Oh look at the time
Gotta go walk my fish
You could at least try to find a good excuse
Sorry! I can’t hear you! You’re breaking up! Byeeeee
Closing out Gwen’s thread, I go to my contacts and click on the new number saved, smiling when I see his contact name. Moby Dick . For a solid minute, I let myself type out a message to him. Some kind of apology or olive branch to smooth over whatever discourse my mother just caused, but in the end, I can’t send anything.
Instead, I scroll to the bottom of his information and let my thumb hover over the red delete button.
Nothing good would come from allowing myself to pretend Beckett Hale could care about me in the slightest. Nothing good would come from letting myself trip and stumble over myself this summer to be near him because he’s only going to disappear again in a couple months. Nothing good would come from living in a delusional daydream where I’m cool and calm enough to truly believe Beck won’t break my heart.
So, in the end, I push the delete button, lock my phone, and curl my arms around my knees as I stare at the house next door like always.
The universe must hate me.
Three nights ago, I sat on my bed and had a moment of clarity where I wiped the silent, wet tears off my splotchy cheeks and decided to be done with this ridiculous crush on Beckett Hale.
I fell asleep curled up in a ball with the knowledge that as soon as morning came and a new day started that I would let go of the silliness behind liking someone so much it affected my days and nights. I woke up feeling determined and focused.
Everything was going fine. Great, even.
For three days, my coffee was hot and sweet; my shoes slipped on easily without me needing to untie and re-tie them; my scones were jam-filled and delicious.
Even Cole was all smiles and quiet politeness when he came into Sugar before his shift started and also at the support group meeting this morning.
It has been exactly what I needed to make me forget about a certain man taking up entirely too much space in my mind .
Three days of carefully avoiding the park that’s been my hideaway and warily watching to make sure he’s not outside whenever I’m walking to work or whenever I pass his driveway on the way home. Three days of pushing every thought of Beckett Hale to the side like I haven’t thought about him every day for nearly six years.
Three days of hard work just for it all to come crumbling down around me within mere minutes.
At the end of the day, I cannot allow myself to get wrapped up in the idea that Beckett Hale could see me as anything other than the girl next door. My heart wouldn’t survive that kind of hope.
That’s why I’m focused on being totally unfocused on Beckett.
But it’s Thursday, and I think the day must be unlucky. Nothing good happens on a Thursday now that I think about it.
It’s the first Thursday of the month though, which means it’s a community clean up day. It’s something Mrs. Betty and Mr. Taylor, our good mayor and Gus’ dad, insisted on once we started getting more tourists littering on the beaches and making a mess traveling through the town.
Mrs. Betty says it’s everyone’s responsibility who resides here to help keep our town looking nice and pristine.
I have participated in Thursday clean-ups for the last two years, and today is no different. Mrs. Betty knows that even if no one else comes to help her, at least I’ll always be there. Cole usually swings by to help for a little while whether he’s on shift or not, with a couple of reluctant officers in tow.
There’s a pit in my stomach this morning, though. I can’t avoid the world forever, and my stomach is turning violently because I know I’ll see him today. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
And it’ll ruin all of my progress.
I scarf down a bowl of cereal and an apple, grab my travel mug of caramel flavored coffee, and run out of the door toward Main Street to meet Betty at the butt crack of dawn like every other Thursday during the last two years.
It never fails that I oversleep and have to rush to town, so I’m not leaving her sitting on her favorite bench tapping her foot impatiently. I didn’t even have time to wave to Old Man Jenkins as I passed through the cemetery.
Only this morning, my feet practically skid across the sidewalk as I come to a screeching halt in front of her and her group of volunteers; her eyes wide as coffee sloshes over my hand and onto my grey Magnolia Hollow Police Department t-shirt. There’s a hole in the collar from Cole wearing it out before giving it to me.
“Wow…” I whisper, leaning closer to where she’s doing the foot-tapping I try to avoid. “Lots of help this morning, huh, Betts?”
“Winnie!” Mrs. Betty greets me cheerily, as if she didn’t hear me and totally not fuming about the fact I’m six minutes late. She hops to her feet faster than should be possible at her old age and wags one of her bony fingers in my face with a smirk. “You’re always showing up right in the knick of time.”
I blink a few times and drag my eyes away from her curved lips to her dark eyes. Her smile is scaring me. “But I always show up.”
Betty grumbles, grabs her large tote from the ground, and slings it over her shoulder. “Could try being on time for once, but nonetheless, you’re here!”
“I don’t see you ripping Cole a new one for being late.”
“Cole is working, Winifred,” Mrs. Betty admonishes me with a light smack on the back of my head.
I rub the spot and let out a soft, “ Ow .”
Mrs. Betty continues like she didn’t just assault me before I’ve even had time to finish my coffee. “Besides, Cole does too much around here. He’s a good boy. That one deserves a break.”
“I’ve been here for every clean-up,” I state, tucking a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear. “Doesn’t that mean I deserve a break?”
“No. Now come on. You’re wasting time by blabbing.”
“Yes ma’am,” I salute her and grin at the way she rolls her eyes.
She starts hobbling towards Mr. Taylor’s truck where she and the Mayor have laid out neon safety vests, gloves, and garbage bags in the bed of his truck for people to grab. There’s a small tub with various half used tubes of sunscreen and a couple of sweat-stained ball caps.
Grabbing a tube of sunscreen, I squirt a dollop in the palm of my hand then begin rubbing it onto my arms and neck. My arms stretch behind my head to rub choppily at the nape of my neck, and I sigh as I give up, continuing to spread the leftover lotion onto my hands and fingers.
“Need some help?” A voice speaks from behind me, and I startle as an arm darts around my hip, grazing my shirt, to grab the bottle of sunscreen I’d dropped to the bed of the truck.
I swallow as I shake my head. “No.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
Beck’s answering chuckle forces the dormant butterflies in my belly to take flight, fluttering around as I turn to face him.
I decide then and there that just-rolled-out-of-bed, messy hair, baggy t-shirt, and athletic shorts is my favorite version of Beck. His shorts are so tiny I can see more of his hairy thighs than should be allowed, and I spy another small tattoo above his knee. His chocolate brown hair is messy and fluffy, his fingers tugging at the strands as I stare at him, and my fingers itch to comb through the locks just once.
His face softens as he meets my stare. “What?”
“You look sleepy.”
“You look beautiful.”
My eyes widen, and my mouth parts on a gasp.
For three days, I’ve held strong in my desire to erase Beck from my brain.
Three whole days I’ll never get back.
“You think– ”
I’m cut off by Gus’ hand clapping his friend on the shoulder as he winks at me and grabs the bottle of sunscreen. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”
He carefully applies the cream to his nose and cheeks then squirts another dollop on his fingertips and begins rubbing it onto Ben’s face. Ben just stands there, eyes fluttering closed as he sways slightly towards Gus then back again. Beck puts his own sunscreen on, using less of the product than the other two guys.
“Do y’all really need sunscreen?” I ask as I watch them.
Beck shrugs, “Sun is still damaging even if we don’t burn.”
“UV rays and all that shit,” Gus chimes in as he slaps Ben’s face a couple of times to signal he’s done. “I want to look sexy even when I’m fifty. Not old and wrinkly.”
“Your dad isn’t old and wrinkly.”
Gus grimaces. “Ew. I don’t want to look like him either.”
I turn away from them with a roll of my eyes, ready to get back into the mindset of pretending I have no clue who Beck is. The plan has been working just fine until now, so I wander away from the boys with a garbage bag and a pair of gloves.
Cole has banned me from using one of the pokers after I almost stabbed him a few months ago, so I struggle into a pair of too-tight gloves and hope for the best now.
“Wait up.”
My head snaps around to see Beck jogging to catch up with me as he pulls on a pair of gloves, too. A smile tugs at his full lips, and I find myself caught up in how different he looks after two years once again. In so many ways, it’s the same kid I grew up watching as he slammed hockey pucks at his garage door.
Beckett Hale still has the same soft, blue eyes that are brighter in the morning light, and dimples indenting his cheeks cutely. Somehow, he manages to be both so tall and so graceful when he moves and almost as clumsy as I am. He’s added a few new bumps and bruises to his collection, and I can still see the fading scar through his bottom lip.
“Winnie?” He snaps his fingers in front of my face.
My cheeks heat as I blink my eyes up and away from his face. I step away from him and pick up a small piece of a ripped up piece of plastic, shoving it into the garbage bag.
He’s still standing there, eyes following me as his smile grows, and I snap at him. “Stop being a creep.”
“What am I doing?” He asks with a smile so wide it has to hurt.
“You’re…” I try to find the words. “You’re everywhere. Go back to Texas or something.”
Beck slaps a hand over his heart, fingers digging into his t-shirt. “Ow. You’re hurting my feelings.”
Ignoring him, I scowl and keep scouring Main Street for litter. I like to walk through the cemetery and loop around towards the beach to meet up with the rest of the group.
It’s not until I’m nearing the stone entrance to Hollow Graves that I hear the crunch of twigs behind me. Beck is still trailing behind me—hands full of garbage.
I stop and stare at him. “Why are you still following me?”
He shrugs, haphazardly opening the garbage bag and dumping his collection inside. “Why not? You suddenly don’t like me?”
“It’s not…” I trail off, breathing through the frustration. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t go with Ben and Gus.”
“I see them all the time.”
“And?”
Beck shrugs again, walking ahead of me into the cemetery. His feet crunch over leaves and twigs, and he bends at the waist to pick up a gum wrapper.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Beck says when my feet move.
Butterflies erupt in my belly.
Now things shift again, reminding me that sometimes things don’t change. Like usual, the tables have turned, and I’m the one tripping over myself to follow after Beck. Or, at least, how I’ve always wanted to in the past. My feet are moving faster and faster to keep up with him even after I told myself to stop.
I’m so caught up in Beck and the way he’s guiding me through the cemetery that I trip over one of the flat headstones. Stumbling over Thomas Gooding’s grave, I apologize silently and chase after Beck .
“Let’s not talk about it,” I finally manage when Beck glances back at me with curious eyes.
“Have to talk about the things that upset you eventually, Winnie.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you’re insinuating that you have something to apologize for right now, and I’m trying to tell you that you don’t.”
Beck snorts, arm bumping into my shoulder as we walk side by side now. “I didn’t insinuate anything… But you were upset that night. You know, I would’ve introduced myself to your mom, right? Explained things.”
“See?” The word bursts out of me, and I tug his arm so he stops walking and looks at me. I don’t know why I’m choosing Hollow Graves as my safe spot to voice my insecurities, but I can’t keep the words from exiting my mouth. “That. Why? Why would you introduce yourself, Beck? Why would you care?”
Beck stares down at me, and it’s almost like I can see the wheels turning in his head as he listens to me.
“She was angry because you were talking to us.”
No point in lying. “Yes, and I can handle it.”
“I could’ve talked to her or?—”
I square my shoulders and waggle a finger in his face to cut him off. “I am a woman. Maybe I wasn’t two years ago, but I am now. I can joke about penis nicknames even if they don’t make sense. I don’t think everyone does that, though, right?”
“I’m not sure. Should I go ask Mrs. Betty if she does?”
“No!” I gasp. “My point is?—”
“Yeah, what is the point here?”
“—that I’m not a child, so stop treating me like one. I can handle my mother.”
Maybe . I know for a fact I wouldn’t be able to handle Beck interjecting himself.
Beck inhales, blue orbs locked on my amber eyes. Finally, he nods his head once. “You’re right. I’ve been assuming you couldn’t handle yourself, and you can.”
“And I—wait…really?”
Beck chuckles, hand lifting to run through his hair before remembering his gloved hands, and he drops it back to his side. “Really. I’m sorry for trying to coddle you. I think… Fuck, I’m just going to say it. I just like the idea of being able to take care of you in some way.”
My eyes widen, and my cheeks heat under his intense gaze. Sincerity creases the corners of his eyes, and it’s refreshing even if I’m surprised.
“I didn’t expect you to apologize. Or say… that .”
Beck raises a brow, ignoring that last part. “What’d you expect?”
“I guess I expected you to act like it wasn’t a big deal.”
“I like to think that even though my frontal lobe hasn’t fully formed yet I’m emotionally mature enough to understand that, even if it’s not intentional, we still hurt people’s feelings. I don’t get to say that something I said or did didn’t make you feel that way.”
I can feel my brow furrow in a way that makes it seem like maybe Beck has grown a second head while we’ve been talking instead of talking maturely.
Looking towards the other stone entrance to the park that exits near the street our childhood homes are on, I chew on my bottom lip. This conversation certainly isn’t helping me get over the obnoxious crush I’m harboring for Beckett. In fact, being able to say that I know for a fact that he’s emotionally mature for his age makes it even harder to tell myself to stand tall in my avoidance.
“As for the other thing,” he continues, “it doesn’t have to mean anything more than what it does.”
“What?”
“Friends care about each other, right?” Beck asks, looking at me expectantly. “And we’re friends, right?”
Friends? There’s no way I could be just friends with Beck when a single look from him makes my heart go into overdrive and parts of my body come alive for the first time ever. But I don’t know how to say that to him.
So I say, “Right.”
Beck smiles softly, like that one word makes him happier than it should. “Good.”
Swallowing, I hook my thumb over my shoulder towards the exit. “We should get to the beach before they send a search party…”
“Sure.”
Beck steps around me with a small smile, seemingly content to drop the subject and continue on with our trash pick-up. His t-shirt is too big, and it flaps in the breeze as he bends to pick up another piece of plastic.
The problem is that I don’t know what to say now.
I had built Beckett Hale up in my head to be somebody that he’s never been because I didn’t know him. I’ve had to conjure up this version of a guy and mold him in my mind to something that might resemble him, and it turns out that the real Beck is better than anything I’ve ever been able to think of in my brain.
Sure, I always assumed he’s a sweet and kind guy. I also assumed he’d act like he might be better than me and half the people in this town, but he acts like going to college and playing a sport so well coaches are scouting you to play professionally isn’t that big of a deal.
He treats me like we’ve been friends forever. Like even though we haven’t really had a conversation in two years, we’re old friends. He acts like he’s never noticed the way I hang on every word he’s ever spoken, like Shakespeare himself possessed Beck and wrote every thought just for me. He acts like he’s never noticed the way my eyes seem to find him in every crowd, pulled to him even when I’m visibly trying to pull them in the opposite direction.
Beckett Hale acts like he’s never seen me before now, and that revelation feels like a punch to the gut and transcendent at the same time.
Sienna would tell me to stop overthinking and enjoy the fact that he’s seeing me now.
Beck pauses when he realizes I’m not following him, and my breath catches when he flashes me a small grin, his dimples barely there in his cheeks.
“Coming?”
My lips twist as I watch him. Then I take a step toward him. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
“Oh, is that strawberry?”
Cole swipes his finger through the top of the cupcake I just finished icing, and I let out a squawk as he twists away quickly with a laugh to evade my wrath.
“That’s it! No cupcakes for you,” I tell him, trying to figure out if there’s going to be a way to keep his greedy fingers away from the sweet treats. “You probably have cow poop all over your hands.”
Cole holds up his hands, palms facing me, as he grins. “Nope. I could perform surgery right now. These things are that clean.”
Rolling my eyes, I bend over the counter and keep piping icing onto the vanilla cupcakes. There were only twenty-four cupcakes to pipe, so it’s nothing compared to a typical workday for me with Gwen.
In fact, it was Saturday, which is a prep day for all the cooking Beth and I do on Sundays.
Sundays were something sacred in Magnolia Hollow. Not for religious reasons, really, but more so for the way there seemed to be an unspoken rule that Magnolia Hollow seemingly came to a halt on the seventh day. The Fletchers always make a big meal for anyone who wants to come to Bluebird Ranch and eat something homemade. Since the first week they moved to town and opened their ranch years ago, the Fletcher’s have always welcomed the community through their gates.
Even when they had nothing, they gave back.
Beth, Cole’s mother, is one of the best cooks I know. She’s a jack of all trades around here, and she’s part of the reason I can navigate a kitchen as well as I can.
About a year ago, Cole invited me to have lunch on the ranch on a random Saturday, and it sparked an instant bond between his family and me. Beth gave me an unofficial part-time job helping her whenever I had time away from Sugar. During that time, she taught me how to work the stove and oven, how to chop vegetables, and even how to make homemade bread.
Now, I make sure I’m on the ranch bright and early to help peel potatoes and knead dough. My help takes a load off of Beth as well, and I enjoy seeing her relax more after becoming such a maternal figure in my life.
As if on cue, Beth flits into the kitchen with a grin on her bright red lips and a denim apron over her pale yellow dress. Her dark, graying hair is in a claw clip, a jumbled mess of strands that falls all around her face. She kisses Cole on the cheek, a smudge of red left behind, before she comes and does the same to me.
“Where’s your daddy, kiddo?”
Cole rolls his eyes at the endearment but says nothing. “ At the barns with Matt, I guess. I only got here ten minutes ago.”
Beth clicks her tongue. “Long shift?”
Cole shrugs, arms crossing over his chest. “No different from the usual around here.”
“There’s not really any crime in the Hollow, is there?” I ask, genuinely curious, but then I smirk at him. “I figured you’d want to be wherever the action is, hotshot.”
“There’s crime everywhere, Win,” he states incredulously, like he can’t believe I genuinely might think Magnolia Hollow is crime-free. “There’s plenty of action for me here.”
Beth pats her son on the shoulder and picks up the cupcake he’d swiped his grubby fingers through already, offering it to him with a grin. “You’re the heart of this Hollow, kid. Now eat this, and keep your fingers away from Winnie’s cupcakes, you hear me?”
Cole grabs the cake and kisses her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.” He shoots me a wink as he splits the cupcake in half to make a sandwich out of it.
Cole and Beth continue to talk around me as I finish the cupcakes and move them aside, so I can shape the dough to make a few pans of rolls. They should’ve been baking in the oven a few minutes ago, but I should’ve known Cole would have me flapping my jaws more than usual, goading me along into the conversation instead of focused.
I’m tucking and rolling my third small ball of dough when the kitchen door swings open, booming voices entering the room, and startling me.
Calvin Fletcher claps his son on the back and gives me a one-armed hug before wrapping his arms around Beth’s middle, kissing her neck.
Their love sends flutters through my heart.
It makes me believe in the sappier things in life, like soulmates and true love and love at first sight. The things my parents made me think couldn’t possibly exist.
Matt hugs me, too, ruffling my blonde hair before punching his brother in the arm, which ultimately results in a back and forth that I don’t enjoy being in the crosshairs for, and I back away before I get swept away in their antics.
“Lemon strawberry cupcakes?”
I send Matt a small, knowing grin. “She said she wanted them so…”
Matt shakes his head and chuckles. “You’ll spoil her. She’s four. My daughter doesn’t need to have control over the desserts yet.”
“Nonsense,” Beth interjects. “What my Blake wants is what she’ll get. You’re the dad. You’re the only one who has to tell her no.”
“Yeah, and I have to hear Naomi complain about it at every swap. She has a sweets radar, mama.”
Beth waves her hand and scoffs. “She does not. She has a ‘ let me make Matt miserable ’ radar, and you let her think she’s got you by the balls, son. ”
The snort leaves me before I can stop it. I’ve only met Naomi, Matt’s ex-wife and Blake’s mother, a handful of times. She’s a tiny, fiery brunette with an attitude that’s unexpected. I think she and Matt get along for the most part until one of them starts dating again. Then all the good co-parenting they’ve been practicing goes right out the window.
Beth and Calvin say it’s been pretty textbook. They divorced two years ago, and Beth says that’s not enough time to fully move on from the situation for either of them yet.
Matt’s been rather vocal about how much he doesn’t want to date again. How being a single dad and helping his father run the ranch is enough for him to handle in a day without adding a woman to the mix.
“Mama,” Matt groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “She’s still Blake’s mom.”
Beth holds up her hands, mouth wide. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Blake isn’t even here.”
“Alright, ladies,” Cole interjects, arms spread out like he’s breaking up a fight between the two of them. “That’s enough.”
Matt punches him in the arm again.
It’s at that moment that Holden Wright, one of the many ranch hands, bursts through the kitchen door with a grin on his face and a small chick in his hands.
“Look who I found!”
Matt stares at Holden for a solid thirty seconds, hands on his hips, before he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why would you bring that into my mama’s kitchen?”
Holden falters, mouth opening and closing. “But… Well, it’s the chick we were lookin’ for.”
Dropping my dough, I round the counter with a smile and a coo. I don’t touch the little thing, but I make little grabby fingers at the chick as it cheeps nervously in Holden’s hands. I look up at the man and grin.
“She’s so little.”
Holden returns my smile, dropping her lower toward my face. “She was stuck behind one of the feed buckets. I don’t know how she got there.”
I poke my bottom lip out. “Aw, how scary, huh?”
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” he says, clearing his throat as he looks down at me. “Are you usually here on Saturdays?”
“When I can make the time.” I flourish a hand toward the rolls and towards the cupcakes. “I like to help Beth whenever I can, even if it’s sporadic.”
Beth grabs my shoulders, squeezing happily. “And she’s a huge help now that she knows how to boil water.”
Cole gives a full body shiver. “Yeah, that was a scary time in all our lives.”
“Hey!” I glare at him across the room. “If it’s that scary, stop eating the things I make.”
Calvin snaps his head up from where he’s wandered over to the cupcakes I moved to the table. His mouth is full of cake as he speaks, “Ya heard that!”
“Will you guys leave the cupcakes alone?” I snap, flapping my hands at Calvin to shoo him away from the table. “I only made a small batch.”
Cole shrugs. “They’re for us, anyway.”
“It’s supposed to be dessert, you pig.”
“Oink, oink.”
Beth chuckles and begins gesturing at the door. “Okay, that’s enough. We need to finish up in here without you lot eating everything and pestering us.”
Calvin huffs. “Pestering?”
“Yes, pestering. Get out. All of you. Go back to the barns for all I care.”
“I need to go get Blake another pair of boots anyway. She’s harder on those things than the guys are,” Matt says, kissing his mom’s cheek before heading towards the door. He grabs Holden by the shoulders and spins him around. “As for you, put that thing back with its mother and stop bringing livestock into the house.”
Holden tucks his hands close to his chest and starts out of the room with Calvin on their heels.
Holden calls over his shoulder with a sweet grin. “Good to see you, Winnie.”
And then he winks at me.
I know it has to be at me because he’s looking straight at me and specifically addressed me. Maybe he has a twitch? Cole meets my eyes and raises a brow.
“What?”
He purses his lips. “Holden? Really?”
My brow furrows. “Really what? It’s just Holden. ”
“He was flirting with you, kid.” Cole crosses his arms over his chest. “Right, mama?”
“Oh, that boy is harmless,” Beth states dismissively. Then she looks over her shoulder at us with a sly grin. “But between us, he knew you’d be here today because I told him. He’s so smitten with you, Winnie.”
Cole chuckles.
Meanwhile, I squeak. “Smitten! What?”
“He’s a good, gentle boy.” Beth explains slowly, wiping her hands on her hand towel. “He’s not too old, and you know he’s a hard worker. Maybe a little thoughtless at times, but he’s sweet and caring. Cute as a button, too.”
Then she winks at me!
“Everyone needs to stop winking at me immediately!”
Beth huffs, and Cole looks like he’s having a psychotic break with the way he’s repeatedly winking at me.
“I know you’re young,” Beth says, stepping closer to me. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have fun. You do nothing for yourself, and you deserve to let a nice boy—or girl—take you out and spoil you a bit.”
“ Oh, my god. ”
Cole nods, pointing at his mom. “She’s right. By your age, I was… Well, I was living my life and enjoying myself. Let’s not focus on what I was doing actually.”
I take some solace in the way Cole ducks his head.
“I know you’ll go to college soon, and you’ll get thrown right into a social life,” Beth says casually, like she isn’t ripping my heart to shreds. “But you don’t have to wait to have a little fun, baby. ”
I squeeze my eyes closed, fully aware that I cannot cry right now without having to divulge my secret to the two of them.
My throat is thick as I speak. “Let’s talk about something else, please.”
Fortunately, Cole gets a phone call from work that means he has to leave, and I’m spared from his inquisitive looks and concern for another day. Beth is a little harder to shake, but eventually, she backs off, fussing over a pot on the stove that she almost burns.
It’s not until I’m taking bread out of the oven that I think about Holden again. The thought doesn’t last long because thinking of beautiful, kind men immediately makes me think of Beck.
Even if I had the inclination to date right now, I’m so hung up on Beckett that my brain won’t allow me to see anyone else. It’s crazy, I know.
I try to conjure up an image of Holden. He’s attractive, I’ll admit. Short, blonde hair that curls around his face. He mainly keeps his head covered by a cowboy hat, or at least whenever I see him. Most of the time, he’s in worn, dirty jeans, a snap-button shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and muddy boots.
Dark blue eyes, freckles over the bridge of his nose, red-blonde stubble on his cheeks and jaw, full lips.
But he doesn’t have dimples .
Holden doesn’t have dark hair, and the blue in his eyes doesn’t drown me every time I look into them. Holden doesn’t have tiny tattoos hidden underneath his clothes and a scar running through his lip. Holden doesn’t run through the sand every morning like a crazy person or wear a backwards cap. Holden doesn’t look at me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
Maybe if Beck wasn’t always in the forefront of my mind, I’d be able to give Holden a fighting chance, which is an absurd thought when there is no Beck and I anyway.
Beth is right about one thing, though. I deserve to have fun. Whether or not I leave Magnolia Hollow.