Chapter 11
Eleven
Holly
As Luke and I head across town to the village pub on foot, I wonder…
Is it possible to give yourself a heart attack from too much winning?
Too much happiness?
Too much inner-high-fiving because you were right?
I was right! I was so flipping right! Luke Ratcliffe is still the sweet boy I once knew, but now he’s all grown up and even braver, smarter, and more heroic. And if there’s anything more adorable than the awkward way he asked me out, I can’t imagine it.
Because the awkwardness means he was nervous, and being nervous means he cares, and caring means that there’s an excellent chance we’re going to make out tonight. My lips and Luke’s lips are going to lock! It is practically a certainty at this point!
But I can’t think too much about that now, or I might truly give myself giddiness-induced heart failure.
“Thanks,” I say when Luke opens the pub door for me, voice breathy as I slip past him. God, he smells so good. I don’t know if it’s cologne or just rich people detergent, but I want to soak my pillow in his soap-and-exotic-herb scent and cuddle it all night.
“Wow. Busy,” Luke observes in a low rumble as we move inside.
“Always,” I assure him. “Especially this time of year.”
The Silver Bell Falls Pub is the town’s unofficial living room, but it’s especially packed tonight.
And practically overflowing with warmth and good cheer.
The small dancefloor is shoulder-to-swaying-shoulder, nearly every stool and chair is occupied, and the line for the bathroom is all the way down the hall and starting to wrap around the bar.
Busy nights are always fun, but finding a table is going to be trickier than usual.
“How about this plan of attack…” I scan the crowded pub as I shrug out of my coat, taking in the three-deep line at the bar and harried-looking servers at the food pick-up window.
“You’re taller than almost everyone in here.
Let’s use that to our advantage. Why don’t you scout us a table and lock that down, while I order drinks and food at the bar? ”
“Solid plan.” He nods, taking my coat as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
“A pretty woman is going to be served ten times faster than I will.” He hands me a credit card heavy enough to be made of a chunk of granite.
“Have them open a tab on this, and I’ll take the brisket sandwich with sweet potato fries and an Old Fashioned. ”
I hum in appreciation. “Yum. That sounds perfect. I think I’ll have the same.”
“Oh, and some cobbler for dessert,” he says, that easy, open look in his eyes I could get used to. “Smelling all that icing activated my long-dormant sweet tooth.”
“Will do,” I say, with a grin. “We really are amazing at teamwork, aren’t we?”
“Scarily good,” he says with a wink. “At least scary for our enemies…”
I laugh as I start through the press of bodies toward the bar, soaring high on the wings of anticipation, only for my spirits to curdle as I see who’s working tonight.
Ugh, Kevin.
I never should have agreed to that date.
Candy always says not to date where you eat, and I spend way too much time at the pub to be on the outs with the horny bartender who tried to hump me at a music festival this fall.
Seriously, though. What kind of man thinks it’s okay to hump a woman on a first date? In broad daylight?
Even a discreet hump in a dark club after several drinks is borderline pathetic at our age. If we were in high school or college, maybe I could chalk it up to raging teenage hormones and move on, but a man in his early thirties should be beyond such things.
Luke would never.
But then Luke is clearly a superior species of male to this creature with gelled brown hair sticking up all over his head and muscles straining the seams of his too-tight sweater.
Still, at least our disastrous date has ensured Kevin notices me the instant I step up to the back of the line surrounding the bar.
He lifts an arm, scowling at the chatty skiers in front of me as he motions me forward. “Friend of the bar, incoming. Move over, guys. We’ve got to get this cutie a drink.”
The skiers part for me, sparing me only a quick glance before returning to their animated conversation about which musical is going to sweep the Tonys, reminding me again why I love gay men. It’s so nice to move through a crowd of guys and not feel like a piece of meat.
Weirdly, however, even Kevin keeps his eyes on my face, for once.
“Hey, Holly, happy holidays,” he booms in his signature too-loud voice. “What’ll you have?”
“Happy holidays to you, too,” I say as I slide Luke’s card onto the counter. “I’d like to start a tab, please.” I place the order, carefully watching Kevin’s expression for signs of surprise or annoyance when it becomes clear I’m ordering for two.
But he only types the order into the computer, and hollers—“Prep two Olds! On the rocks!”—to the barback behind him, then returns his focus to me with a grin. “So, hot date?”
“Not sure yet. Maybe.” I shrug, still not sure what’s going on here.
Kevin was still pestering me for a second date just three weeks ago, so…
His smile widens. “Sweet. I was hoping you’d find someone great. Emmie and I are back together. I kept trying to move on, but….when it’s real, it’s real, I guess. Right?”
Tension easing from my shoulders, I nod. “Totally! And you and Emmie are great together.”
Emmie is actually a pain in the ass, who has never met a social media battle she wouldn’t jump in the middle of and start swinging, loudly typing her fringe opinions in all caps for the world to see. But hey! That probably makes her perfect for Kevin.
She won’t take any shit—or humping in public—from him, that’s for sure.
“Good luck,” Kevin says, pushing the now-finished drinks across the bar. “Your food should be out in thirty to forty. Hope this guy treats you right.”
“He will,” I say, loving that there’s truly no doubt in my mind about that.
Luke was very decent to me, even when in the midst of being blackmailed. Now that he’s here of his own free will, on a date he initiated…
Well, I’m not surprised when he stands as soon as he sees me coming, taking the drinks and setting them down at the small table he found, before pulling out my chair.
“So, tell me everything,” I say, once we’re settled and have toasted to our victory and a great night ahead.
He arches a brow. “Everything?”
“Yeah, everything. I need to get caught up on the Luke Ratcliffe story from age ten to when you rolled into town, intent on stealing the Captain’s peg leg.
What were you doing all those years? Where did you go to university?
Where do you live in Manhattan? Have you ever been to Fiji?
I really want to go to Fiji, but I’ve never met anyone who’s been there in real life. ”
He laughs, a little uncomfortably. “No, no Fiji for me. Unfortunately. I went to Tahiti once, however. For Christmas, actually. It was lovely. Hot, but lovely.”
“I imagine,” I say. “I’ve never been farther than Montreal. And that was years ago for a photography conference.”
“Do you want to travel?”
I shrug. “Yes and no. I mean, the adventure part sounds fun, but I also enjoy being home with people I love in a place I love. Especially this time of year. I know some of it is kind of cheesy, but I love all the festivals and special events. And family stuff, too.”
“What do you and your family usually do for the holidays?” he asks, actually seeming interested.
“Oh, nothing too special. We make cookies and watch holiday movies. Then, we play board games on Christmas Eve before opening our book present. My grandmother is from Iceland. It’s traditional there to give everyone in the family something to read on the night before Christmas.
So, it became tradition for us, too.” I sip my drink before adding with a smile, “And Dad makes this incredible goat cheese fondue for New Year’s Eve, and we dip things in it all night.
It’s silly, but I look forward to it all year. What about you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, watching me over the rim of his glass as he drinks, and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing.
I mean, I know his mom is out of the picture and his dad’s a jerk.
It could be that the Ratcliffes don’t have any family traditions.
“My father hated Christmas,” he says, confirming my suspicion. Before I can apologize, he adds, “But my grandfather made the season special. He would take us sledding and skating and had the cook make ten types of cookies and gingerbread houses for us to decorate.”
“So, you were a ringer all along,” I tease. “I should have known it wasn’t your first time at the gingerbread table.”
He laughs, a soft rumble I want to wrap around me, just like his smell.
“And on Christmas Eve, after dinner, he would take us up to the widow’s walk on the roof.
It was always freezing, but we didn’t care.
We’d bundle up in our coats and search the stars, looking for Santa’s sleigh, while Grandfather told stories.
He swore he used to know Santa Claus back in college and made up the silliest things.
We all knew he was lying by the time we were five or six, but we kept playing along. It was too much fun not to.”
“That’s adorable,” I say, charmed. “Are you guys going to do it again this year? Go look for Santa?”
He looks up, clearly surprised. Then confused. Then hopeful. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it, but maybe we should.”
“You should,” I agree, holding his gaze as I lift my Old Fashioned for another toast. “To keeping beautiful traditions alive.”
“And to making new ones with good friends,” he says, clinking his drink to mine.
Our food arrives, and we order another round. As the conversation flows and the whiskey warms my blood, I can’t help but hope he wants to be more than “good friends.”
Even a week ago, “good friends” would have felt like a wonderful win, but now…