Chapter 33
My brother’s gaze lands on my bouncing knee as he gets up from the table with his plate. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Not since he got into LAX,” I say, forcing my leg to stop. “He dropped his phone, but Loretta said not to worry. He’ll be back later today.”
“Are you worried?”
I glance at the wind chimes dancing on the porch outside. “Not about Cara. I mean, if something was wrong, he’d stay longer, right?”
“Were wrong,” he teases. “And yeah, probably.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m just fidgety. I made the decision to move forward with him, and now I can’t wait until we actually get the chance. I didn’t expect that. I honestly thought I’d be mid-regret by now.”
I hear the soft clatter of his plate in the sink, followed by an even softer chuckle.
“Somebody’s in love,” he sing-songs.
I don’t try to hide it. The other day, I told Holden if I fell in love with him. But hadn’t I already?
“It feels big,” I say. “Like I need to tell him as soon as possible.”
The bench creaks under Ben’s weight as he drops onto it. “Mags, it is big. Why not do something romantic? One of your romance novel grand gestures?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, maybe a picnic out back? Dinner in the barn? Flowers, candles…”
I slouch in my chair. “Isn’t that…cheesy?”
“For Holden? That dude’s been desperate for crumbs from you for weeks.” He steals my untouched scone and takes a bite. “This would be the whole pastry. He might not survive it.”
I start to Google “romantic gestures,” then shake my head and snap my laptop shut.
“The barn’s out because it doesn’t have a bed, and a picnic—sorry, TMI,” I say, catching my brother’s horrified expression. I take a sip of my lukewarm coffee, side-eyeing the oven over the rim of my mug. “What would I get? Obviously, I’m not cooking.”
“I’ll cook. I have to run to campus anyway, so I can pick something up.” He makes a gagging noise. “You just focus on your love den.”
I let myself into Holden’s room and glance around. It’s surprisingly clean. Bed made, no clothes on the floor, no dishes in the sink. I file it away in the pro column.
My boyfriend’s tidy.
Wait—is he my boyfriend?
I’m planning this whole grand I-love-you moment, and I don’t even know what we are.
The thought sets butterflies loose in my stomach, so I put them to work—stripping the bed, swapping the towels, scrubbing like it actually needs it.
When I’m finished, I fetch the tub marked Honeymoon Suite out of storage and start decorating. I’ve made over this room countless times, but I never thought I’d do it for myself.
It’s nothing extravagant, just a string of twinkling lights, some flameless candles, and a bag of silk rose petals for the bed. I cover the table in white linen and set it with gold-rimmed dishes and matching champagne flutes.
Normally, I’d fill the vase with flowers from the garden, but tonight calls for roses.
Ben comes in with a couple trays of food and his jaw drops. “I’ll be damned. You broke out the honeymoon box.”
I glance around. Crap. It is extravagant.
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” I ask, reaching for the plug on the string lights. Ben stops me.
“It’s not, Mags. Really. Holden will love that you did this for him, I swear.”
I sink into a chair. “I don’t want to scare him off.”
“You could meet him at the door in a wedding gown and not scare him off, so relax, okay? The guy’s smitten.
” He opens the fridge and slides the trays inside.
“I picked up a charcuterie board and that tiger cake you love, and I’ll do Mom’s potato casserole since it can sit.
Text me when you’re ready, and I’ll throw on the steaks. ”
“You really missed your calling as a chef.”
“Yeah, well, most of it’s store-bought. Want me to serve you? I can wear my Dude with the Food chef’s hat.”
“Or I could just meet you outside.”
He nods at the empty vase. “Garden?”
“Florist. Might as well go all in, right?”
“Don’t worry, Mags,” he says, nudging my shoulder on his way to the door. “Everything will work out.”
But twenty minutes later, as I head down the driveway, I’m not so sure. The paps Holden warned me about are waiting at the gate, their cameras aimed at my GTO. I dig my sunglasses out of the glove box and slide them on, but I gave my hat to Holden.
This isn’t a big deal. It’s a B&B, and I was just decorating a room for a guest.
In my offseason.
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that room belongs to Holden, and I’ve been in there for hours. They probably saw Ben deliver food, and oh, no. Please tell me their telescopic lenses didn’t catch the word honeymoon on the side of the tub I hauled in.
When the gate finally opens, I drop the clutch and pull onto the road. There’s nothing I can do about it now.
“Okay, girl,” I say, giving the dash a quick pat. “Let’s lose these jackasses.”
Then I floor it.
Pulling into town, I think of what Holden said about not going to the florist with the paps on his tail and decide that was probably wise. I get roses at H-E-B instead and have them packed in a produce box. But every black SUV in the parking lot makes me anxious as I carry it out to my car.
Are they here?
Did they come inside?
The gate’s clear when I get home, but the fact that I’d been watched—and followed—rattles me in a way I can’t shake.
What if I’d broken down in the middle of nowhere? What if it’d been at night?
What if I were alone, lost in a city I don’t know, on roads I’ve never driven?
This is Holden’s every day. And if I were to go with him to LA, it would be mine too.
Despite what Hunter says, I’m not naive enough to think he’ll be here often. He has a life in LA. Commitments. His visits will be few and far between, and if I want to see more of him (which I already know I will) I’ll have to meet him halfway.
I close my notebook and set it beside me on the bench. I thought I’d be too wired to write. Too distracted to focus on my characters. But let’s be honest. Am I even writing a romance novel? Or am I just journaling?
The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky a hazy pink. It’s beautiful here—the kind of place that gets under your skin if you let it.
What if Holden were to let it?
“Ben told me I might find you here.”
Holden rounds the bench, and I nearly knock him over trying to get to him. He’s been gone less than forty-eight hours, and I’m throwing myself at him like it’s been a month.
How am I supposed to make it through the summer?
He lets out a soft laugh. “I missed you too.”
He’s in a navy-blue T-shirt, jeans, and brown leather tennis shoes with red laces that he must’ve grabbed from home. The baseball cap I gave him is pulled low on his head, and I can’t help the smile that blooms at the sight of it.
“I would’ve picked you up,” I say, running my fingers along the scruff of his jaw. I love that I can do that now, just touch him whenever I want. “How’d you get here?”
“Artie. We had some things to go over anyway. You look pretty.”
“Thanks. I have plans later,” I say, lips twitching as I smooth a hand over my lilac cotton dress—tiered, flowy, trimmed in lace. “Have you been in your room yet?”
“Not yet. Your brother stopped me. Why?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
“So this is the tree?” His hand wraps around mine and we settle onto the bench, his eyes lifting to the canopy. “Ben told me how much you love it.”
“It’s my favorite place. Mama and I used to drag old blankets out here to watch the sunset.” I tug at the heart on my necklace. “We should do that when you come back. Have a picnic. The weather’s perfect in the fall.”
His thumb strokes my knuckles in a way that should feel familiar but doesn’t.
My knee starts bouncing again. “How’s Cara?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and my knee stops.
“She’s, uh, not good,” he says, giving me a quick glance. “She has cirrhosis. Turns out, I was wrong.” His voice goes very low. “She hasn’t been drinking. Damage was already done, I guess.”
I turn sideways on the bench, one leg folded beneath me. “What…what can they do?”
“There’s nothing. She and Hannah are moving in with me until…” He exhales. “She’s only got a few months, and that’s if we’re lucky.”
Oh, Hannah.
The thought hits a nerve I know all too well. I inch closer, resting my head on his shoulder, my knee on his thigh. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just—I’m so sorry.”
A strong breeze blows in from the Gulf, shaking seed pods onto the bench. Mrs. Perkins’s windmill grates next door.
“There’s something else,” he says quietly. “Hannah’s going to stay with me…after.”
I lift my head. “Stay with you, how? Like, you’re going to raise her?”
“It’s complicated, but yes. Which means I can’t come here. I can’t come to you. I promised Cara I’d be there. Every day, and I…”
His words taper off, and I stare down at our joined hands in my lap.
“No, I…I get it.”
“Maggie,” he says, lifting my chin, coaxing my gaze back to his. “Maybe you could try coming to LA. I know that wasn’t the plan, but if you could just try? For me?” He presses his forehead to mine. “Please, Magnolia. Just think about it.”
My heroine would. She’d be brave and meet Hunter halfway.
I could be brave too.
But unlike Holden, Hunter doesn’t have a grieving sister at home.
Even if I wanted to go—even if I thought I could—I can’t.
I pick up a seed pod and flick it into the grass. “Hannah will be inconsolable. We both lost our mothers young. We know what that’s like.” I swallow. “She’s only eleven. She’ll need all of you.”
“What if I rented something?” he asks, like nothing I just said got through.
“I was thinking about it on the plane. I could find a house near mine, quiet, good for writing.” He brushes the hair back from my cheek, his fingers lingering on my temple.
“Then at night when Hannah’s asleep, Lois could watch her.
I could come over and—” He drops his hand. “Okay, that came out wrong.”
“What happens when she can’t sleep? Or just refuses to go to bed?
” My voice wavers. “How patient could you be knowing I’m there?
Knowing I’m waiting? That’s not fair to me or Hannah.
It’s not fair to you.” I smooth the hair peeking out from under his hat behind his ear.
“What if she has a nightmare, and you aren’t there? ”
He takes the hat off and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m going to lose you, aren’t I?”
When Mama died, my heart broke all at once. But right now, I feel it chipping away, piece by piece.
“What about Toronto?” he asks, and I search for another seed pod.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”
“Can I call you, at least?” He tries for a smile. “Actually, you’ll have to call me. Lost half my contacts.”
“Holden,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, either.”
His hand tightens around the cap, fingers curling into a fist. “Yeah. Got it.”
“When, um…do you go back?”
“Thursday morning.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve got a few pickup shots with Artie tomorrow, then the wrap party.”
“You’re going?”
“I don’t really have a choice unless I want to draw suspicion.” He sits up, head tipped back against the trunk of the magnolia. “You should go with Loretta. Take Constance.”
“I can’t go with you?”
He sits the hat beside him on the bench. “I won’t be there long.”
“Okay.”
I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like someone knocked the wind out of me and forgot to put it back.
I pick up my notebook and hold it against my stomach. “I just remembered Ben said he needed my help with some…graduation thing. I should probably go.”
Ben, who’s waiting for my text to tell him to throw on the steaks.
“Yeah, and I should check on Amar,” Holden says. “He’s converting my office into a room for Cara.”
“Oh, good. That’s good.”
I push off the bench, my knees threatening to buckle.
“Maggie…” His hand catches my wrist.
“I know.”
Then he lets go. I take off for the house and don’t look back.