Chapter Two
Pathlights cast a soft glow on the walk to Holly’s front door.
The carport offered access to the side door, what Holly always called the back door, but he stayed on the walkway from the curb where he’d parked his truck, boots scuffing against the concrete.
They were friends, but not backdoor kind of friends.
As he mounted the pair of low steps to her porch, anticipation drew his gut tight. He was looking forward to this.
The door swung inward before he could punch the bell, and she grinned up at him. “You’re on time. Good job.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He swept a glance over her. She did clean up good, an off-white sweater dress skimming her body, blonde hair caught in a loose braid so her long bangs curved free along one cheek.
Man, she was pretty.
“I’m not.” She patted his chest and pulled the door closed behind her.
Her leather ankle boots matched her little bag.
She smelled fantastic, too, more of that fresh air and sunshine he caught a whiff of whenever she got close.
“Most of my friends are late for everything. I like punctuality in a man.”
He scoffed. “Lamar is never late for anything.”
“I said most of my friends.” Waving her bag, she sauntered toward his truck. Her amused sound traveled to him on the cool air. “And he's developed a penchant for being late to social occasions since he met Caitlin. I cannot understand it.”
He frowned at her ironic tone, lengthening his stride to catch up so he could hold the passenger door. Once she swung her legs inside, he shut the door and skirted the hood to the driver’s side.
“I notice you’re not wearing the pink shirt.
” Her lips pursed in a smirk, and he shot a glance at her.
He’d tried, he’d really tried, but hadn’t been able to keep the garment on, had shoved it back in the closet and reached for the pale blue shirt instead.
She latched her seatbelt. “You should just go ahead and give that shirt to Mr. Gene. I don’t know what your mama was thinking. ”
“It’s a good brand and she got it on sale.
” Lord knew Sue loved a good sale. He eased onto the street, keeping an eye out for playing children or exercising adults.
The cul-de-sac lay in one of Coney’s newer subdivisions popular with young marrieds and growing families.
Del had the only Chuck Calvert build on the street, though.
“You know I can’t give it to Grandaddy. Can you imagine if I did and he wore it and she saw it? Geez-freaking-Louise.”
“Oh, that would be like Mona finding out I gave the peach velour lounge suit she bought me to Goodwill.” A pretty smile flirted about her lips. “Do you know I drove to Valdosta to put it in a donation box? I was terrified if I took it to Albany someone from Coney would buy it.”
Slowing to a stop at the intersection with 37, he gestured between them with a finger. “We might both have a problem with not wanting to disappoint our mamas.”
“Only child syndrome.” She grimaced. “It’s awful.”
“So where am I going?” Most options in Coney would have him turning right, but there was always the chance she wanted The Catfish House, and the easiest route required a left so he could take the LTI cut-through.
“Son, you have been promoted to management.” How did she smile that wide and bright? And why did it always do weird things to the middle of his chest? Not like he hadn’t been seeing her smile forever. “We are going to The Square.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flipped the blinker down even though there was no one behind him, checked the highway again because you never knew at this intersection, and pulled out for Moultrie. He could handle a thirty-minute drive in her company.
She leaned forward to fiddle with the entertainment screen, finding the retro-90s channel, the long gold chain and quartz pendant she’d gotten from her grandma falling forward.
No telling what all had been in Mrs. Sadie’s tall jewelry box when she’d passed it off to Holly and moved into the assisted living center.
Wilson Phillips filled the cab, Holly joining in on the lyrics to “Hold On,” and he shot her a sidelong glance.
“What do you mean, she wasn’t good enough for me?”
Holly stopped mid-word and rolled her eyes. “She wanted to change who you are. Any woman who can’t accept you for you, Colton, is not good enough.”
He tightened his hold on the wheel. “There’s plenty wrong with me to change.”
“No.”
Nothing more, just no, and the lights of a passing car highlighting her tilted chin. Wasn’t like he was going to argue and tell her everything wrong about him.
“You are too hard on yourself.” She smoothed her hem across her thighs. “You always have been.”
Yeah, he wasn’t touching that, either. Holly seemed content to let the topic go, singing along with Mariah Carey. They chatted a little during the remainder of the drive, about Polo and Ralph and anything new either of them knew about their mutual acquaintances.
Moultrie’s tall white courthouse loomed over the square, holiday lights strung about the surrounding block but not lit yet.
Colt slotted the truck into a spot in front of the courthouse and jogged around to open Holly’s door.
Her boots crunched on the asphalt, and she brushed her fringe away from her eyes, appreciative gaze bouncing around the square.
“I love this town.” She hugged herself, smiling. “I cannot wait for Thanksgiving when they turn the lights on.”
“Yeah, it’s really pretty.” He let his gaze linger on her face.
“I’m really starving.” Pausing at the rear of his truck, she scanned the street then started across.
Colt shortened his stride to hers, almost but not quite letting his hand rest at the small of her back.
He caught the door as a couple exited The Square, holding it while Holly stopped short with that slight clumsiness of hers, her shoulders brushing his chest.
“Hey, welcome to The Square.” The hostess, who had to still be in high school, gave them a toothy smile and glanced between them. “Just two?”
Colt nodded, and she snagged a couple of menus, motioning for them to follow.
He nudged Holly ahead of him, focusing his gaze on her braid between her shoulder blades when he looked at her.
Low jazz unfolded about them, not the live music of the weekend, but still a great playlist enclosing the low conversation in private bubbles.
“Here you go.” The hostess paused at one of the tables along the side wall, with an emerald velvet settee against the dark wood paneling and a pair of ivory padded chairs across the varnished tabletop.
She plopped the menus on the settee side.
“Teresa will be your server and she’ll be right with you. ”
“Thanks.” As Holly slid onto the settee, he reached for a menu, intending to take one of the chairs.
“Sit down.” Blowing her fringe out of her eyes with an exasperated breath, Holly pointed at the loveseat next to her.
“You’re bossy.”
“Yes.” She flipped her menu open as he settled next to her. An arm along the sofa back to give them both room, he studied his own menu. He didn’t get over here often, but the farm-to-table offerings were always great.
She shifted, thigh pressed to his from knee to hip, and he cleared his throat. “What sounds good?”
“Mmm.” She fiddled with the end of her braid. “Let’s get burrata for an appetizer. I know you want the steak.”
“Not necessarily.” Yep, that was Gene coming out of his mouth. Shaking his head, he grinned. “Yeah, I’m getting the New York strip.”
With that knowing half-eye-roll, she smiled and ran a finger down the offerings. “I want the stuffed pasta.”
He’d always appreciated how easy she made everything, and he relaxed into the velvet upholstery as Haley arrived to pour iced water and take their order. For the first time, he let the initial fear of being called into Herb’s office bleed out of him, chasing a swallow of water with a long exhale.
Holly’s lips tipped upward, and she squeezed his knee. “There you go.”
He slanted a sidelong glance at her, askance. “I am not one of those animals you calm down in the office.”
“No, but thinking you were getting fired wound you tight.” She rattled the ice in her glass, squeezing his knee with her other hand. “I’m glad you’re relaxing.”
“Uh, thinking you’re getting fired would wind anybody tight.” He lifted his glass in a salute.
“Truth.” She was silent a moment before she exploded into speech, the way she always had when they were working on a reading for Mr. Davis. “Okay, exactly why did you think you were getting fired?”
“I don’t know.” He spread his hands, askance, lowering his voice as Teresa settled the burrata before them. “Because.”
“Because.” Holly gave him that you’re-not-making-sense look, a narrow-eyed expression, and broke the outer skin of mozzarella. Beside him, she melted like the inner layer of shredded mozzarella and cream. “Oh, my Lord, this is the best.”
She smeared melted cheese on a piece of bread and took a bite, eyes closed in pleasure, a small moan of ecstasy purring in her throat. Colt shifted, twitching his coattail over his lap the best he could. Holy Jesus help him.
Dabbing at the corner of her lip with her tongue, she smiled at him. “You shouldn’t miss out on this.”
“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, he reached for a gulp of iced water before he grabbed a piece of bread.
“Because why?” She loaded up his bread, then her own.
He swallowed a groan. “Holly.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me, Colton.”
“You know my mama doesn’t even call me by my full name?”
“Get over it. Mmmph. I have got to learn how to make this.” She subsided into the settee, under the curve of his elbow, warm along his side. “Why did you think you were getting fired?”