Holden
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Okay, open your eyes.”
When I do, I’m stunned at the transformation of this space. I feel Lizette’s eyes studying me, and I know she’s anxious, waiting for my reaction to the finished room. I turn to face her.
“It’s amazing. Really. It’s gorgeous. You somehow managed to make it rustic-chic. It fits perfectly with the vibe of small-town comfort cuisine.”
“You think the tables and chairs are all right?” she asks.
We disagreed on which tables would go best in here, but of course, it was her decision. I think she expects me to say the other ones—my pick—would’ve fit better, but they wouldn’t have. Even if I thought they would’ve, I wouldn’t rain on her parade tonight for anything.
“The tables are great. You were absolutely right.”
She plants a playful punch on my bicep.
“Don’t you forget it for next time.” She winks at me, and it’s adorable. Seeing her this happy enthralls me. “Seriously, though, thank you for everything you did to help me. I never would’ve gotten this done so quickly if you hadn’t stepped up when I broke my wrist.”
My eyes meet hers, and I wonder if she can read how proud I am of her when she looks into mine.
“Don’t think anything of it. I got to hang out with you again, so it was worth it.”
Her cheeks flush a pretty crimson, then she clears her throat.
“I also picked a name, but I haven’t told anyone yet.” There’s a slight quiver in her voice. “Do you want to be the first to hear it?”
I widen my eyes. “Seriously? Of course, I’d love to be first.”
“Okay. If you hate it, be honest, all right?”
I nod, and she continues.
“I’m going to name it Sugar ‘n Spice. Since that side is largely bakery, and this side is where I’ll do the cooking lessons with spices and—”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect,” I tell her. And it is.
Her eyes light up. “Yeah?”
I step closer to her. “Yeah. It’s excellent.”
She smiles, and it’s soft and sweet. Everything in me wants to step forward and tuck the strand of hair that’s fallen from her messy bun behind her ear. I restrain myself from doing it, though.
“Um.” She gestures to the corner where the bar is. “Would you like a drink? A glass of a nice, local wine, perhaps? They all come highly recommended from a finicky wine connoisseur I know.”
I grin. “Hey, you yourself said that my palate was extraordinary.”
“Uh, I’m not sure those were the words I used.” The sweetest laughter escapes her, and it instantly becomes my new favorite sound.
“Semantics,” I tease.
I walk to the bar and open the custom doors, then kneel and choose a bottle for us to share. She gets wine glasses and sets them on the island while I uncork the bottle. We both watch in silence as I fill the glasses, the golden liquid flowing smoothly into them.
When I sit next to her, I tilt my body toward her and raise my glass. She lifts hers as well.
“To many years of success for Sugar ‘n Spice and its brilliant, fierce, and beautiful owner.”
A look of surprise crosses her face for a split second, but then she touches her glass to mine before taking her first sip.
“Mmm, it’s so good... scrumptious,” she whispers.
“I guess that wine guy knew what he was talking about, huh?” I grin at her.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Her smile is relaxed and radiant.
We sip our wine, and she tells me about Simon’s new school and how he’s doing. When our glasses are nearly empty, I pick up the wine bottle, ready to pour another glass for us.
“Would you like to sit for a little while?”
I hope she says yes.
“Oh, um—”
My heart rate kicks up, and I work to keep my expression neutral and not show my disappointment.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. But Simon is asleep upstairs, and I don’t want to leave him unattended for too long. If you’re okay with it, we could lock up and take this bottle upstairs to finish it.”
She casts her gaze downward, as if she’s afraid to look me in the eye.
My disappointment transitions to elation. I also try to school my face for this. I don’t want to seem overeager.
“If you’re sure, then I’d like that.”
A few minutes later, we’re sitting on her couch sipping wine. We talk, sticking to safe topics. When she’s on her second glass, the tension that’s often in her shoulders and jaw is gone. The stress I sometimes see on her face is absent.
“I hope I didn’t mess up any plans you had for this evening,” she says in a hushed voice. She’s circling the rim of her wine glass with her index finger, her eyes fixed on the glass.
I study her, searching her face for a clue as to what she’s thinking.
“Hey, can you look at me for a second?” I’m careful to keep my tone soft.
She hesitates, but when her eyes meet mine, my breath catches because I see her, the Lizette I knew years ago. Her guard is down, and there’s vulnerability in her gaze. I see the woman I loved all those years ago.
Uh, you’ve never stopped loving her.
That’s a thought I’ve rejected for a decade every time it tried to push its way into the forefront of my brain. That voice in the back of my mind reminds me I loved her, and she chose someone else. Shut up, brain. Don’t overthink this and ruin tonight.
“I didn’t make any plans for this evening besides coming here. I wanted to be here.”
Her eyes widen just a touch, but I notice it. Her breathing picks up, and she drags her lower lip between her teeth.
“I know it’s been a long time—”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she blurts out.
It’s the last thing I expected. I freeze. She’s giving us an opening to have a conversation I’ve wanted—no, needed—for a long time.
“I-I hurt you, too.” I hate saying it. Hate knowing that I intentionally caused her pain.
Back in college, I didn’t want those other girls.
I wanted her. That first time I aimed to make her feel even a fraction of the pain I was in, I was trying to prove a point.
The memory of Lizette kissing that asshole Carter tortured my mind and caused an ache in my chest that had been my constant companion since she ended things.
“You did.” Her eyes turn glassy, and she frowns.
“That doesn’t make what I did okay, though.
And I’m sorry. I hurt you, and then I showed up in your life a decade later, and you still stepped up to help me.
You became my friend again. I don’t understand why.
I’m grateful, but I’m so confused. The version of you I’ve built up in my mind after...
after everything that happened isn’t this guy I’m seeing now.
That version I created, he’s not kind and generous.
He doesn’t make my shy little boy laugh and smile.
He doesn’t try to take care of me even when I resist.”
She glances off to the side, then turns her gaze back to me, her eyes darting all over my face.
“That guy, he doesn’t make me want more.” Her focus settles, and she’s looking me straight in the eye. “But this guy, this Holden I’ve gotten to know again, he does.”
My heart skips a beat.
Deep down, I think I’ve waited for this chance, this conversation, for the last ten years.
All those years ago, when school broke for the holidays, I spent a lot of time reflecting on what a jerk I was being. The conclusion I reached was that what happened with us up until then didn’t matter. I was going to fight for her when we got back to school.
That’s what you do when you love someone. You don’t just give that kind of thing up. But she never came back. Her phone number no longer worked, and she disappeared from social media. She was gone, and I missed my chance to show her I was staying. That I wanted her and only her.
I hesitate.
How much do I say now?
My heart decides for me. “Why?” My voice is rough.
“Why what?” she asks. “Why do I think I want more?” Her voice is shaky now, and I hate that my question is most likely the reason.
“W-why did you choose him?” My voice breaks. I’m terrified of her answer, but it’s the question that’s been tormenting me for a decade. “Why did you choose Landon over me?”
She winces and sucks in a clipped breath. Then, like a rainstorm that hits suddenly, tears pour from her eyes and race down her cheeks.
“I didn’t. I p-promise I didn’t choose him. I never chose him.”
I don’t understand. She did. She told me outright.
I’ll never forget the words she said to me that night: ‘I’m choosing him. I weighed my options, and he’s the better choice for me.’ Those words have haunted me for a decade.
But she’s crying so hard that I can’t ask her to explain it right now. I take a chance and cup the sides of her face with my hands, gently brushing away her tears with my thumbs.
“Shhh. It’s okay. We don’t have to talk more about this right now.”
She pulls away from me and furiously wipes at her tears with the backs of her hands. When she closes her eyes and takes a few slow, deep breaths, her crying calms slightly. It doesn’t stop, but she’s no longer sobbing. She opens her eyes again and pierces me with her gaze.
“When everything happened, you didn’t let go right away.
That night you found me outside at the party, I knew you wouldn’t release me unless I hurt you.
So, I said the one thing I knew would wound you.
I needed to cut deep, so I told you I chose him, that he was the better man for me.
It was the perfect lie. The way your face fell when I said those words will torture me for the rest of my life.
Ten years later, and I still can’t erase the image from my mind. ”
I lean back against the couch cushions and blow out a breath. “Those words that night ruined me.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I had to do it.” She peers at me.
Just as suddenly as her tears came, a wave of anger rises in me—something I’ve worked hard not to feel and definitely not to let others see.
“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it. You made a unilateral decision for us. You were with him.” My tone is harsh, though that wasn’t my intent. “I need to know why.”
“I did it for you. To protect you!” She blurts out the words, then her eyes widen, and she throws her hand over her mouth.
“From what? From falling in love with you? Guess what? You were too late. I already loved you then.”
Her breath catches. “You don’t mean that.”
I hold her gaze. “Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean,” I say in a hushed voice.
She looks to the side. “You don’t understand. I had to do it. It was the only way.”
“Tell me what, or who, you thought you had to protect me from.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
I notice a subtle shaking of her hands.
“If it doesn’t matter”—I place a few fingers under her chin and gently turn her head so she’s looking at me again—“then tell me.”
She eyes me cautiously, and it’s obvious she’s trying to decide whether to share.
“From him. Landon. I did it to protect you from him.”
“What?” I ask, incredulous. My body jerks backward at her words. “You didn’t need to, Lizette. I didn’t need protection from him.”
I gape at her and watch emotions flash through her eyes as if she’s having an internal battle to see which one will win.
“He was going to ruin your scholarship, Holden.”
“What? That makes no sense.”
“The funding from the scholarship you had came from money that Landon’s father donates each year.
Landon threatened to make you lose your scholarship if I didn’t stay away from you, if I didn’t get back together with him, truly try to make it work, and play the part of the attentive girlfriend.
I spent two and a half years with him, waiting for you to graduate. ”
Realization dawns on me. Oh, God. I have to tell her.
She’s studying me, awaiting a reaction. I imagine she sees pain, regret, and still anger—just for a different reason.
“I did lose my scholarship after that year...”
Silence has never felt so thick, so heavy.
When she finally speaks, her voice tremors.
“That’s impossible,” she whispers. “I-I made him show me copies of award letters each year.”
Rage races through me. That fucker used me to manipulate her. To have an excuse to put his hands on her. To take us away from each other.