29. Have You Ever Made Pasta Before?
HAVE YOU EVER MADE PASTA BEFORE?
To The Men That Love Women After Heartbreak by Kelsea Ballerini
Natalie
“Sorry, we’re closed!” I shout, not looking up from the last invoice I’m filing for the week. It’s been one absolutely wild week, but tomorrow is Friday, and other than Bella’s game, I have very little planned.
“Then why was your door not closed?” Holden asks, a slow smile spreading across his face as I immediately mirror it..
“Hey.” My efforts to contain my excitement are futile. I can’t help it. “Would you lock the door behind you?”
“Already done.” He stands in front of me, a white box with a pretty green bow in his hands.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” he whispers, drawing a fiery blush all over my face.
He’s been a constant presence this week, even coming over to my house on Tuesday to help me paint.
We ended up paint-covered, and things got really heated there for a second.
He gave me space immediately because I asked for it.
I’ve come to expect him now; it’s become my normal.
That doesn’t stop the giddy shiver that races through me every time I see him, though.
“You saw me yesterday,” I murmur, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I hold his gaze.
“Not enough.” He brushes his thumb against my chin, gently tugging my lip free—one of my favorite things. “I tried to make it earlier, but I got busy with work.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before leaning down to bridge the space between us, his lips on mine.
Short, sweet, perfect, as it always is.
“Mm, you taste so sweet,” he whispers against my lips.
“I just had some coffee. Want some before I clean it up?”
“Sure.” He settles in his usual spot.
“Oh, hey, actually, perfect timing today. Could you take me home? My van is at the shop.”
“Of course. Why didn’t you call me this morning? I would have brought you in.”
“Gee, I don’t know, because you live an hour away?”
Ah, the hard-to-talk-about topic. We haven’t discussed anything beyond the fact that we like each other and spend time together.
We haven’t talked about the fact that he lives in a different city, or that I’m a mom of two and he has none.
We haven’t talked about much, and it makes me nervous, but the girls are right.
I don’t have to want to marry him. I can enjoy his company and learn how to do this again.
Just because I married the one man I ever dated doesn’t mean I have to marry Holden—even though the thought of spending all my life with him definitely sounds appealing.
Premature, sure, but appealing, nonetheless.
“Not a big deal, really. Next time, call, yeah?”
“I don’t need your help, Mr. Clay.” I slide his coffee in front of him.
“I know you don’t.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He takes a sip, closing his eyes and smiling. “I know. But I can do it too. It doesn’t make you any less of a badass to accept help.”
I swallow hard, letting his words settle in my heart, and change the topic. Something about being the center of attention, even if for a split second, makes me uncomfortable every time. “Work was busy?”
“Mm-hm. Making sure everything is set for the gala.”
“Ohh, a gala?”
“Yes. Our biggest fundraiser of the year.”
“Fun!” I don’t even know if a gala would actually be fun. The closest thing I’ve ever been to a gala is the banquets for the football team I went to with Nick for years. That’s about it.
“I don’t know if I would use fun to describe them, but it’s a decent time at least, and for a good cause. We’re able to sponsor many kids from the money we raise, and there’s dancing if that’s your thing.”
Do I like dancing? Yes. Do I know how to dance? No.
“Which brings me to…this.” He slides the box he’s been holding forward.
“What is that?”
“It’s for you.”
“For me?” What the heck? “Why did you get me a present?” I ask, inspecting the box. It’s wrapped so delicately, I don’t even want to open it in fear of messing it up. Wow.
“Open it. It won’t bite.”
Smartass, I want to say, but I don’t, because unlike my daughter, I have self-control.
I pull the ribbon, untangling the precious bow, which unravels instantly. I take the top off, revealing something carefully wrapped in tissue paper. When I peel it open, I gasp.
“Holden.” I look up to find him grinning like a little boy.
Inside the box, there’s a Post-it that reads Be my date to the gala with beautiful earrings and a bracelet with gems that resemble emeralds. It’s beautiful, and… “I can’t.”
“Oh. You don’t like it?” He frowns. “It’s okay. I can get something else.”
“No, no, I- it’s beautiful. It’s not that.”
“Oh, then what is it?”
How do I explain to this man that this is too much? This must have cost so much money. “I can’t accept this gift from you.”
“Mm, why? You don’t want to go to the gala with me? It’s okay if you don’t. You should still keep them. I bought them thinking of you.”
“I could go, but this is, it looks, um, expensive.” I lift the bracelet and drop it as if it were made of fire.
“Who cares how much it costs?”
I freeze, tittering between telling him. How do I explain that spending money has never been something I’m comfortable with? How do I explain that without sounding like an ungrateful woman? “I do. This—”
“It’s a gift. They made me think of you. I would have brought you flowers, but considering you own this place, it would’ve been a little tacky of me to make you prepare a bouquet for yourself.”
“Holden.”
“Natalie.” He walks around the table and stands in front of me. “Would you go to this gala with me? It’s in a few weeks, so there’s time to find a sitter, but if you don’t want to go, I understand.”
I look down, escaping his gaze. Dang it. Why does he have to be so perfect when I struggle to even communicate something as simple as my mom was frugal, so I’m frugal, and this gift is not frugal. I don’t want to owe anyone, anything, ever.
“Look at me.”
I do, because it’s impossible not to.
“Do you want to go to the gala with me?”
I nod.
“Do you think there’s some sort of price tag attached to that gift? That if you take it somehow, I have leverage or something?”
No.
Maybe.
I shrug.
“Is this because they’re emeralds?”
“Are they?” I ask in shock.
He doesn’t have to say yes for me to know they are; his face says it all.
“Then I definitely cannot take this.”
“It’s not a wedding ring, Natalie. It’s just jewelry, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can take it back.”
I blink rapidly. They’re too expensive. How many hours did he have to work to pay for those?
He takes the box from my hands and slides it back on the table, turning my way and cupping my face. “I don’t ever want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, whatever the reason may be.”
I swallow hard.
“Holden,” I whisper.
“Just forget it. Really. You don’t have to take them, and actually, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to either.”
“I want to.”
“Okay, then yes to the gala?”
I nod.
“Good.” He smiles before kissing my cheek and going back to his seat to finish his drink.
I finish cleaning up and getting the place ready for tomorrow.
I work tomorrow, but I have Saturday off, and Ellie is coming in.
We’re closed Sunday for the first time in forever, since Monday is the first day of school, and I want to spend the day with the girls.
Maybe go for a picnic at the park or something.
We head to my house in silence in his fancy sports car. The box with the bracelet and earrings sits between us, reminding me of what an asshole I was a few minutes ago.
How do I explain to him that expensive things make me a little uneasy? I’m frugal, and it’s hard for me to even consider that someone would buy me jewelry without a reason. All my life, I’ve had to be conscious about spending money, so an expensive gift like this? It’s too much.
“Holden?”
“Mm?”
“It was really thoughtful of you to buy me a gift.”
“They made me think of you, but it’s all good. Really.” He brings his hand over to my side, squeezing mine before letting his rest on my thigh.
If this relationship is going to go anywhere, I have to be honest and explain, right?
The thought circles relentlessly, refusing to settle.
I can’t freak out and not tell him what triggered me.
That’s what healthy communication looks like, right?
Even though every instinct I have is telling me to shut down, to swallow it, to not risk being too difficult.
I already have so much baggage I bring with me.
My chest feels tight, like I’m bracing for impact. I curl my fingers into my thigh, grounding myself before speaking.
“You were a professional hockey player, right?” My voice comes out careful, and he notices, raising an eyebrow before answering.
“Yeah, why?” he answers easily, but I still flinch internally.
“Um, I’m assuming money is not an issue for you because of it.” The words feel clumsy as they leave my mouth, like they don’t quite belong to me, like I’m chartering unknown territory.
He looks my way in question, his attention fully on me now. God, this sounds so bad.
“This is coming out all wrong.” I rush the words, heat burning behind my eyes.
“It’s okay.” His voice lowers, gentle, calm. “Take your time. I’m patient, remember?”
Something in my chest cracks at that. He’s not annoyed. He’s not pulling away. I should’ve known. I swallow hard and keep going before I lose my nerve.
“I’ve never been able to buy something because I wanted it.
” My gaze drops, shame prickling even though I know it shouldn’t.
“I live comfortably, but I don’t have a lot of expendable money.
I wish I could actually scale the business so I don’t have to work six days a week for almost ten hours every time.
I budget hard if I want to get something, and it was always like that before, too. ”