16. Holden
Chapter Sixteen
Holden
I’m an intelligent person... I think.
So, I’m confused that I can’t seem to get this damn coffee right.
Ella showed me a thousand times how to do it, and I thought I was getting better.
The liquid that just raced down my throat proved that it isn’t true.
I’ve followed her instructions exactly. I’m an order-and-rules guy, after all.
That’s why I can’t make sense of how my coffee tastes nothing like the lightly citrus-flavored brew Ella used to make.
Instead, it tastes bitter, like I’m chewing on a sticky pinecone.
I’m not a fan.
I park my truck on the street, a few spaces down from Ella’s, climb out, toss the coffee into a trash bin, and head toward the alleyway that leads to the back of the building. That’s where the entrance to the apartment is. Apparently, we’re helping someone paint.
I’m eager to meet the new owner so I can feel her out and see if she’ll share her plans for the space.
I’ve also never seen the apartment above the bakery, and I’m curious what it looks like.
Plus, Georgie’s text didn’t leave much room for refusal.
I glance down at my phone and read it again.
A laugh escapes me. Our youngest brother’s best friend is something else.
Hey gang! Happy Friday afternoon. I’m looking for some help for my friend who bought Ella’s. If you can come help paint for even an hour or two today, that would be awesome. Ladies, I’ll give you all early access to the next book if you help!
Guys—if you don’t come, it’s fine. I’ll just write you into my next book as a villain with a vendetta against the world because he has a peen the size of my pinky finger.
But no pressure.
P.S. Holden—she’s off limits. She’s sticking around, so paws off!
When I reach the outside door that leads to the apartment, it’s propped open, and a mix of feminine laughter and voices drifts down the stairs.
I easily distinguish the voices of Delaney, Tillie, and Georgie among them.
The fourth voice, though—which I presume belongs to Georgie’s friend and the new owner of the bakery—doesn’t sound entirely new to me.
It’s familiar.
Yet I just can’t place it.
I’m almost all the way up the steps when I decide screwing with Georgie might be fun.
“I’m here, Georgie Porgie. Where’s the hot friend you lured me here with promises of intro—”
I halt.
My feet become rooted to the floor just inside the door. The women’s laughter slows, then stops. But I don’t look at them. I can’t.
Because I’ve glued my eyes to the pretty blonde standing less than twenty feet away.
Am I seeing things? It can’t be her.
Any doubt vanishes when I take in her expression. Her mouth hangs open, and her wide eyes stare directly back at me. Within seconds, a neutral expression settles over her face, but the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrays that she’s not unaffected. And that she definitely recognizes me.
For a moment, relief washes over me. It’s fleeting. Replaced by a pounding in my chest and tightness in my lungs.
We hold eye contact. Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches long enough for me to pull myself together.
“Lizette.” Her name comes out just above a whisper. Rougher than I intended.
She clears her throat.
Despite the other women’s presence, it’s the only sound I hear.
“Hello, Holden.” She takes a measured breath.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
I need to tear my gaze away from hers. Away from those damn eyes I spent so many nights staring into. Back then, I was certain I was looking at my future. I don’t need those memories. They come attached to others, filled with pain.
“What? I live here,” she replies.
I rub a hand over my eyes in frustration, mostly to buy myself a few seconds.
“Not here.” I gesture around the room. “Here as in Aron Falls. Jesus, I forgot how literal you are. Unless that wasn’t real either.”
The vitriol in my last few words is unmistakable.
She winces. It’s subtle, but I don’t miss it.
I expected fire. Expected anger. Instead, I see hurt. The same expression she wore the first night I chose to cause her pain rather than humble myself and fight for her.
What the hell is wrong with me? I swore if I ever got the chance again, I would do things differently. Yet here I stand, a decade later, acting like an asshole again.
Before I can apologize, Harrison’s booming voice fills the room.
“Pizza’s here!”
I glance over my shoulder as Harrison sets several pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. Hayden follows behind him, carrying two twelve-packs of soda.
The second Hayden sees Lizette, he freezes.
As I glance back toward her, she’s already rushing toward the door.
“Excuse me. I-I, uh… I need air.” Her words are rushed and laced with anxiety.
Shit.
I can’t react fast enough. She’s already halfway down the stairs by the time I reach the doorway.
Hayden’s reflexes are quicker than mine.
He’s pulling me backward before I can chase after her.
“Is that—”
“Yes. Now let me go. I need to talk to her.”
I try to free myself from his grip.
Before I can, Georgie appears in front of me. Her face is bright red. She pokes me in the chest. Hard.
“What the hell was that about, H?”
“Ouch. That hurt, Georgie.” I rub the sore spot.
“Yeah? Well, you’re about to hurt a lot more if you don’t tell me why you just treated Lizzie like that.”
“I... I, uh...”
A cackle erupts from the corner. Ruthie.
I glance over and find her coloring with Layla and Lena. Lena is completely oblivious. Layla is not. She’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. I wonder how I missed them sitting there, but honestly, it’s no surprise. I couldn’t focus on anything except Lizette.
Ruthie pushes herself up from the floor. Layla takes her hand. Together they stalk toward me.
My pulse quickens. There may be decades between their ages, but those two are a formidable pair.
“Well, Georgie,” Ruthie says, never taking her eyes off me, “looks to me like it’s about another Aron boy being hell-bent on doing things the hard way.”
“What does that even mean? No, I’m not. And doing what?” Ugh. They’re all messing with my head.
“Screw this. I’m going to find her and make sure she’s okay,” Georgie says.
“No, you’re not, Georgina. I’m going.” Ruthie’s declaration surprises everyone.
Georgie plants a hand on her hip. “I’m going. She’s my friend. She barely knows you.”
“She’s all of ours now, young lady. That’s how it works.” Ruthie points toward the walls. “Now get your sassy ass painting. All of you. While I go fix what Casanova here messed up.”
Just like that, Ruthie disappears down the stairs.
One by one, everyone returns to painting. Even Georgie. Though she huffs dramatically while doing it. Lena goes back to coloring.
But Layla remains planted directly in front of me. She’s standing stock-still, head tilted, eyes boring into mine. The silence is unusual. And frankly, it’s freaking me out.
“Ladybug, why are you looking at me like that? Say something.” Get it together, man. She’s six. How bad can it be?
“I don’t want to embarrass you, Uncle Holden, but that was cringe.”
Laughter erupts throughout the room. I look up to find several family members openly watching us. Only Delaney and Tillie continue painting. However, Tillie is definitely smirking.
Layla puts her hands on her hips. “You’re almost as bad as Uncle Harry was when he first got in love with Delaney.”
Even Harrison laughs. Hayden—who rarely smiles these days—is grinning. Everyone is.
Except Georgie. And me.
I’m so shocked that I choke on my own saliva. A second later, someone tugs on my pant leg. I glance down.
Lena stands there with her arms raised. “Up, Unca Hoden.”
When I lift her into my arms, she pats my back with her chubby hand. After my coughing subsides, she rests her head on my shoulder.
“Layla, that’s different. Uncle Harry and Delaney... I went to school with Lizette. I was just surprised to see her.”
Layla shrugs. “You were surprised, but you gotta ‘pologize. It’s the next right thing. Mommy says you should always do the next right thing.”
I glance toward Tillie. She’s watching now. Her eyes are suspiciously glassy, and her smile couldn’t be bigger.
Layla pats my leg and wanders back to her coloring. Then she pauses and looks up.
“Oh, and don’t tell her about loving her yet. You’ll freak her out.”