Chapter Seventeen
Well, hell, this promised to be a fun evening.
Hands shoved in his pockets, Colt followed Holly up the walk to the assisted living home.
Chinese food and football hadn’t been bad at all because Mrs. Mona was always a hoot.
Plus, she liked him, and if he was the consolation prize since Tick wouldn’t be her son-in-law, she was okay with that and kept the idea to herself.
If Holly had been quiet, a little more reserved than normal . . . well, last night had been intense, the sex and the emotions. He’d spent the night, tucking her in close to him, but she’d already been up when he woke, fussing around with editing pictures, trying to act normal and failing miserably.
All he could do, really, was wait it out, see where they ended up, and count his blessings that she hadn’t kicked him out of her bed.
Or out of her life.
She’d kissed him goodbye when he left to run home and mess around with Ralph, shower and change, and she’d kissed him hello when he’d shown back up to collect her for this shindig of Barlow’s he knew was breaking her heart.
Because it had always been her and Barlow’s shindig, and now it wasn’t.
“Remind me to take some photos of the floral arrangements tonight for your mama.” She glanced at him over her shoulder while he held the door for her.
She had one of Mama’s seasonal arrangements from the night before in hand, to drop off to Mrs. Sadie, a visit designed to kill time before Barlow’s party and give her some space.
“Sure thing.” His boots scuffed on the polished brick flooring, another of Mama’s creations on the round cherry table under the bright chandelier.
The foyer stretched into a long hallway, rooms designed with facades to resemble houses, an attempt to make the place feel cozy and homelike.
Even with the florals and whatever scents they sprayed, the place still smelled like disinfectant and despair.
Her heels clicked with her brisk steps, green sequined skirt swishing and sparkling.
The black sweater she’d paired with it was so soft he struggled to keep his hands to himself.
She always shone, but tonight, she sparkled more than ever, so he wasn’t sure if the outfit was an act of defiance or what.
He was not going to ruin the night by putting his fist in Barlow’s mouth. Wiping off the guy’s smug grin might make him feel better, but she’d be pissed as hell. The last thing he wanted was to end what would be a rough night with a fight.
With her, anyway.
She paused at the third door on the left and rapped a gentle knuckle on the door. “Grandma?”
He supposed the muffled reply was permission to enter since Holly pushed the door open, a soft smile in place. Mrs. Sadie eyed them with an expectant expression, pleasure glowing in her faded blue eyes. “My Holly-girl . . . and you’ve brought Lamar with you.”
Colt cringed, bunching his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, Gran.” She leaned in to embrace Mrs. Sadie’s slight form, brushing a kiss over her wrinkled cheek. “That’s Colt, Lamar’s cousin. Remember?”
Mrs. Sadie squinted at him, lips pursed. Well, hell, what was up with that look, like he didn’t even rate as a consolation prize? “Misplaced my glasses.”
“You don’t wear them anymore since you had your cataract surgery.” Holly crouched by her wing chair, holding the flowers where Mrs. Sadie could see them. “Colt is Mrs. Sue Calvert’s son. She made this, and I thought you’d like it.”
“Sue . . . runs the flower shop. Married to Gene’s son, D.” Mrs. Sadie shook a trembling finger between her and Holly. Her mouth thinned to a sad line. “She lost a baby, a little girl.”
Colt closed his eyes. He barely remembered the loss, but it hurt.
“She did.” Holly feathered her fingers over Mrs. Sadie’s knee. “A long time ago.”
“These are pretty.” Mrs. Sadie fingered the edge of an ivory mum, then pointed at the chest next to the bed. “Put them over there.”
Holy . . . the old girl was bossy as all get out. Colt swallowed a snort. So that’s where she got it from.
Straightening with a swish of sequins, Holly crossed to adjust the items atop the chest so the flowers would fit. She rubbed a finger over the cedar. “This is new, Gran. Where did it come from?”
Mrs. Sadie twirled a hell-if-I-know gesture. “It just showed up.”
Shooting an exasperated smile over her shoulder, Holly crouched, running her fingertips over the small drawers that made up the chest. “This is gorgeous. What are you keeping in all these drawers?”
“Memories.”
Holly’s smile brightened, her touch dancing across small knobs Colt had whittled by hand. “Can I see?”
“Go ahead. You’re gonna do what you want to.” A querulous note vied with long-suffering affection in Mrs. Sadie’s dry voice. “Always have.”
Apparently, he didn’t quite swallow his laugh because Holly fixed him with a killing look before opening the first drawer to peek inside. Awe and hope and intrigue made her glow all over again, and he rocked back on his heels. Holy hell, she was beautiful.
“This is amazing. Someone did all of this by hand.” She cradled a drawer on her lap, caressing the joinery. With a speculative frown, she glanced up at Colt. “It feels familiar. Is this Chuck’s work?”
Mouth shut, Colt spread his hands on a shrug.
“I’ll have to ask him.” Sliding the drawer back into place, she straightened. “Gran, do you need anything while we’re here?”
Colt found himself dispatched to the vending machines because Mrs. Sadie wanted a Sprite and a pack of crackers, while Holly fussed around the room with a myriad of little tasks. Finally, Holly wrapped Mrs. Sadie in a tight hug. “We’re gonna get going, Grandma.”
Mrs. Sadie smacked thin lips and gestured Colt closer with an imperious gesture that was all too familiar. “Come get a hug, Lamar.”
He stiffened, and Holly winced. “Gran–”
“Have a good night, Mrs. Sadie.” Giving in was easier, even if being Tick’s stand-in chafed. He leaned down to fold Mrs. Sadie in a brief hug.
Strong fingers gripped his biceps, and she squinted at his face. “You smell like Gene.”
A surprised chuckle burst free. “Goodnight, Mrs. Sadie.”
Holly waited until they were outside to laugh. “Oh, my Lord, that was weird.”
“You think?” He cast her an askance look as they walked toward the exit. “I don’t want to know how your grandma knows what my grandaddy smells like.”
“Oh.” Holly covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide with gleeful horror. “Oh, Colton, can you imagine?”
“Holly.” He swung the door open. His psyche had enough trouble with the idea Gene was Louise’s second husband and every reality that entailed. He did not want any mental pictures involving Grandaddy and Mrs. Sadie. “I don’t want to imagine.”
Her laugh rang out, helpless and chagrined, and he grinned, glad she was more relaxed, more herself, even if every millimeter of skin he possessed was crawling. “Lord help us.”
Still giggling, she pressed a hand over her heart. “Maybe they just danced together at prom or something.”
“You are not helping.” A laugh rumbled up from his chest, and he paused on the sidewalk in front of his truck, staring down into sparkling blue eyes, enchanted by her glowing expression.
Hell, Holly, I love you.
He tried the words out in his brain, smart enough not to let them form on his lips because she wasn’t ready and D had not raised a fool.
Instead, he settled for cupping a gentle hand around the back of her skull and leaning down for a chaste, standing-on-the-sidewalk-in-Coney-Georgia kiss.
Hands pressed to his chest, she flexed her fingers into the fine knit of his sweater, mouth moving under his before she levered back, eyes shining.
A hand at her waist, he rubbed his thumb over that kitten-soft sweater. “We should go.”
With a disgusted noise, she turned toward the passenger door. “Don’t remind me.”
“Why are we even doing this?” He tugged the door open and stepped back so she could sit and slide her legs in.
“Because if I don’t go, she wins.” Puffing her bangs out of her eyes, she latched her seatbelt with more than necessary force. “She already won him. She’s not getting my friends, too.”
Mid-breath, his lungs seized up like an oilless engine. Unable to exhale, he gripped the top of the door until the metal bit his fingers. In slow motion, Holly lifted her horrified blue eyes to his. “That did not come out the way I meant.”
“Yeah.” His voice came out like shattered safety glass.
“Colton, really–”
“It’s fine.” She was fucking calling him Colton after saying that? He stepped back, dropped his hand, and prepared to shut the door. “You know what? That’s a lie. It’s not fine.”
“Colt.”
He closed the door, priding himself on not slamming it shut. D tended to walk softly, and he tried to emulate his daddy, always had. He didn’t rap a fist on the hood either, as he walked around to the driver’s side and jerked the door open to slide behind the wheel.
Big blue eyes, wide and wounded, lit upon his face. He felt that look, without even meeting her gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He fired the engine, laid his foot on the brake and reached for the gearshift. He dropped his hand, slumping in the seat. “Shit, Holly.”
“I know.” She folded in on herself, her voice small and pained. “I know.”
“He’s such a–” He bit off the description.
He and Barlow had never really clicked, anyway, Colt unable to get why Tick valued him so as a friend.
Sure the guy had to have good points – everybody did.
But he’d strung her along for years, although she’d allowed herself to be strung along, and . . . fuck. “What the hell, Holly?”
Her lashes fell. He struggled to get his breathing and his emotions under control. He was not going to be an asshole here. Hurt and honest, sure. A jerk? No.
Wrist propped on the steering wheel, he stabbed his fingers toward the windshield. “Can I ask how you stayed hung up on him so long?”
Maybe he should say how you’re still hung up on him.
He breathed through the frustrating agony of being a consolation prize for real.
Biting her lip, she leaned her elbow on the window and propped her chin in her hand. “I was young and he made me feel wanted. Even if he didn’t want to, he wanted me, and that felt important. And I got stuck there. You get how that works. I know you do.”
His gaze jerked sideways. She gazed out the window, the line of her body tense and brittle. A more even breath left his lungs. He could make that worse, or he could make it better.
That decision was a no-brainer.
“I do.” He curved his hand over her knee. “Stuck is an apt word, too.”
“I don’t love him. I don’t want him.” She turned her head, a sharp movement, a fierce light in her eyes. “I do know what I want, just like I didn’t want you to go last night even when the emotional stuff got overwhelming.”
If she chose to trust him, that meant he had to choose to trust her, too. Son of a bitch . . .
“That hit hard.” He cleared his throat. “I have issues with being seen as second best to someone else. You get that.”
“I do.” She covered his hand atop her knee. “We have a pretty mature relationship. This is great.”
“Holly Callahan and mature in the same space.” He snorted, his chest almost not tight and aching. Almost. “Imagine that.”
“You . . .”
He caught her fist in his palm before she connected with his shoulder, using the momentum to tug her toward him. Surprise flared in her eyes, and on a triumphant laugh, Colt lowered his mouth to hers.