Chapter 21
I wake to my phone vibrating so loud I might as well have left the ringer on. My hand fumbles across the nightstand until I find the damn thing, and I answer without looking.
“Yeah?” My voice is as croaky as it is curt.
“Rough night?” Gabi asks, a little too peppy for this ungodly hour, whatever it is.
“Just tired, Gabs, not hungover.” The sun, bright as hell, glares at me through the open window. I groan and drag a pillow over my face. “To what do I owe this rude awakening?”
“Rude? It’s almost ten,” she says with mock exasperation. “Did you know your voicemail is full?”
“Yep.”
“Want me to show you how to fix that?”
“Funny, but I’m actually enjoying the break from Reinhold’s daily ‘You’re not living up to your potential’ monologues.”
“Nice,” she says, sounding genuinely impressed. “Hey, shoot me your address. I’m bringing breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Because I miss your pretty face, Shaw. And because I found this place that sells the best kolaches.”
I yawn. Loudly. “What the hell is a kolache?”
“Some kind of sausage stuffed dough. Horribly fattening.”
“Pass.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she says. “Seriously, ping me or I’ll call Artie.”
I sigh, already swinging my legs out of bed. “Fine. Give me thirty.”
I barely have time to shower before Gabi knocks at the carriage house door. I poke my head outside, shaking it at the screaming-red Jaguar parked in Maggie’s driveway. “You drove?”
She rolls her deep-brown eyes as she marches past me, her tailored slacks and pink sleeveless blouse crisp as ever, hair styled in perfect waves. “Just because I rarely do doesn’t mean I can’t.”
I close the door behind her. “Want something to drink? I have tap water and”—I peek inside the freezer in my mini kitchen—“tap water with ice.”
Gabi gasps. “No coffee?”
“No, Queen of Sheba, it’s Maggie’s offseason. I’m lucky to have sheets.” I grab myself a glass from the cabinet and fill it at the sink. When I turn back around, her majesty is scrutinizing the place. “Too small? Too…common?”
“Actually, it’s really cute,” she says, lifting the vase on the table to check the bottom. Her brows go up. “Vast improvement over the lodge.”
“You never saw the lodge.”
“I envisioned it.” She sets the box of kolaches on the table and plops down in a chair. “So what’s up with you?”
I eye her over the rim of my glass as I take a sip.
“You’re crankier than usual,” she tells me. “And don’t say it’s because you’re tired. You never slept a wink at that damn lodge. Is it the dance?”
“No,” I say, standing a little taller. “I think I may actually have that down.”
Thanks to Maggie.
Gabi’s face brightens. “Really, Holden? That’s fantastic!” She studies me for a second, arms crossing as she leans back in her chair. “Then is it the dance instructor?”
I cough. “What makes you say that?”
A slow smile spreads over her lips as she wiggles her fingers at me. “The way your face went all weird when I said dance instructor.”
I sigh hard enough to fog glass. “It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“I don’t know what you think,” I say, finally dropping into a chair. I grab a kolache from the box and take a large bite, grease dripping on my wrinkled black T-shirt. “Will you just tell me so I can eat in peace?”
She nudges a stack of napkins toward me. “Well, you’re not sleeping with her,” she says, giving the room another glance. “Or there’d be evidence.”
“I could be over there,” I say with a nod to the main house.
Gabi’s eyes narrow as I blot my shirt.
“No, I’m not sleeping with her.” I shove the rest of the pastry into my mouth.
Not because I don’t want to.
“But,” she says with a slow, knowing grin, “you got Betsy out.” She motions to my guitar, then taps a flawlessly manicured finger against her chin. “Now why would a man who clearly needs sleep stay up late playing his guitar?”
“Maybe I was up playing my guitar because I couldn’t sleep. Ever think of that?”
“Please. In this adorable rustic-luxe little bungalow”—she lifts her head to gaze over my shoulder—“with what looks like very high-quality bedding? Hell, Shaw, I could sleep here.”
Before I can stop her, she grabs my phone and punches in the passcode. I really need to change that.
“So what song was Holden Shaw up all night playing?”
“I strongly object to this invasion of privacy.”
“I’ll bet you do…” She trails off, her grin stretching wide. “‘Maggie May.’ I knew it! I knew you had a thing for her.”
“I do not have a—oh, fine. Whatever.” If I’ve learned anything over the course of our friendship, it’s that nothing gets by Gabi. “I may have a little thing.”
She rests her forearms on the table, hands clasped. “Does she know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Definitely not.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing would come of it, and shit would get weird. Shit’s already weird.” I grab my barely touched water and carry it to the sink. The window above looks out over the neighbor’s property, nothing but tall Texas grass and the occasional cow. “I kissed her last night.”
Gabi’s quiet for a long moment. “And?”
“She kissed me back.”
“Then what?”
“Then we came back here, and I freaked out.” I set my glass on the counter and turn around.
“We were supposed to eat, watch a movie—which I have a feeling was Maggie-speak for Netflix and chill.” And she’s too good for that.
“I told her I was tired and hid in here, playing Betsy like some kind of lovesick twat.”
Gabi swallows slowly, like a piece of kolache got stuck in her throat. “Lovesick?”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
Her phone goes off with the theme song from Thaddeus Thornhill, the show we did as kids.
I cringe. “You ever going to change that?”
“Probably not.” She checks the screen, then gets to her feet. “I should get back. I’m making Michele watch My Husband’s Baby.”
I shake my head. “Lifetime?”
“Of course.”
“Your poor PA needs a raise.”
“Lifetime is good ol’ mind-numbing cheese.” She grabs her keys from the table. “You should come. You could use it.”
“I’d rather watch Thaddeus.”
Her sharp laugh softens to a smile as she pushes her chair in. “How’s Hannah?”
“Better, I think. She has an early soccer game, so I haven’t talked to her yet.” I rock back on my heels, hands in my pockets. “She got to meet Maggie yesterday on FaceTime.”
Gabi purses her lips like she’s weighing something. Whatever she’s about to say, I don’t give her the chance.
“What? Should I not have done that?”
“No, Holden. I didn’t mean—never mind.” She meets my eyes, a hint of a smile still there. “Is it possible Maggie feels the same?”
“Highly doubtful.”
“But she kissed you back.”
“I think she may have been caught up in the moment. The stars were out. We were swimming…”
“Swimming?”
I give her a look that says don’t even. She holds up her hands in surrender.
“Like you said, I barely slept when I was at the lodge. I’m tired, and this thing with Dad and Hannah has me on edge.” I snatch my ball cap off the hook by the door and put it on. “I’m all over the place right now, and Maggie’s like quiet in the chaos. It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”
“Holden,” Gabi says gently, “in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you get hung up on a girl, and believe me, I’d notice.” She taps my foot with the toe of her Louboutin. “I think it’s more than a crush. And I think you should tell her.”
Before I can argue, she presses a kiss to my cheek, then turns to leave. “Any girl would be over the moon to know she has Holden Shaw’s attention.”
“Thanks, Gabi,” I say, feeling considerably better. “I’m strangely glad you came by.”
She opens the door, pausing for a second before stepping through. “Always a pleasure, Shaw.”
Back inside, I down the rest of my water and set the empty glass in the dish drainer.
I linger at the sink, staring mindlessly out the window until something moves in the grass.
A laugh slips out when I spot what must be Colonel strutting through the yard, chest puffed out, tail feathers raised like he owns the place.
Cocky little bastard. He looks exactly how I felt last night when we danced—when I danced.
Self-assured, proud, like I’d finally done it.
But shit…what if it was a fluke?
What the hell was I thinking, going with Maggie for a half-naked swim in a stupidly romantic swimming hole?
If we’d just come back here and practiced, everything would’ve been normal today.
I’d have actually slept instead of pouring my heart into Betsy all night.
I would’ve woken up refreshed and confident.
Maggie and I would be back to our usual bantering selves instead of whatever we are today, assuming she’s still speaking to me.
You led her on. And then you bailed.
Her disappointment gutted me. And I know, if her friend hadn’t been there, I would’ve gone to her. Apologized. Kissed her again.
And then, God help me, I would have slept with her. Because with every passing minute, that girl gets harder and harder to resist.
My whole life, everything I’ve ever wanted has been within reach. I know I could have Maggie.
But I can’t keep her.
And if Gabi’s right, isn’t that what I really want?
I change into a faded Huntington Beach T-shirt and pull on the Luccheses I practiced in yesterday. It’s pushing noon when I grab the remaining kolaches off the table and head to the main house.
The sun beats down on the gravel, heat shimmering off the hood of Ben’s truck as I cross the driveway to Maggie’s porch. I start to knock but punch in the code she gave me instead. The lock beeps, and I pull the door open—the guitar intro of “Maggie May” landing like a sucker punch. My ears go hot.
Fuck me.
I halt in the foyer for a moment and listen. Ben, I’m assuming, plays annoyingly well. And yeah, I’m a little jealous. I don’t hear Maggie, and I can only hope she’s not part of this embarrassing reminder that I had my window open last night.