Chapter 14
RADIOACTIVE BLUE, BURNT ORANGE AND SAGE GREEN
Someone New by Hozier · Keep Me by Novo Amor
Natalie
“So let me get this straight. You are making fun of my caramel core ice cream because it’s too gooey, and you’re eating that?”
He smiles before licking his, I kid you not, bubblegum ice cream.
“I was not making fun of you.”
“Oh no? Then what do you call scrunching up your nose like I ordered poison?”
He shakes his head, rolling his shoulders back. “It might as well be.”
“And radioactive blue ice cream is not?”
Holden holds open the door of the small ice cream shop, allowing me to step through first while he licks his triple scoop. He’s going to make a mess; good thing we picked up extra napkins.
The late July heat presses against my skin as soon as we step outside. Even in the shade of the faded blue umbrellas outside the ice cream shop, everything is warm, even at seven o’clock.
We sit to enjoy our ice cream in the most perfect spot in all of Baker Oaks for people watching.
When Bella was younger, I used to bring her here every week. Back then, I was a kid pretending to be an adult, trying to hold it together while Nick left for college and I tried to raise a daughter I wasn’t ready for but loved before I ever knew what love really meant.
People watching was our ritual. We’d sit, our elbows sticking to the cheap metal table, and watch strangers move through the sleepy streets.
I’d describe each one to her—little stories I made up on the spot.
We did that for years, even after Nick came back.
When she started preschool, I’d find myself pacing the house, missing my tiny shadow and our people watching routine.
A lot of people think they want kids. They don’t understand what raising them actually takes. They just want to pass down a name or check a box. They want to do what their parents did or fit into the mold society gave them.
I was like that once. Pregnant at seventeen, finishing high school by the skin of my teeth before Bella arrived. But I learned quickly—I loved being a mother. I loved her and who I became. I enjoyed being a mother.
For a long time, it was only me and her.
Nick was gone, and so were my parents. They moved out of Baker when Bella was two.
My friends also left, all off to college, living their carefree lives.
In the meantime, I chose a quieter one. Online courses, diving into books and our kid.
Parenting books, stories, anything that helped me feel less alone.
Because if I listened to every random person who thought they knew how to parent, I would’ve collapsed under the noise.
“Hey,” he says beside me in that soft, teasing tone he uses without thinking. “Where’d you go?”
His mouth is stained blue from his ice cream, and, as ridiculous as it looks, it makes me smile.
“Nowhere. Sorry. I was thinking…remembering.”
“Care to share?” he asks, and a while ago, I might have brushed it off, but in reality, I do kind of want to share.
“My oldest, Bella, and I used to people watch too. This used to be one of our favorite spots. I was reminiscing, that’s all.”
“You enjoy spending time with her,” he says quietly, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to cast judgement on a girl he doesn’t know. But he’s right. I do. I always have.
“I do,” I admit. “However, I wish I had more time with them. But…I have to do what I have to do to keep food on the table. They only have me.”
I sigh. “I love the bookstore. I do. But one day, I’d love to have weekends free. Maybe hire someone.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“For starters, I can’t figure out how to scale the business to have enough funds to hire someone else. It’s hard to find someone in a small town who wants to work weekend shifts too. It’s like hunting a unicorn, especially with the wine. I’ve thought about removing it, but we shall see.”
He lowers his head in understanding. “You know, if you ever want to talk about business strategies and investors, I’m happy to. That’s my wheelhouse.”
I consider him but don’t answer. He’s already helping me a lot; this would be too much. “Do you have kids?” I ask, shifting the topic away from the business.
He shakes his head. “No. I like them enough. Just never been in the plan.”
I study him. His broad shoulders would be perfect to carry a little one on them, and the quiet steadiness he exudes would be the best presence for when big feelings take over little bodies. “Do you want kids someday?”
He thinks for a beat. “Yeah, if life lines up that way. I’m thirty-six, though. Feels like the clock is louder these days.”
“There’s no perfect age,” I say. He licks blue ice cream from the corner of his mouth, and for one, strange moment, I forget how to breathe. I can’t even look him in the eye, and I know I am one hundred percent two hundred shades of red.
“I know,” he says. “I don’t want to be forty-five raising a newborn, though.”
“I get that,” I say. “Even at thirty-two, I feel exhausted sometimes. Not the same energy I had when Bella was little.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Want more kids?”
I laugh too hard—ice cream practically launches from my mouth. “Oh my God. Sorry.” He hands me a napkin, to contain the ice cream disaster, but at his torn face, I sigh.
“I can’t,” I admit. “I had a hysterectomy when Vero was born, so no more biological kids, even if I wanted to. I’m not saying I don’t want to—adoption is always an option—but raising two kids alone is already a lot.”
“Natalie, you don’t have to—”
“I know.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Oversharing seems to be the way this friendship is going.”
He places his hand on mine. Sharp electricity shoots up my arm. He must feel it too, because he pulls back like he grabbed a hot pan.
Great. So I’m not imagining it.
Maybe the loneliness of grieving made a nest in me, and now, everything feels too bright, too alive. But then why is he staring at his hand like it caught on fire too?
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “And…if you ever want to talk about all of it, I always want to listen.”
“Same here,” I say with a small, tired laugh. “If you ever want to share more about, well, anything.”
“I’m sure I will,” he adds. “I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut when I’m near you.”
A triumphant smile washes over my face. “I like that, considering oversharing is my middle name.”
We finish our ice cream—his, a monstrous three-scoop blue disaster with sprinkles and whipped cream that melted instantly in the Florida heat, mine, a single scoop. Because moms don’t have time for sticky hands or stomachaches, and I don’t have a giant sweet tooth.
“I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” I tease.
He smirks. “Guilty.”
We start walking toward Central Park, the heart of downtown. Ducks honk from afar, as the usual bustling people surround the pond—typical summer night material.
“So, Holden. Tell me about you.”
“There’s not much to know about me.”
“Well, I already told you about my lack of a uterus, my dead husband, my two children, and my age…” I shrug when I catch him sheepishly glancing at me.
“I also told you about my dead mom and sister, plus my alcoholic father who came back from the dead.”
Touché.
“Yeah, but all of those are things that happened to you. I want to know about you.” I smile. “Tell me all your secrets.”
He sighs, waiting for the sign to turn to cross the street, always staying a tad behind me. I like that, even though he’s hovering over me, he doesn’t touch me, since every time he does, my body seems to overheat, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Well, I’m Holden. I’m thirty-six.”
“Knew that.”
“You also know what I do for a living and that I like bubblegum ice cream.”
“I guess I do.”
“And that I live in Magnolia Springs.”
“Okay, yes, I knew that too. So what brought you to Baker Oaks in the first place? Your dad?”
“Yeah, and I was having a hard day, but then I happened to walk into a flower shop. A beautiful girl offered a stranger kindness, and now, that stranger can’t seem to stay away.”
My heart does that stupid thump thing every time he lets little words like that go. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, or if he’s just an eternal flirt. “Beautiful, huh?” I get the courage to ask.
He holds my gaze, showing me the sincerity behind his words. “You were wearing green overalls,” he says. “Long ones. Tiny flowers. Black shirt. Your hair was up with waves falling around your face. Green bandanna to match.”
He closes his eyes like he’s replaying it, like he memorized that day, and pulls at the memory when he needs it. Like he memorized me.
“You looked like you stepped out of a movie or one of those aesthetic boards,” he says. “And…that was it. I kinda felt at peace, even if for a moment.”
I swallow hard, but he continues, “You were so bright. Happy. Like you radiated something. I wanted to know the secret.”
“The secret to what?” I ask as we sit on a bench overlooking the dark green water.
“How you stay so happy,” he says. “How someone can live with that much…light.”
My chest tightens. The truth pushes in, clawing its way up and up, and I’m afraid it will spill. He thinks I’m light? Funny, because actually, I lost mine the day that hurting boy thought the only way out of his demons was by bringing a gun to school and accidentally killing my husband.
“There’s no secret,” I say. Then, I swallow the lump in my throat. “You fake it.”
His brows knit.
“You fake it,” I repeat. “Nobody is that happy all the time. Some of us are good at pretending.”
And God, it feels terrifying to be that honest. I do appreciate my life, and I am happy, but after Nick died…
there were days when I didn’t know how to breathe, days I thought I’d collapse under it all.
I thought for a moment my body would forget how to function.
I for sure thought if I ever lost Nick, I wasn’t going to survive.
We were so intertwined, our souls, hearts, and bodies, that once he wasn’t earthside, I believed I wouldn’t be able to keep going. I was wrong. My heart may theoretically be unable to beat without him, but physically, it kept going.
My lungs kept breathing.
My eyes kept blinking.
And I had to learn how to live a new life without half my soul. He doesn’t speak or move. He gives me space to, what? Think? Spiral? Miss my dead husband?
The thing is, I’m still here, so I try to spread a little of him everywhere I go, even now. Sitting here. Trying to see if dating again is possible.
He’d want that. He’d want me to try.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence and turning to face me. “What’s your favorite color?”
“What?” A laugh escapes me. What a random question.
“What’s your favorite color?” he repeats, not extra words or explanations. It’s like he feels the heaviness has me out of balance and wants to give me a place to land.
“Sage green,” I reply without hesitation.
He hums. “I figured.”
“What do you mean by that?
“Have you seen your house, the store, your clothes? It’s everywhere.”
You know what? He’s not wrong. Everything is green, and I don’t mind it.
“It makes your hair color pop.”
I smile and nod, because he’s right. As an only child whose parents didn’t have red hair, it was one of those things where I’d rather not stand out.
But the year I met Cara, she cried like the little drama queen she is, because according to her, it was not fair I got the most beautiful hair color.
I literally laughed at her and was like, nobody in our school has hair like me.
She side-eyed me, threw a French fry at me, and said, So you have the most unique hair around.
Way to be a queen without even trying. She made me feel like I was worth a million dollars, and ever since, I’ve embraced my hair.
Green makes the color pop, he’s right, and I love it.
“I think so too.”
He reaches over and slides a strand behind my ear. “It suits you.”
His dark amber eyes are locked on mine, engulfing me in this space and time and rendering me breathless. The world certainly stopped, right? Because all I can see is him, all I hear is the loud beating of my heart threatening to rip out of my chest.
He searches for permission. I shake my head, break the spell, and stand abruptly. “I better go. It’s getting late.”
He sighs, following. I don’t want to make this awkward, so I ask, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Burnt orange,” he states, pointing at the sky. “Like Florida sunsets.”
“So other than eating bubble gum ice cream, loving orange, driving and living in Magnolia Springs, and working with animals, what else is there to know about Holden?”
He shrugs. “Not much. I love my friends; they’re the only family I have. I love sports—”
“Oh, which sports?” Natalie, he already told you he played hockey. Why can’t you keep a coherent thought going? I’m so tired; it must be that.
He chuckles, deep, rough, all encompassing. “All of them? I told you I played hockey for a bit, but I also love mountain biking, rock climbing, scuba diving, and, even though I’ve never played, three of my close friends play baseball, so I enjoy that too. What about you?”
“As a proper southern belle, I love football. Can’t say I’ve ever watched a hockey game, but my oldest has been interested in it lately. She has a game coming soon.” We cross the street, leaving the park behind, getting closer to our vehicles. “So maybe I should start learning about it.”
He stays quiet, walking beside me but a tad behind, close enough that it’s obvious we’re walking together and for me to be able to smell his smokey scent. “I’m happy to teach you,” he murmurs, keeping enough distance, letting me keep my bubble, keep my space.
“This is me.” I smile, my back resting on my van’s door as I peer up at him. “Thank you for today. I had a good time. And for fixing so many little things.”
“I did too. I, um, would it be weird if I stopped by tomorrow after the hospital?”
“Nuh-uh. I’m expecting it now.”
I open the door, my hand behind my back, slowly sliding to the side and tossing my purse inside my messy van. I hold the door between us, adding a necessary barrier so I don’t accidentally fall into his arms and give him a hug for his understanding and kindness.
“Okay, good.” He leans against the door frame, letting me slide into my seat. He shuts the door and waves goodbye.
I roll the window down. “Good night, Holden.”
“Good night, Natalie. Text me when you get home, please?”
I nod and silently drive away with a smile I haven’t had on my face in a while.