Chapter 25
The bed dips as Holden sits up behind me and flicks on the lamp. I’m perched at the edge of the mattress, water glass in hand, robe gathered around me. I’m guessing it’s about six, judging by the racket the robins are making outside.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I say, setting the glass on my nightstand. “Go back to sleep.”
His fingers skim my back. “How long have you been up?”
“Not long.” I tie my robe closed, then cross to the dresser.
“Can’t sleep?”
“No, but you should. You have a big day ahead.”
“True,” he says, biting off a yawn. “But with plenty of downtime to nap.”
I grab some leggings and an oversized T-shirt from the top drawer. When I turn around, Holden’s sitting up against the headboard, all golden skin and sleepy eyes, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His hair looks like Colonel roosted in it, and I swear he’s never looked sexier.
“Help yourself if you want coffee or anything,” I say. “I’m going to take a bath.”
“Mind if I join you?” He flips the sheet back, and oy vey. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “I know you’re probably sore.”
I’m not in pain, exactly, but there’s a deep, delicious ache where he claimed me.
I set my clothes on the dresser. “You take baths?”
“I love baths.”
He gets out of bed—every blessed inch of him on display—and strides into my bathroom. A second later, the water kicks on, and he pokes his head out. “Change your mind?”
“Just looking for my clip.” I find it on the floor where he dropped it last night, the memory of him on the floor rushing back. I put my hair up and grab my clothes. This is not how I pictured my morning. Not mad about it, though.
The tile’s cool under my feet as I step inside the bathroom. Holden’s leaning against the sink, mouth full of mouthwash, examining my bottle of Magnolia Sunrise. He turns to spit, and I’m awarded another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glimpse of his magnificent backside.
That thing should have its own fan club.
“This the stuff?” he asks, flipping the cap and bringing the bottle to his nose.
“That’s the stuff.” I shut the door. “You’re not shy in the morning, are you?”
His smile morphs into something sinful. “I don’t remember you being particularly shy last night.”
I drop my robe and brush past him, the tip of his erection grazing my hip. This room may not be big enough for the three of us. It’ll be a minor miracle if the tub is.
I settle into the bath, and warm water slips over my sore body like silk. Every inch of me sighs.
Holden slides in behind me, his long legs straddling mine. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me to him—his chest firm and smooth against my back, heartbeat steady and calm. Unlike the third member of our party, currently announcing itself at the base of my spine.
“Sorry about that,” he says when I wiggle against it.
I laugh. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Stop moving and maybe.” He presses a quick kiss to my neck, his hand finding mine under the water. “Talk to me, Maggie May.”
I glance at our linked fingers. “About what?”
“Hopes, dreams…your childhood. Tell me, Miss Calhoun,” he says, voice low and deep. “Have you always lived in this stately abode?”
I snort. “Are you for real? I’m naked. And you have a very, very large—”
“Boner? Yeah, I’m aware. Doing my best to ignore it.” He shifts, and I feel it everywhere, like my body’s memorizing the shape of him.
“And you’re sore, right?” He squeezes my hand. “Humor me for a minute.”
“Yes, Holden, born and raised.”
“How long’s your family been in Fisher Springs?”
“Oh, good grief. I’m not that sore.” I wiggle against him again, and he makes a strangled noise. “Okay, fine,” I say, but the second I lie back, my boobs float to the surface like they have an agenda.
Wonderful.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, then clears his throat. “Please continue.”
“My mom and aunt inherited the house,” I say, draping an arm across my chest. “Moved here right after.”
“Where were they before?”
“Georgia.”
“That explains it,” he says. “So how come you have an accent, but your brother doesn’t?”
My gaze drifts to the window. “Because mine’s sort of”—how do I put this?—“intentional? My aunt toned hers down, but Mama wasn’t about to. She was very proud of her roots.”
“And you took after her.”
“I was her mini-me.” I give him a bittersweet smile he can’t see. “It started to fade when I got older, but then when she died…” My throat closes around the words. “I brought it back with a vengeance. I thought maybe if I sounded like her, I wouldn’t lose all of her.”
Holden takes a second to respond, and I think maybe I said too much—until his lips press against my temple.
“Sh—shoot, Maggie. I didn’t mean to bring up something so personal.”
“It’s nice, actually. I don’t get to talk about her often.” I glance up at him. “And to answer your question, Ben doesn’t have an accent because he took after Aunt Z.”
I stretch my foot to turn off the faucet, and the room goes still.
Holden smooths a damp strand of hair from my neck. “How old were you when she passed?”
“Sixteen. Just a year older than you when you lost your mom.”
His fingers pause on my shoulder. “And your aunt raised you after?”
“Until we turned eighteen. Then she and my uncle bought a motorhome and basically just hit the road forever.” My thumb slides against his. “She taught me how to run this place, so by then I could do it with my eyes closed.”
“Is that what you wanted? To run it?”
“I didn’t not want to.”
“And now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” The words come out sharper than I intend.
“I’m not losing it, and running it as a B&B is the only way I can afford to keep it.
” I slide down a little more and prop my feet on the opposite edge.
“It’s not so bad. We’re only open Memorial Day weekend through early fall and only do weddings after that. It’s just…”
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “What is it?”
“Sometimes I feel…stuck. Like no matter how much I love this place, I’m tethered to it.” The confession spills out before I can stop it. “But there’s an upside. I get to write when it’s slow.”
I neglect to mention that aside from my trite, uninspired dumpster fire of an essay, I’ve barely written a word.
“Always tethered?” he asks, lifting our hands above the waterline. “I was sort of hoping you might be able to get away for a few days and go to the premiere with me. But I totally get it if it’s your busy season.”
“You want me to go to the movie premiere? With you? In LA?”
“I mean, if you can,” he says. “But not LA. Toronto, hopefully. I’ll take care of everything. I just want you there.” His lips graze my knuckles. “If I don’t botch this role, it’ll be because of you.”
I wince. It’s because of me that he doubts himself.
I sit up, tilting my head to look at him. “Holden, I didn’t mean it. When I said that about you not being Tripp, I was upset. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” he says. “I know. That’s not what I meant, okay? It’s just, I worry about it. It’s your favorite book and…” He shrugs. “I don’t want to let you down.”
You could never let me down, I want to say. But the words stick in my throat.
“Constance thought you nailed that scene, by the way.” I give him a small smile. “Not that I enjoyed hearing how perfectly you kissed somebody else.”
“And you? What did you think?”
I scrunch my nose. “I think I was a little too distracted to notice.”
“Artie, for all his faults, is kind of a genius when it comes to getting his shot. Seeing you up there, standing beside Gabi? It threw me.” He rests his head against the tile, eyes fixed on nothing.
“I already think about you more than I should, but having you right there next to me? I wasn’t kissing Gabi.
I was kissing you. That’s why it worked. That’s why it only took one take.”
“You think about me?”
His gaze comes back to mine. “Yeah, like a lot.”
I turn toward the faucet, nudging it on again. Anything to distract him from whatever’s happening with my face.
“Look, Maggie, I don’t know what this is or what comes next. All I know is, I like it.”
I like it too—too much, if I’m honest.
The first hint of dawn slips through the window. I lean forward, hugging my knees to my chest.
“It’s a truce,” I say quietly. “That’s what it is. And what comes next is that you go home.”
“Can we maybe not think about that right now? Just let what happens happen?”
Pretty sure that’s all I’m going to think about.
I swallow. “What time will you get back here tonight?”
He traces a lazy path down my spine. “Not soon enough.”
“I’ll make it,” Holden says, checking his phone as we round the corner from my bedroom. “Just need to shave and—” Raised voices spill from the kitchen. “Is that Ben? I thought he had a final.”
“He does. Or at least he’s supposed to.” I inch closer, straining to listen. Ben’s voice is unmistakable. The other one—the heated one—sounds like Zack. “I’ve never heard them fight before.”
Holden meets my eyes, his expression tight.
“What am I supposed to do in France?” Ben’s saying in a sharp whisper. “I don’t speak French.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t be so glib. You know goddamn well there are opportunities there. You just refuse to look.” A chair scrapes across the Saltillo. “Admit it. This is about Maggie.”
What’s about Maggie?
“You know what they’re talking about?” Holden asks.
I shake my head.
“Jesus, keep your voice down,” Ben says. “I do not want her hearing this.”
Too late.
“Why? Don’t you think she should have a say? She’s the one screwing with your future.”
My stomach drops, and I recoil—right onto Holden’s foot. “Sorry. I’m…”
He slides an arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s enough,” Ben says, louder than I think he realizes.
Zack lowers his voice. “Do you seriously think you can teach all day and play innkeeper all night? Every holiday, every summer? You hate it. And so does she.”
“Zack, that’s not—fuck. If it weren’t for Maggie, I wouldn’t even be getting this degree.”
“If it weren’t for Maggie, you’d have gotten it years ago.”