28. Holden
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Holden
I’m still a good four feet from the door when I hear the rhythmic pounding coming from inside Lizette’s shop.
What the hell is that?
I use the key she gave me to the other side and unlock the door. I set down a box of cinnamon rolls from my mom, a bottle of orange juice, as well as bottles of chocolate and strawberry milk.
The noise is coming from the other side. I walk to the opening between the rooms and am stunned by what I see. I probably shouldn’t be, though, knowing Lizette.
“What are you doing?” The exasperation I’m feeling is obvious in my voice.
I don’t mean to scare her, but Lizette screams and falls backward onto her butt. She’s holding a hand over her chest when she glances over and scowls at me.
“What is wrong with you? You don’t sneak up on a woman like that!”
A childish giggle comes from my left, and I glance over to see Simon with a book in his hand and a tablet on the table next to him. The interaction between his mother and me clearly amuses him.
“I’m coming to check the beam work again, but you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing? You have a broken wrist.”
“I tried to tell her that, Holden,” Simon says.
I glance over at him, and he’s shaking his head as he takes his index finger and pushes his glasses up his nose.
“She doesn’t always listen. My grandma says she’s stubborn like a horse… Wait, maybe it’s not a horse.” Simon scratches his head.
“I think you mean stubborn like a mule, little guy, but they’re very similar to horses.” I like this kid.
“That’s it. Stubborn like a mule.”
“I’m right here, you two. Don’t talk about me like I can’t hear you,” Lizette says. She’s still sitting on her butt on the partially installed luxury vinyl plank flooring.
“Oh, sorry, we didn’t see you all the way down there,” I tease. I wink at Simon, and he gives me a grin that pleases me.
I walk over to her and extend my hand, but she doesn’t take it. Instead, she tries to lift herself with just her good hand. That’s an epic fail. However, rather than accepting my offer of help, she rolls over onto her belly and then has an easier time getting up to her knees and standing.
“You are as stubborn as a mule,” I tease.
“I’m not stubborn. It just needs doing, and I’m perfectly capable.”
“So was your plan always to do this by yourself?”
“No. Tad was going to come help me, and he was going to put in the countertop, but he got called into the fire station, so he had to cancel.”
“You should’ve canceled because you’re injured.”
She walks over to her coffee maker. I can smell the coffee, and I’m grateful she made it.
“Would you like a cup?” she offers.
“I thought you’d never ask. Did I ever tell you about Ella’s coffee?”
“You haven’t. Not yet, anyway, but I’ve heard about it. I do want to say that everybody who has said something to me about Ella’s coffee always likes mine just as much or more when they taste it.”
“I don’t know about that. Ella’s was really good. She had this weird secret thing where she put a tiny bit of rosemary in it, and it made the coffee delicious.”
“I don’t use rosemary. And is it really a secret if you know?”
“Well, she shared it with me because I was desperate to learn, so I could still have it when she left. She even gave me lessons. But I failed. Anyway, I’ll still take a cup because it’s way too early in the morning, and this is where I used to come for my coffee.
Also, can you take a break for a couple of minutes and talk about the floor? ”
“Well, there’s nothing to talk about, but sure.”
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
I disappear into the other side of the shop, and when I return, Simon is grinning from ear to ear when he sees the box.
“Is it okay to share my T-R-E-A-T-S with him?”
“I know how to spell,” Simon says. He shakes his head like he’s embarrassed for me or something.
“What? I don’t know what age kids start to read.”
“He’s been reading since he was three and a half.”
“Wow, that’s pretty darn smart. I bet you get that from your mother.” I direct the last sentence at Simon. “She was a brainiac when I knew her back in school.”
“What’s a brainiac? How do you spell that?” Simon questions.
“B-R-A-I-N-I-A-C,” I tell him, “And it’s somebody who is super smart. Usually smarter than most people around them.”
“Yeah, that sounds like my mom.”
“Wow, kiddo. That kind of makes up for you calling me a mule,” Lizette jests.
Simon giggles again. “I didn’t call you a mule, I said you’re stubborn as a mule.”
He holds up the tablet that was sitting next to him, and he’s found a picture of a mule on the internet.
“This is what it looks like.”
“Yep, that’s right,” I tell him.
I gesture to the box of cinnamon rolls by tilting my head toward it.
“Is he allergic to anything?”
“Nope, not at all. He’s a healthy little boy with no allergies.” I watch as she smiles at Simon.
“I did have an ear infection once,” he says, almost proudly.
“I hate ear infections. They really hurt.”
“Yeah, but Mom got me some medicine at the doctor, and it felt better in a couple days. Plus, it was the pink medicine, and it tasted good.”
“I know what you mean. I used to get that medicine when I was a kid.”
“They had medicine back then?” Simon asks.
My jaw drops. Now it’s Lizette’s sweet laughter that fills my ears.
“How old do you think I am?” I ask Simon. “No, wait, don’t answer that!” He grins, and his cheeks turn pink. It’s darn adorable.
I glance over at Lizette. “Do you have some paper towels or napkins?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
She disappears into the kitchen and comes back a few seconds later with some saucer-sized plates and a handful of napkins.
“My mom makes the best cinnamon rolls ever,” I tell Simon. “When I was over there this morning, she gave me some. I thought I would stop by and share them with you guys if that’s okay.”
“I love cinnamon rolls!” His eyes light up with excitement. I open the box, and his eyes widen.
I serve him a cinnamon roll, and then I prepare to serve Lizette one.
“Just half. I probably shouldn’t even have that.”
“Why?” I ask her. “They’re delicious.”
“Yeah, well, I’m thirty-three. I can’t eat as freely as I used to and not pay for it around the waistline,” she huffs.
It’s ridiculous. She’s gorgeous. Everything about her. I force myself to hold my tongue.
I turn my attention back to Simon.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink, so I have three options for you. You can have whichever you want. Or all of them. I mean, assuming it’s okay with your mom.”
“Which one do you want?” Simon asks.
“Oh, nothing for me. They’re all yours. I was hoping that when I got here, your mom would offer me coffee, and she did. So, I’m good.”
“Can I have the strawberry one, please?”
For the next few minutes or so, Lizette takes a break, and the three of us sit around the table watching a documentary about mules, of all things.
“Oh my gosh, this is so good.” A satisfied moan escapes Lizette, and I feel it in places I shouldn’t.
I mean, I should because it means things are in working order, but I should not in this situation.
I see Lizette eyeing the second half of her cinnamon roll in the box, and I can tell she’s trying to resist taking it.
“Go ahead,” I say quietly to her. “I’ve seen you in a bikini, and trust me, you can eat whatever you want.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and the tips of her ears turn bright red. She pretends I didn’t say it, which I guess is better than her punching me or something, because it probably wasn’t appropriate.
She puts the other half on her plate and takes her time savoring it.
I’m completely surprised that Simon is making quick work of his full-sized roll.
“You really shouldn’t be pounding on things with a broken wrist.” The concern in my voice is clear.
“I need to get this place up and running. It’s making me crazy.” For a second or two, her mask fades, and I see the stress that I suspect she usually hides on her face.
Simon tugs on my sleeve. “Do you want to split the last one?”
I glance over at him, and I can’t help but grin. He’s got icing on his cheek and looks sated.
“Simon, you’ve had enough. I think we need to leave one for Holden to take home.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t eat a full one. You’d actually be doing me a favor if you ate half of it.”
“Really? I could do that for you.” God, this kid is cute.
I glance at Lizette, and she’s watching her boy, her head tilted to the side. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say love is written all over her face. I feel as if I could watch her for hours.
We spend a few more minutes at the table, and then Lizette rises.
“Thank you for coming and bringing us the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious. And thank you for yesterday, too. Take your time finishing your coffee, but I’ve gotta get back to work.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not how this is gonna go. I cannot stand by and watch you re-injure yourself because you’re—”
“Dedicated?” she asks.
“Sure, that’s what I was going to go with. How about this? I’ve put in a ton of this flooring. You can hand me pieces and help when I’m getting stuck, but I can put it down for you.”
“Holden, I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done too much.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” I hold her gaze, hoping she’ll say yes. I’m enjoying my time here, and I’m not ready to leave.
I watch her eyes, and I’m pretty sure she’s playing tug-of-war with herself. I count it a win when she nods.
“Okay, but don’t blame me when you’re aching tomorrow. As Simon pointed out, you’re no spring chicken.”