Chapter Nine
RSVP coming Thurs night or not
Holly stripped off her gloves and dumped them in the trash, staring down at her phone on the countertop. Why did Scott need an RSVP? They’d never done that. She’d always just planned for a huge crowd of their friends and acquaintances, and a huge crowd showed up—
She sucked in a deep breath and held it for a count of four, trying out that meditation technique Barb was teaching Lyssa when she had a meltdown. More than likely, Barb had picked up the tip from Caitlin, who was the epitome of serene, even when she looked like she wanted to throw up around them.
This wasn’t her party.
This wouldn’t be her party ever again, and that was okay. She released the breath and picked up her phone. For days she’d thought about not going, but that was ridiculous.
Yes plus one
Bubbles hovered almost immediately. You’re seriously bringing him
Yes
She stabbed the send button. Let him rescind the invitation. That would be just like him—
Fine. Your funeral
Whose funeral? She started to tap out the words and stopped, deleting each letter with deliberate slowness. Lord, she wanted to choke him sometimes.
Eyes closed, she tried that four-corner breathing again. Scowling, she tapped out another text.
We really need to talk
I can meet you for lunch at Kebo’s
The slow inhale she’d just taken strangled in her throat. Was she honestly ready to tackle this?
Her phone buzzed, dropping a separate thread text from the top of the screen, simply entitled Colton
Hey, what are you doing for lunch?
She shut her eyes again, hoping the pitiful barking from the kennel behind her covered her own wounded noise. Lord.
Meeting Scott at Kebo’s
A pause hovered, and she could almost hear his “Huh.” Lord help her because her life was an absolute mess today, from Petunia’s IV coming undone to Mae peeing all over the waiting room to Mrs. Milson’s cat Lucky throwing up on the exam table, and now this.
She should have simply told Scott she wasn’t coming to the party that wasn’t hers any longer.
You’re gonna tell me in person if I’m dumped, right?
Seriously? She might choke him, too.
You’re not dumped. How could you be dumped after what happened on the couch last night?
How do I know you’re not just using me for sex?
Oh, dear Jesus. We have to HAVE sex for me to use you for sex
Might be why you’re meeting another guy for lunch
He thought he was funny, and she might kill him for real. I’m having that talk with him
Gotcha. I’m going to hit up Andy then and go somewhere else. Let me know what you want for supper
A boyfriend who doesn’t think he’s a comedian
Good luck with that. Let me know when you find him
This from the man who’d asked if she would dump him via text.
An unwilling smile quirked at her lips. In terms of his emotions, he’d settled a lot in the past three weeks.
They were good together, and he was good to her.
They spent a lot of time together – and as she’d expected, he’d proved to be a steady and invested partner.
But, golly, the man had a smart mouth.
Smart and talented. He was a good kisser, and last night, they’d gone a little farther than they normally did, a makeout session that ended with her panties on the floor, his shoulders between her thighs and several off-color jokes about his taking things slow.
With all things said and done, Holly enjoyed a new appreciation for the concept of a man who took things slow. She didn’t quite get why they were holding off on actual sex sex, but the filler activities were fun.
Tucking her now silent phone in her scrub pocket, she pushed off the counter. “Hey, Savannah? I’m having lunch out today.”
Like any weekday, the parking lot at Kebo’s was packed, vehicles spilling into the overflow lot behind the new metal building. At least here, though, she wouldn’t deal with Mrs. Gail spreading her business everywhere like if they went to the Hickory House out on 19.
Scott was already here, his truck a few rows away from her parking spot, and she reached up to tighten her ponytail as she crossed to the side door, her stomach tied in knots. She really didn’t want to do this.
Smoothing her bangs to one side, she stepped inside, a blast of warm air from the heater rushing over her, heavy with the rich smell of smoked meats and the chatter of Coney’s lunch rush.
She spotted Scott on the other side of the long room, frowning at his phone.
Ignoring a fresh twist of nerves, she wound her way through the crowded tables.
“Hey.” She dropped her phone, wallet and keys on the table and sank into the chair across from him.
Clearing his throat, he set his phone aside to fix those sharp blue eyes on her. “Hey.”
Their drinks – a glass of water for her, tea for him – already stood on the table, and she flicked a finger toward the cashier counter and the kitchen beyond. “Did you order?”
“I didn’t know what you wanted.”
Her brows twisted together. She always ordered the same thing here, so that made zero . . . whatever. “Do you know what you want?”
“Sort of.”
“Hey, you two.” Tiffanie approached, a pencil holding her red hair in a loose knot. “Know what you’re doing today or do you need a little while.”
“I know what I want.” Holly held Scott’s gaze. He dropped his gaze to the menu.
“Want what you always have?” Tiffanie’s fingers hovered over the handheld ordering station.
“Um, no. I’m changing it up.” She turned a smile on Tiffanie. “I’ll have the chicken salad without the bread but extra home fries.”
Fingers flying over the screen, Tiffanie grinned. “Have you been hanging out with Mrs. Sue Calvert? That’s her favorite.”
Holly scrunched her nose. “One of her favorites.”
“I’m doing my usual.” Scott passed Tiffanie his menu.
“Got it.” Tapping, she walked away, hips swaying in painted-on denim.
“What the hell are you doing, Holly?” Scott’s voice rasped over her stretched nerves like low-grit sandpaper.
“Okay, this is what we have to talk about.” She lifted a finger between them. “Guidelines so we’re able to actually stay friends.”
“I have no issue being your friend—”
Holly snorted.
He folded his arms. “Real mature.”
Cooling her irritation with a sip of iced water, she waved a hand. “Tell me what your issue is, then.”
“I realize you’ll see someone else.” Elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers. “But him?”
“What does it matter, Scott? You’ve made your choices.”
“If a guy’ll cheat once—”
“He was a teenager and he was drunk—”
“That makes a very convenient excuse.” He shook his steepled fingers, lines of disgust carved into his face.
“Hmm.” She sipped again. “Back in Houston, you’d already talked to Andrea because you said she asked you to propose.”
His lashes fell, and an exhale moved his chest. “Holly.”
“That didn’t stop you sleeping with me that weekend.” She set the glass down with a thunk. “And we were sober. I’m also assuming you were sober when you talked to her about marriage while we were still together.”
“We haven’t been together for a long time.” He dropped the steeple, skin pale about his mouth. “You know that.”
“I do now.” Some of the fight drained out of her. “He has always owned what he did, that it was wrong. All I’m saying is that circumstances aren’t always cut and dry, and people add up to more than their actions. Our messiness is proof of that.”
Mouth firm, Scott stared across the table. “As close as you and Tick are, how is that going to work?”
She narrowed her eyes, closing her lips on any reply as Tiffanie arrived with their food. She fiddled with a home fry while he added sauce to his pulled pork sandwich. Once they were alone, she lifted her fork, although any appetite had fled.
“Tick is an adult with his own life. I’m not unsympathetic to the way that event affected him.
” And continued to affect him. She’d seen his face often enough when he ran across Colt or someone mentioned Allison.
“But if Colt and I suit, am I supposed to ignore that, put my own life on hold because of something that happened almost ten years ago?”
He had no answer for that, his entire expression tightening. She wasn’t surprised — his issue with her and Colt being a couple wasn’t about Tick at all.
She drew an unsteady breath. “I want us to be friends, Scott. For that to work, I need you to set aside the commentary on my decisions.”
Silence hung, his gaze trained on her face.
“You have to have your life.” She swallowed, the moment yawning like the edge of the lime mine. “And I have to have mine.”
For a long moment, he simply looked at her, then he gave a jerky nod. “You’re right.”
Her ability to breathe died, dizziness buzzing through her head. Moving forward was the right thing, the only thing, yet this closure frightened her.
He was awful for her, though. She was awful for him.
And her future with Colt stretched before her, glimmering with promise.
Even if her boyfriend, who was good for her, who was good to her, thought he was a comedian.