Chapter 39
December, Texas
“You did a beautiful job, Magnolia. Just lovely,” Aunt Z says from beside me at our table.
“Though I’m not too sure about this.” She slips off her feathered mask, sets it next to her empty champagne flute, and reaches for her glasses.
“Can’t see nothin’ for lookin’ at it without these things.
” She chuckles as she puts them on, her smile as youthful as ever despite the new wrinkles gathering around her eyes.
Constance tips her glass toward me. She’s straight out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in sparkly sage tulle and a matching floral mask. “You really did. Best one yet, though I’ve only been around for two of them.”
“I had fun with this one,” I say as my gaze sweeps over the barn.
Chuck, Aunt Z’s stepson, and Birdie, his new wife, had a very specific vision in mind when it came time to plan their New Year’s Eve wedding.
“I’m thinking boho-glam,” Birdie said on our Zoom call. “Earth tones mixed with metallics, lots of plush fabrics. And string lights. String lights and candles.”
“Unless that’s a fire hazard,” Chuck said, leaning in to kiss his fiancée’s temple.
The way he looked at her made my teeth hurt. I wondered if I’d ever feel love like that again.
“We’ll make it work,” I told him.
In the end, a not-so-small chunk of their budget went for batteries for the hundreds of flameless candles scattered throughout.
We brought in a mix of chairs for the existing wooden tables and used mismatched dinnerware and glasses.
Rugs and floor pillows and cozy blankets line the exterior, while heavy fabrics hang from the rafters, softening the barn’s rustic edges.
The idea to make it a masquerade came later, and I was all for it, unlike my Aunt Zilpha, who didn’t quite get the point of hiding behind a mask. Not to disappear, but to be someone else. Even if only for a little while.
Though disappearing sounds pretty good right now, I think, when I spot Toothless Wally heading our way.
Aunt Z squeezes my hand. “The newlyweds seem pleased.”
I look over at them, smiling and laughing and kissing, whether someone clinks a glass or not.
I toss back the last of my champagne.
How can I feel love like that again when my heart belongs to Holden?
“Hello, Walter,” Aunt Z says as Wally steps up to the table. He bends to kiss her cheek, and she lifts his tribal mask to get a better look at his face. “So good to see you. How are your folks?”
“They’re well, Mrs. Houseman. Mom’s got her ceramics, and Dad’s…”
His words trail off as I slip out of my chair and make a dash for the bar. I’m two sips into a fresh glass of champagne when he catches up to me.
“Good try, Mags, but you promised me a dance.”
The DJ puts on “Maggie May,” and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Did you do this?”
He shrugs. “I might’ve.”
I stop at the far side of the hors d’oeuvres table and sink onto a pillow-topped bench.
“Would you settle for hanging out?” I ask, pushing my blue sequined mask up to my forehead. “I really, really don’t feel like dancing tonight.”
“Sure, Maggie. I can do that.” He sits beside me, lifting his own mask. “Sucks Ben couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah,” I say with a shallow sigh. He tried to swing it, but flights from Europe are too expensive this time of year—especially since he’s only working part-time giving WWII tours.
“He’s doing good, though?”
“Really good.” He’s with Zack. How could he not be?
Wally’s quiet after that. I take another sip of champagne.
“I like your dress,” he says.
“Thanks.” I glance at my floor-length blue satin gown, trimmed in sequins that match my mask. “You look nice too,” I tell him, then realize he didn’t say I looked nice.
I put my mask back on.
“Maggie May” winds down, and I let out a quiet groan as The Spur Junkies’ cover of “Bluest Eyes in Texas” filters through the barn.
Yesterday’s Son dropped last month, and I still can’t bring myself to see it.
I had no idea Artie switched the “Big Dance” song from “Take the Bull by the Horns” to the cover of the Restless Heart ballad until it started popping up everywhere.
Constance, who took Loretta on opening night, confirmed it.
I’d wondered if Holden had anything to do with it, but knowing Artie, it was just common sense.
“You sure you couldn’t spare one dance?” Wally grins. “I figured all the girls would love this song.”
Not this girl.
I arch a brow. “Because it’s romantic? That’s kind of sexist, Wally.”
The poor guy’s face turns as red as Colonel’s comb.
“I’m teasing,” I say, on the verge of conceding when the music abruptly cuts off.
“Sorry for the interruption, folks,” the DJ says from his booth.
“But I was just made an offer I can’t refuse.
This young man here…” He looks to his left, frowns, then leans into the mic.
“Okay, the man who was here a second ago says he’ll give our newlyweds ten thousand dollars cash money if I play something else.
” A collective gasp moves through the barn.
The groom lets out a loud whoop. “Figured he must hate love songs, but turns out, he’s just a purist. So here you go, son. This one’s for you.”
The Restless Heart version of “Bluest Eyes in Texas” begins to play, and the ground shifts beneath me.
Holden?
I shoot the thought down as fast as it comes. This party’s full of old-timers. Purists.
But he said young, didn’t he?
My fist tightens around the stem of my glass. I frantically search the room.
“Who are we looking for?” Wally asks.
“Holden,” I whisper—just as a man in a black plastic Lone Ranger mask materializes in front of me.
“Nobody puts Maggie in a corner,” he says, and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Wow. That was just…not at all as cool as it sounded in my head.”
Wally leans forward. “The lady isn’t dancing this evening.”
“I think the lady can speak for herself. Magnolia?”
Dressed in dark jeans, a fitted suede jacket with tooled seams, and those dang Luccheses—he’s every bit as devastating as I remember. His hair’s longer now, almost to his shoulders, and he’s sporting a beard that’s giving me thoughts I should not be having.
He lowers his mask just long enough to wipe the scowl off Wally’s face. “Maggie?”
“Holy shit.” Wally takes my glass and nudges me forward. “Mags, what are you doing? Do you know who that is?”
Holden reaches for me. “I’ll pay him to play this song all night long if I have to, Maggie May.”
Wally bumps my knee, and I blink out of my haze.
“There she is,” Holden says when I push off the bench.
His fingers lace through mine as he leads me onto the dance floor, the flashing lights above us reflecting in his mask.
He lifts my hand to his shoulder, hooks an arm around my waist, and pulls me flush against him.
“You see, at this point in the story, Holden’s fallen madly in love with Maggie.
He doesn’t just want to dance with her. He wants to hold her. ”
Quick, quick, slow, slow echoes in my head as his feet begin to move.
“Then you’re supposed to say, so he can tell her how he feels.” His lips hover at my ear. “But Barrett got that part wrong.”
My feet float more than follow, barely touching the ground as he whisks me across the dance floor. Like no one else exists. Like no time has passed.
“Because if Tripp felt for Katie a fraction of what I feel for you, he’d need a whole night’s worth of dances to tell her. A whole album’s worth of songs.”
Holden spins me, then reels me back in—and when did he learn that? And what did he just say?
I stumble to a stop, lifting my chin to meet his eyes. “Holden, why are you here?”
The song ends, and the DJ’s voice breaks the quiet. “I see our benefactor found himself a dance partner. You might want to hang on to that one, young lady.”
Holden cups my jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of my mask. “Can you get away for a minute?”
“Yeah, okay.” My hand slips into his, and I follow him off the dance floor.
Outside, guests smoke in small groups or huddle near the fire pit while kids play Ghost in the Graveyard in dresses and denim and scuffed cowboy boots. Headlights glow in the distance as the fireworks crew sets up, and I wonder how close we are to midnight.
An icy breeze whips past us. I shiver against Holden’s arm.
“Where’s your coat?” he asks in a parental tone that has me biting back a smile. He shrugs out of his jacket and slips it over my shoulders.
It smells like new leather and his familiar smoke and spice.
“In my closet, probably.”
“What good is that doing you?” He winces and tugs off his mask. “God, I sound like such a dad.”
I push mine up to my hairline. “How’s Hannah?”
“Good,” he says. “Better. She went to the Keys with Uncle Cade so I could come here. He has a friend with an island.” The word comes out slow and sarcastic, like the idea is absurd. “I spoke to Ben a couple weeks ago. He told me about the wedding. Neglected to mention the mask part ’til today.”
I shake my head, my smile peeking through. “That’s my brother. Always the meddler.”
Holden veers toward the front porch, but I redirect him to the carriage house. “You don’t have guests?”
“It’s mine now.”
I punch in the code and we step inside. It’s quiet, the kind that settles after a long night. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as he looks around.
The bedding’s still white and fluffy, but I’ve swapped the duvet for the threadbare comforter from my old room.
I turned the windowsills into bookshelves, lining them with novels and my favorite vanilla candles.
The table’s now my writing desk: open laptop, scattered notebooks, a coffee mug full of pens.
On the nightstand, the picture of my mom and me stares back from the new frame Constance gave me for Christmas—right beside a photo of me and Holden at the wrap party, one Loretta screenshotted and sent with about a thousand heart emojis.
Too late to do anything about that.