Chapter 4 The New Neighbor
The New Neighbor
Jake
Istill can’t get over my new work neighbor.
Holly is nothing like what I expected. For starters, she’s a woman, but not just any woman.
She’s it.
I know it in my bones.
At my age, there are some things you just know. And even though we just met, I know in the core of my being that Holly Sylvestra-Ashford is it for me.
I’ll never forget the moment I first laid eyes on her.
She was out in front of my coffeehouse with a broom, sweeping as though she were dancing in some ancient and timeless ballroom, her entire being illuminated with unbridled joy.
She’d had a green sweater on then that matched her eyes, but she may as well have been in a party dress for how radiant she looked.
Even the elements seemed to love her. The breeze caressing her skin and hair, the sun itself drawn into her orbit, haloing her. I’ll never forget the way the light played along the waves of her sandy-blonde ponytail, making it look like spun gold as it brushed against her elegant neck.
I’d wanted to know her immediately. Everything about her—who she is, her dreams, her desires. Even her fears, so that I could alleviate them. But mostly, I’d wanted to know her name. To hear the sound of her voice.
And now that I’ve heard her speak, I never want her to stop.
Holly.
She’s in my blood and I barely even know her yet. But that doesn’t matter. We have time.
Love at first sight is such a cliché, but that’s the funny thing about clichés—they’re only cliché until they aren’t. Then they’re so fucking real you don’t have words for it. So bone and blood deep your entire being resonates with the truth, the knowing. And it can be no other way.
Instalove, I believe it’s called. I know a few people it’s happened to, and they’re all doing well together, but I can tell from how skittish Holly is that I might have my work cut out with her.
I still can’t believe she was trying to move that huge-ass plant by herself. The rolling caddy alone was nearly twenty pounds. She’s strong though, I’ll give her that.
“That’s perfect, Jake,” she calls from outside her shop, and I can’t help grinning at the pure joy in her tone as I hold up her sign.
“You want to help do the honors?” I ask her, flattening the top edge of the decal to the glass to mark its final location.
“Could you?” she asks breathlessly. “I hadn’t anticipated how this would feel.”
I nod, understanding. I remember the day my first sign went up next door.
Now the glass is etched with The Mountain Brew’s logo, but that very first sign was hand-lettered by my sister-in-law and had been shipped to me all the way from Montana.
I’d placed it myself, going back and forth between the outside and inside, trying to get it in just the right spot. I’m glad I can help Holly with this.
I tell her so, and she rests her hands over her heart like someone at the end of a yoga class, still staring at her new sign, beaming.
I work quickly but thoroughly, making sure there are no air bubbles trapped between the decal and the glass. Whoever made her sign is skilled. They did a good job. It looks fantastic, and it suits her space. Just like she does.
Once I get it set, I join her on the sidewalk in front of her shop, admiring our handiwork.
“The Enchanted Florist,” I read aloud. “It’s perfect, Holly.”
She nods. I don’t miss the tears pooling in her eyes, but she’s smiling, so I know they’re happy ones.
“Thank you, Jake.” Her voice is almost a whisper, thick with emotion, and I resist the urge to wrap my arm around her.
That woman needs a hug, but we've only just met. And judging by how fast she pulled away from our handshake earlier, I doubt she’d appreciate me holding her now.
So, I just stand beside her in amicable silence, proudly surveying her new sign and her new space.
Sending her support with my mind and my presence, hoping she feels it.
After several minutes, Holly murmurs something that sounds a lot like, “This is really happening,” and I smile again.
“Welcome to Pineberry Springs,” I tell her, wondering if I’m the first person to do so.
She’s smiling when she looks away from the sign, and her unguarded happiness does something to my heart. I swear, I think it just grew.
“Do you actually have pineberries here?” she asks, still smiling. “Or did someone choose that name thinking it related to all the pine trees in the area?”
I laugh at her question, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms. It’s not the first time someone has asked about the pineberries, but usually, they want to know what they are. Leave it to a florist to actually know.
“We do,” I tell her. “They grow wild around here in late spring and early summer. My best friend, Zander, knows all the best spots most of the locals skip. I’ll have him pick you some if you’d like.”
She nods. “I think I would, thank you. And thanks for your help today, Jake. I appreciate it. Oh, and the coffee. That was delicious.”
Her cadence changes when she talks about the coffee, her tone smoothing, drawing out the word delicious, and I can’t help grinning. It fills me with delight to know she enjoyed it that much.
“Any time,” I tell her honestly.
We gaze at each other for a moment, and I fight the urge to reach out and tuck the hair that’s escaped her ponytail back behind her ear. I’ll bet it’s soft, and I long to touch her, but I doubt she’d appreciate the gesture right now.
Something shifts in her green eyes, and I can see her shut down. It saddens me, but I don’t let that show. I know we just met, and I’m obviously older than she is. Probably by a lot. That has to be a deterrent to her, not to mention that we work together. Well, next door to each other, anyway.
“Would you like help with anything else?” I ask before she can start in with goodbyes. “I noticed the hooks on the counter. Are those for the plants along the wall?”
She steps away, closer to the shop. “I can’t put those in yet. I need a stud finder.”
I can’t help the smirk that crosses my face at her admission, but I’m damn proud of myself for not making the obvious joke. My friends tell me I have the worst jokes. Dad jokes, they call them. Which is a total misnomer, because I’m definitely not a dad. Never have been, and never will be.
Or, at least, I never thought I would be. I wonder what Holly thinks about kids?
“I need to go to Clayton’s,” she says, breaking me from my musing.
Good thing, too, because it’s definitely too soon to wonder about things like kids with her. Hell, we barely know one another.
“For a stud finder?” I shake my head. “No need. I have one you can borrow. Better yet, let me help you get those hooks in. My drill’s charged and I have all the right bits.”
She blushes beautifully, and I realize what I just said.
I mean, I truly wasn’t trying for an innuendo, but she obviously went there, and now that she has, I do too.
I glance at her t-shirt again and try not to smirk at the hilarious artwork.
That would only add to her embarrassment, I’m sure, and as cute as she is blushing like that, the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
It doesn’t work though. She glances down at her chest and crumples into herself.
“Oh, my Goddess,” she huffs, trying to hide the graphic with her hands and arms. “I can’t believe you’re seeing my hoe shirt. I forgot I was wearing it. I didn’t think I’d meet anyone today.”
She rushes back into her shop, and I follow, chuckling.
I can’t help it, it’s too funny, and not just the shirt.
Although I have to admit, I like the joke.
Her t-shirt has the slogan, ‘A Dirty Hoe is a Happy Hoe’ artfully drawn around an image of one of those Rosie-the-Riveter-type women carrying a gardening hoe over her shoulder.
“My cousin gave me this shirt,” she defends, pulling the green sweater I’d seen her in earlier over her head. “I honestly forgot it’s what I was wearing. Oh, Goddess…” She shakes her head again, re-situating her clothes, and I laugh.
Even rumpled and flustered, she’s so damn adorable.
“What?” she frowns, reaching up to her hair. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She pats down the flyaways caused by the static from pulling her sweater over her head, and I can’t help myself. I step closer and reach a hand out to help her.
She jumps and steps back so quickly, I wonder if someone has hit her before, and unadulterated rage boils in my gut at the thought.
“Whoa, easy there,” I soothe, my voice thankfully calmer than I feel. “I was just going to help—”
“I’m good. Thanks, Jake.” Her words are curt. Short. And she’s crossed her arms over her chest again, her hands fisted this time, resting in the crooks of her elbows.
I raise my hands, palms out, placatingly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Holly.” I intentionally soften my tone and lower my voice, taking slow, calm breaths in an attempt to help her co-regulate. “No one is going to hurt you here.”
I won’t fucking let them.
I don’t say that aloud, though. Instead, I say the only thing I can. The truth.
“I thought your shirt was funny, and I don’t think you’re a mess. Not at all. In fact, I think you’re beautiful and brave and strong, and a complete badass for opening your own shop here. I’m glad you’re my neighbor, and I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here, Holly.”
She sighs and drops her arms. “Sorry, Jake. Instinct. I don’t know you, and…” Her eyes dart to the door and then to the plants lined up on the floor next to the wall. “I would like your help, only…”
She swallows heavily and shakes her head, obviously working herself up to something, and suddenly I want to know everything that led up to this moment in her life. And I want to know who hurt her, because somebody did.
And that’s not okay.
Thoughts of what I’d like to do to whatever asshole hurt her swirl, and I should probably be freaked out by how protective I am of this woman I’ve barely met, but I’m not.
Instead, I feel more grounded than I have in ages.
There’s a deep sense of rightness in her presence, and I find myself wanting to give her everything. All that I am, and a life without pain.
I know that’s not possible. Pain is a part of life. We live in a dualistic universe. Both sides must exist. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to do everything in my power to mitigate that side of the coin for her.
I take a step back and crouch down a bit so my eyes are at her level. I’m a good half-foot taller than her, and I don’t want her to feel like I’m looking down on her in any way. Not now, not ever.
“I’ve got you, Holly,” I tell her softly. “Whatever you need. Just tell me. You want me to go, I’ll go.” I know I’d hate it, but I’d do it anyway if she wanted me to.
Anything for her.
When you know, you know.
And I know.
“You want me to help you hang those plants? I’ll do it.” I search her face, fighting the urge to hold her close and tell her everything’s okay.
Truth is, I don’t know what’s in her mind right now, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t good.
“What are you thinking, Holly?” I ask gently. “I can’t honor your wishes if I don’t know what they are,” I add when she doesn’t reply.
She flattens her left palm over her heart again, and I wonder at the significance of that movement for her. It’s not the first time she’s done it today. Is she self-soothing? Or is it a protective position? Maybe it’s nothing, but I don’t think so.
“Tell you what,” I say after another stretch of silence, careful to keep my voice low and calm.
“I’m going to go next door and get my tools.
You take your time. If you don’t want my help when I get back, I understand.
You can still borrow my tools, and there’s no hard feelings at all.
I just want what’s best for you, Holly. Whatever that is, it’s cool. ”
She nods, her hand still on her chest, but she breathes out a soft, “Thanks.”
And that’s good enough for me.
I give her an encouraging smile, taking another step back as I straighten up, and she gives me a weak one in return.
I take that as a good sign, even though I hate how sad she looks as I back out of her shop.
Sad and alone.
Two things I hope to eventually help her with.
If she’ll let me.