the challenges of modern medicine, and the satisfaction of helping patients.
I hear it in his voice and see it in his face; he genuinely enjoys what he does.
I always thought being a doctor would be so stressful, and I imagine a cardiologist is far more so than a general practitioner, but James doesn’t seem stressed at all.
I share some of the funny things that happen at my shop. And those moments are daily. Like just today, a woman wanted to return a candle because it “smelled too much like Christmas”.
James’ face positively glows as he grins. “Did she forget that it’s December and Christmas is right around the corner?”
“Apparently. And seriously, who doesn’t smell pine and immediately think of Christmas?”
We both laugh.
“My family is all about the holidays,” I warn him while spearing another ravioli.
“We have matching Christmas sweaters that we wear to brunch on Christmas Eve. We sing carols while decorating cookies, and my parents still leave milk and cookies for Santa even though Frost is twenty. They nicknamed me Holly Jolly when I was five because I smiled so much, and it stuck.”
The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle in deep laugh lines as he smiles broadly. “Holly Jolly suits you.”
I beam. “What about your family? What are your Christmas traditions?”
His smile fades slightly. “My mother is in Florida now, remarried to a nice man named Robert who makes her happy.
They're snowbirds and spend November through April in a condo in Sarasota.
I have a sister, Lindsey, in California.
She's a therapist and married with two teenagers.
We talk on holidays, but we're not particularly close.” He swirls his wine, watching the red liquid catch the candlelight.
“After my father died, I think we all just drifted apart.
Everyone dealt with the grief differently.
Mom threw herself into work. Lindsey acted out and got into trouble.
I buried myself in studies. By the time we all processed it, we'd become strangers, each off doing our own thing.”
“That must have been lonely.” I can picture it too clearly. A family fractured by loss, each person isolated in their own pain.
“It was. But I got used to it.” The way he says it, so matter of fact, like loneliness is just a fact of life, makes my heart ache.
“Getting used to something doesn't make it okay,” I say gently.
He meets my eyes, his expression neutral. “I learned from that and the failure of my marriage that I'm not good at relationships. I get too focused on work and too caught up in routine. I'm set in my ways and unwilling to compromise. It wouldn't be fair to ask someone to put up with that again.”
There it is. The warning I've been expecting. The reason he let me down gently after our night together.
“That's a pretty bleak outlook,” I say carefully, setting down my fork.
“It's realistic.”
“Or it's safe.” I lean forward, holding his gaze. “You got hurt, so you decided to avoid the possibility of getting hurt again. But James, that's not living. That's just existing.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping on the side. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't I? I've been unlucky in love too.” I can feel my passion rising, my voice getting stronger.
“I've dated guys who weren't ready, guys who cheated, guys who wanted me to be someone I'm not.
I dated a guy for two years who kept saying he'd propose 'someday' and then I found out he was seeing his ex the whole time.
But I haven't given up. I still believe there's someone out there for me. Someone who will love me for exactly who I am.”
“You're young. You have time to believe in fairy tales.” The words are dismissive, almost condescending.
They sting, but I don't flinch. “It's not a fairy tale. It's hope. And age doesn't have anything to do with it. You're choosing not to believe because it's easier than trying. Easier than risking your heart again.”
We stare at each other across the table, tension crackling between us as a pit forms in my stomach.
I've pushed too hard, been too honest, and now he's going to retreat behind those walls he’s put up to avoid getting hurt again.
He'll pay the check, take me to my car, and that will be the end of this.
But he surprises me by saying, “You're right.”
I blink, positive I misheard. “I am?”
“Yes. I am choosing the safe path.” He leans forward, his blue eyes intense and his expression earnest. “After my father died and my marriage failed, I decided that controlling my environment was the only way to avoid more pain. No mess, no chaos, no emotional upheaval. Just work and routine and a life I could predict. But you...” He shakes his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. “You make me want to take the risk.”
My heart starts beating faster, hope blooming in my chest like flowers in spring. “Really?”