Chapter 8 #2
"Like, really serious. He gave you jewelry. That's a thing. A big thing."
"I know," I repeat, but I'm smiling.
"So, when do I meet him? Officially?"
"Soon. Maybe. He said he wants to meet my local club and also volunteered to pop into a virtual meeting to talk to the girls out of state."
"He WHAT?" Monica grabs my arm. "He wants to meet the book club? Voluntarily?"
"Voluntarily."
"Okay, I'm obsessed with him. When?"
"I don't know yet. We're taking it slow. We have our HR meeting Thursday—"
"HR meeting?"
I fill her in on the disclosure plan, the professional boundaries, the way we're handling everything above board.
Monica listens, her expression shifting from excited to thoughtful. "That's... actually really responsible."
"I know. He thinks everything through."
"Do you like that? Giving him that level of control?"
I consider the question. "Yeah. I do. It makes me feel like he's serious. Like this isn't just... spontaneous romance that'll fizzle when reality hits."
"Reality's already hitting, babe. And you're both still here."
She's right. The weekend snow globe cracked open and we're still standing.
"Hey," Monica says softly. "I'm happy for you. Really happy. You deserve someone who sees you."
My throat tightens. "Thanks."
"Now eat your sandwich before you pass out. You look like you haven't eaten since breakfast."
"I didn’t eat breakfast—"
"What? Does Justin know? I mean, mine gets super grumpy when I don’t eat."
"No. We haven’t talked about it."
“When was the last time you ate?” She asked.
“Have you become a Dom and not told me?” I giggle. “Last night at seven when Justin brought me curry.”
"It's one-thirty, Holly! It’s been eighteen hours! Eat."
I take a large bite, realizing I'm starving. Just then, a child trips and falls, knocking glitter everywhere. I quickly wrap up my sandwich and set it aside and rush to help her clean it up. Monica pitches in to hand out paint brushes and keep glitter from migrating to places glitter shouldn't go.
"Okay, real talk," she says as a family moves away with their finished creations. "How are you actually doing? Not the sparkly version. The real version."
"I’m scared."
"Of what?"
"That I'll mess this up. That I'll be too much. That work will get weird. That he'll realize I'm just... me."
"Just you is pretty amazing."
"You have to say that. You're my friend."
"I'm your friend who has taken on an older sister role, which means I can be honest. And honestly? You're funny and kind and you make everyone around you happier. If he can't see that, he's an idiot."
"He sees it."
"Then what's the problem?"
"What if I can't be what he needs? The dynamic we’ve chosen? It's not just fun and games. It's real. It's structure and rules and expectations. What if I fail? What if I don’t do it right?"
Monica’s expression softens. "Holly. Look at me."
I do.
"You're allowed to fail. That's part of being human. And if he's worth having, he'll understand that."
"He said the same thing."
"Then believe him." She squeezes my hand. "You're going to be fine. Better than fine. You're going to be happy. Trust your heart. I have to run and pick up feed from the farm store but I’ll call you tonight, okay?"
“Okay. Thanks for the sandwich!”
“Make sure you eat it! I put a bag of apples in your trunk. You really should consider locking your doors.”
“Yes, mom.” We both laugh and give each other quick hugs before I return to the chaos around me.
The afternoon passes in a blur. By the time my shift ends, I'm exhausted in that good way I explained to Justin. My muscles are tired, but my mind is quiet, and my heart is full.
I'm heading toward the employee lot when I see him. Justin's outside the reindeer barn, talking to one of the animal handlers. Even from a distance, I can see the way he listens. He’s standing with his body leaning towards the employee. He’s intent, focused, and asking questions.
In college, we learned about active listening and Justin is the textbook definition of it.
The handler is showing him something on a clipboard.
Justin nods, says something that makes the handler laugh.
I shouldn't stare. But I can't help it. His feet are planted equal distance apart and he’s wearing jeans that fit across his muscular thighs perfectly and paired with a white button up shirt and black fleece, he’s sexy as hell.
He glances up, catches me watching. For a second, our eyes meet across the distance. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just holds my gaze for a beat, two, three.
Then he turns back to the handler, and I keep walking.
Professional. Appropriate. Like we agreed.
My phone buzzes as I reach my car.
Justin: Dinner. My place. Seven.
Me: Is that a question or an order?
Justin: Both.
Me: What if I have plans?
Justin: Do you?
Me: ...no.
Justin: Then I'll see you at seven. Text me when you're on your way.
Me: So bossy.
Justin: The correct answer is, Yes Daddy.
Me: Yes, Daddy.
Justin: Good girl. And Holly, you like it when I’m bossy.
And, he's right. I do.