Lizzie
Chapter Twenty
“Screw you, jerk!”
I’m furious, and that fuels the rash decision I make to assault the booth that’s hanging halfway out of the dumpster behind my property. I already got two into it, so why this one is more difficult, I’m not sure.
Unfortunately, there are three more after this.
I’m pretty sure this might be how I die. Okay, I’m being overly dramatic.
As soon as my foot contacts the edge of the booth, I immediately regret it, and I scream in frustration.
“Are you okay?”
It’s a voice I would recognize anywhere. Smooth and deep.
I glance to my left and see Holden standing there, holding a clipboard with a frown and a look of concern on his face.
“I’m fine.”
Any sane person would hear the rage in my voice and keep walking. But not Holden Aron.
I turn my body to face him. He takes a few steps forward, and then he’s only about three feet from me.
“You sure? Because it looked like maybe you were losing the battle with this booth.”
Smartass.
He hands me his clipboard, then steps closer to the dumpster, lifts the booth up, and flips it into the dumpster as if it weighs nothing.
A thank-you would be appropriate, but I don’t have it in me right now.
“What are you doing here, Holden?”
I’m not sure why I can’t seem to stop my words from coming out so sharp whenever we talk. I mean, I know why on the larger scale of things, but that was so long ago.
His head jerks backward, and a flash of hurt passes across his face. I’m sure it’s because of my tone.
I sigh. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m just annoyed. What can I do for you?”
I swipe a forearm across my sweaty forehead to push the hair back from it. Great. This isn’t a look I want him to see.
He frowns, which I can hardly stand, but then a sad smile forms on his handsome face, and that somehow feels worse.
I’m irritated with myself for that. Why do I respond to him like this? Whatever went on with us burned out years ago. Right?
“Well, I’m here because you hired Aron Family Builders and Restoration to complete your project, which includes knocking down the wall between your two units and remodeling the other side.”
“Okay. And are you here to give me another quote or something?”
He grins.
“Nope. I’m the structural engineer. I need to check the walls you want to tear down and make sure they aren’t load-bearing walls. If they are, then we’ll need to put that into the plan so you’ll have enough support for the structure. Especially given that you’ll be living in the housing upstairs.”
Watching and listening to this gorgeous specimen of a man speak smart talk is sexy as hell.
I lose myself thinking about that for several seconds until Holden clears his throat. I blink a few times and then nod.
“Okay, well, I guess I can show you what I’m hoping to do, and then I can keep working while you do whatever you need to.”
“By working, do you mean trying to lift these heavy booths all by yourself into a dumpster that’s not much shorter than you?”
His implication that I can’t do it rankles my inner superwoman.
“Yes. I’ve already gotten two in. I only have a few more.”
“Can you just wait on that? There’s a lot of information I may need from you, so it would be best if you stayed with me while I complete the assessment.”
I could use a break, and I’m thirsty as heck. I feel my shoulders relax in defeat over this battle with the booths.
“Okay, I can do that. Let’s go inside. Do you want any lemonade?”
I finally have my drink mixer running, and I’m able to make my grandma's lemonade. It’s delicious.
We walk into the space, and he follows me over to the lemonade maker.
“I don’t really like lemonade. But water would be okay if you don’t mind.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, then pivot to face him.
“Who doesn't like lemonade?”
The right side of his mouth lifts just a hint. I remember that about him—how his mouth does that when he’s trying not to grin or laugh. I loved that, and I force myself to look away.
“It’s too sour and a little plain.” He shrugs.
“Well, you haven’t tried my grandmother’s, so just take a sip for me. Then, if you still want water, I’ll give you water.”
He chuckles. “I forgot how stubborn you are.”
“I prefer the term persistent.” There’s a hint of teasing in my voice.
“Okay, just a little—like an ounce. No more.”
I pour him a sample and then a glass for myself.
I watch him as he prepares to drink it. He actually plugs his nose.
“Oh my gosh, are you being serious right now? You don’t need to plug your nose for the lemonade. It’s not putrid.”
He removes his fingers from his nose but holds the glass low and in front of him.
“If it smells like lemonade, I might have an aversion to it right off the bat. I’m trying to prevent that.”
“This isn’t science, Holden. You don’t have to overthink it. Just take a sip.”
He inches the glass to his mouth, and I see him sniff. Then his eyes widen in surprise.
“Hmm. This one actually smells okay. Maybe even good.”
He takes a tentative sip, and then another, before tossing back the rest. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue a few times and then looks directly into my eyes, his expression serious.
“This is actually great. Like, I would drink this.”
He seems shocked that he enjoyed it, and I can’t help but smile.
“So, is it this or water?”
“I think I’ll have a glass of this if that's still okay.”
“Nope, too late.” His face falls, and I chuckle. “I’m just kidding. Absolutely.”
He graces me with a full Holden Aron smile.
I fill a glass for him and top off mine, as I’ve already downed half of my first.
He walks to one of the remaining booths, then peers at me.
“Can we sit and talk about your project for a few minutes?”
I’m reluctant for a few seconds, but then decide it’s all right since it’s for professional purposes.
Otherwise, I can’t let myself forget he’s my past. He can never be my present.
No one can, as long as Landon is hell-bent on ruining everything I care about unless he gets his way.
That usually means trying to weasel his way back into a relationship with me.
Besides, Holden hurt me in a way that I felt deep down in my soul. I force the thoughts out of my head. They hurt too much to revisit.
I join him at the table, and we gingerly sip our lemonade for an awkward minute or two.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “What do you need to know from me?”
He sets his glass down and licks his lips. Unfortunately, my eyes catch the action. I must be needing some time with my trusty vibrator because this is like the third thing he’s done that’s turned me on. I don’t like that. It’s not safe for any part of me.
He watches me thoughtfully but, fortunately, says nothing.
“Well, I want to talk through what I understand the project to be, and then we’ll make sure that’s your understanding as well. If it is, then we’ll walk around and look at the structure. If it isn’t, then we’ll talk about what you do want.”
“Okay. That sounds all right.”
We spend the next fifteen minutes with Holden describing, in perfect detail—structurally, anyway—my vision for the other room.
When he has completed his spiel, we walk over, and I show him the wall that I would like removed to join the two spaces.
Then I grab my keys, and we lock the café and head next door.
I open the gorgeous vintage wooden door, and we walk in.
It doesn’t need the same level of work that the café did, but it is definitely dusty.
“I’m sorry I haven’t cleaned yet. I figured there was going to be construction anyway, and I was focusing on the café, so—”
“Li... Lizzie, stop explaining. I totally get it. You’ve got a ton to do. You’ve already done the upstairs, and you’ve got a lot done next door.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a lot. Then add in dropping off and picking up my son from day camp, and I am—”
“Y-you have a son?”
His voice is low. He sounds shocked.
The tension in the room just went from zero to 60 in a split second.
My mouth drops open, and my chest squeezes.
I assumed he would know from Georgie. Plus, Harrison and Layla already met Simon. Tillie and Delaney know as well because they were at my house helping me with some decorating when Simon was there. I assumed someone would’ve told him.
It’s clear from his fallen features that they have not.
“Yes, I do.”
“How old?” he asks. His voice cracks.
“He's six and a half.”
Holden says nothing. His mouth is slightly ajar, and his expression is flat, telling me nothing. It’s his eyes that speak the loudest as they narrow slightly, piercing me. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting this news today.
“I assumed, because he’s met so many of your family, that someone would’ve told you. He’s completely enthralled with Layla, by the way. They were playing at the park the other day, and it was adorable. She brought out a spirit in him that I haven’t seen in a long time.”
“Even Layla knows?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Are you... Are you married?”
I try to mask the strain I’m certain is showing on my face when I remember Landon telling me that we’d be married eventually.
I suspect he truly believes his family’s money and power keep nothing out of his reach.
But I’m not for sale. It pains me that Landon is the man Holden thinks I chose over him.
I shake my head.
“Who is your son’s fa—”
I interrupt him, unable to have this conversation right now.
“Holden, can we not talk about this right now? I’m sorry that you didn’t know.
I didn’t mean for it to catch you off guard.
But it’s been ten years since... since we were friends.
People’s lives undergo major changes in ten years.
They do things. Get married. Have children.
Buy houses. They travel if that’s their dream.
I’m not the same woman I was when we were younger. ”
“I didn’t,” he whispers.
“Huh?” I heard him, but I don’t understand.
He runs a hand through his hair, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes for a second. Then he takes a few deep breaths and opens them again.
“I didn’t do any of those things. I’m the same guy I was when we were younger.”
At first, hearing him say that, as if maybe I meant something to him, pains me. But then I remind myself of the few weeks before the end of that semester. A sarcastic laugh escapes me, and I shake my head in disbelief at his impression of himself and that he expects me to buy it.
“I don’t know about that, Holden, because the man I met in the library and spent all those hours with is not the man I last saw before I left school. So, which one is it? Which was the real you? Or was I just stupid all along?”
“Our time spent together in the library is the most real I’ve ever been. The only time I felt free to be me.”
A pain grips my chest. Do not believe him. Why am I letting this go on? Nothing good can come of hashing this out. Still, I can’t seem to stop.
“Listen, you’re right. It’s been ten years. We’ve changed.”
He grabs the back of his neck with one hand.
“But that doesn't mean we shouldn’t sit down and talk about what happened with us and—”
“Please, stop.” I rest my forehead against the nearest wall and close my eyes. “I can’t do this right now. Okay?” I whisper.
I twist my neck to look at him and wait for him to respond.
He stares at me with sad eyes.
“Okay. I’m sorry. Uh, I’m just going to measure the walls, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I push myself away from the wall and stand upright.
“Thank you. I’m going to go upstairs to do some things if you don’t need me. When you’ve finished, lock this side, please. I’ll leave the other side unlocked so you can get your backpack.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
He pulls out his measuring tape and begins his work.
I leave without another word and go upstairs.
I have some time before I have to get Simon, so I decide a nap is in order, and as soon as I’m upstairs, I crawl into bed.
Two hours later, I’ve recharged somewhat from sleeping like a rock, so I head back to the bakery side to finish off the rest of the booths.
But I can’t. Because they’re gone. I’m only confused for a second before it strikes me that Holden must have done this.
I go to the dumpster and, sure enough, all the booths are in there. A little voice in the back of my head tells me that’s something library Holden would have done.