Haunted: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Noelle’s lips twisted into a wry half-grin. “All right, I know it’s not my business, but you’re my sister, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt again by a two-timing—” She cast a quick glance at her two innocent stepchildren seated at the table. “—jerk.”

  Holly chuckled and wondered what far-less-complimentary word Noelle might have chosen if the children were not listening. She reached for the roast chicken and filled her plate with the side dishes, while Connor helped Grace and Noelle helped Hope. Holly smiled at the beautiful image of familial happiness. Whatever friction existed between Connor and Noelle on the topic of Holly’s love life was obviously tiny; the frequent tender glances between Connor and Noelle confirmed it.

  By unspoken agreement, the topic of Peter, Debra, and Aidan was not raised during dinner. After the meal, Connor took the two children upstairs to read and play, and Holly helped Noelle clean up the kitchen. After carting the dirty dishes to the sink, she leaned against the counter while Noelle loaded the dishwasher. Her younger sister pursed her lips but said nothing. She kept her gaze studiously averted.

  Finally, Holly chuckled. “Okay, Connor’s not listening. Spit it out.”

  “I can’t believe you’re planning to give that two-timing asshole another chance.”

  Obviously, Noelle wasn’t going to need any encouragement to be frank. Holly swallowed hard. “It’s been eight years.”

  Noelle planted her sudsy hands on the side of the sink and gave her sister an exasperated glare. “Don’t tell me you still love him.”

  “He apologized.”

  “Oh, like I’m sorry is supposed to fix everything?”

  “People change, Noelle. You changed.”

  “Oh, don’t even give me that lame excuse. Yes, I preferred life in the big city, and yes, I changed my mind because Connor and his girls were well worth the small town, but that change isn’t remotely on the same scale as suddenly growing enough morals to not screw my fiancée’s best friend just because my fiancée is out of town for two weeks.”

  Holly winced. “Eight years isn’t sudden. He’s had a lot of time to think about what he’s done, and to regret it.”

  “And that’s what he told you?”

  She nodded.

  “And you believe it?”

  Holly sighed. “I want to.”

  Noelle’s jaw dropped. “Are you still in love with him?”

  Holly shuffled and stared at her sneakers.

  “You’re in love with him!” Her sister’s voice rose to a screech.

  “Shhh.” Holly made appeasing motions with her hands. “Not so loud. You don’t have to announce it to the entire town.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “No, I’m not.” Holly scowled and folded her arms across her chest. “Love isn’t always easy, and it doesn’t always take the most obvious path. You, of all people, should know that.”

  Noelle’s eyes narrowed, and then gentled as she sighed. “You’re right,” she conceded. Her own path to happiness with Connor had been years in the making, separated by Connor’s own happy marriage to Millie—a marriage that resulted in the two beautiful girls who now called Noelle “Mommy.” She turned her attention back to the sink of dirty dishes. “I have just one question though. If you’ve forgiven Peter, does it mean you also have to forgive Debra?”

  Chapter 8

  Forgive Debra?

  Noelle’s innocent question settled like a lead ball in the pit of Holly’s stomach. She knew what the answer should be, technically, but it was something else entirely to actually put it into practice.

  Peter, at least, had apologized. Debra hadn’t, and she acted as if she were the injured party, saddled with the responsibility for a son she hadn’t wanted.

  Or had she?

  Holly frowned as she recalled the brief interaction she had witnessed between Debra and her son. There was frustration and exasperation, but there was also love; she was certain of it.

  It didn’t get her any closer to an answer, though.

  She was still mulling over the question the next morning when she stopped in front of the Coffee Beans café. She was about to push on the door when she noticed Debra, with her back to the door, talking to the barista. Holly’s first instinct was to keep walking; screw the coffee.

  Does it mean you also have to forgive Debra?

  Holly scowled. Forgiveness was debatable, but she’d start with not avoiding Debra the way she had done for eight years. She pushed slowly on the door to keep the door chimes from ringing too loudly and stepped into the café.

  “I realize it’s last minute, but I do need someone to watch Aidan tonight,” Debra said to the barista. “I can’t switch out my hours at the restaurant, and if I don’t show up once more, Jackson’s going to fire me.”

  Carrie, the barista, shook her head. “Look, I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

  “I can pay you a higher rate.”

  “Fifteen an hour?”

  Debra glanced away. Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Sure,” she said finally.

  Carrie ran her tongue over her teeth. “I…can’t. I’m sorry. I have a date tonight, and it’s worth more than fifteen an hour.”

  “How much more?” Debra asked. Her hands fumbled with her handbag.

  “Sorry, I just can’t tonight.”

  Debra squeezed her eyes shut, and her shoulders slumped.

  “I can.” Holly spoke up over the pang in her chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

  Debra spun around, her eyes wide.

  “I’m watching Grace and Hope while Noelle and Connor have a date night. You’re welcome to drop Aidan off at my place so you can go to work.”

  Debra said nothing. She continued to stare at Holly. Her lips moved but no sound emerged.

  “What time are you coming by?” Holly asked in the same matter-of-fact tone.

  “I have to be at the restaurant by 5:45 p.m.”

  “So I’ll expect you by 5:30-ish. Will he want dinner?”

  “I…I’ll feed him before.” Debra seemed to break out of her shocked state. “We’ll be there at 5:30 p.m.” She scurried out of the café without another word.

  Holly stepped up to the counter and serenely ignored Carrie’s similarly shocked expression. “Can I get a large coffee, please?”

  She had just paid for her coffee when her cell phone rang. A thrill of delight surged through her when Brandon’s name popped up on the screen. “Hello?”

  “Holly? How are you?”

  His deep baritone was as sexy as she remembered. It tugged a smile onto her lips. “I’m doing quite well. I haven’t made any decisions, though, about the townhouse.”

  “It’s not why I was calling. I don’t recommend rushing through big decisions. I’ll actually be in D.C. tomorrow morning to meet with a client, and I’d like to come by Havre de Grace and take you out for lunch.” He paused. “This in no way negates our date on the twenty-fourth.”

  Holly laughed. “All right, thank you for being clear. Lunch tomorrow would be wonderful.”

  “Great. 12:30 p.m., if that’s all right with you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll pick you up then.”

  Holly hung up and had to resist the urge to twirl in a happy little circle. She knew she was entirely too old for such juvenile displays, but something about being desired had a way of peeling back the years.

  Brandon’s call had elevated her mood; it was exactly what she had needed to get her mind away from the fact that she had volunteered to babysit Aidan that evening. She spent the day lounging around the house, keeping herself busy with little chores. Nothing she did, however, prevented the slow build up of anxiety over the upcoming evening.

  Noelle and Connor dropped Grace and Hope off at 5 p.m. “Are you sure you’ll be all right with the three kids?” Noelle asked. A frown furrowed her brow. “We don’t have to go.”

  “Of course you do,” Holly said. “You two do
n’t get out enough as it is. Go on, leave.”

  “We should be back by 9 p.m. We’re going to one of those dinner and comedy shows. We’ll have our phones on buzz if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Holly said with confidence she did not feel. “Have a great time.”

  Hope was apparently content to lavish affection and attention on Mojo, but Grace looked up at Holly appraisingly. “Is Aidan really as big of a pain as you’ve said?”

  Holly wished she had been more circumspect in her choice of words. “Aidan has been a bit difficult in class, but I think it’s because he doesn’t understand the right way to get attention.”

  “Are you going to teach him?”

  “Well, after this year, he won’t be in my class anymore, so it’ll be someone else’s responsibility to help him.”

  “Like his next teacher?”

  “Ideally, his parents.” She paused as Debra’s car, an old Toyota, pulled up in front of her house. She hurried to the front door and held it open as Debra ushered an obviously unwilling Aidan up the steps. “Hello, Aidan.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his worn-out sneakers.

  Debra bent to whisper in his ear, “Now, you remember to behave, and you mind what Miss Langford says.”

  Aidan’s scowl deepened.

  Debra looked embarrassed as she straightened. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” Holly smiled. “Come on in, Aidan.”

  Aidan dragged his feet into her house and stood in her foyer.

  “Have you had dinner?” Holly asked.

  His lip curled into a self-mocking smirk. “Yeah, but I’m still hungry.”

  Holly knew, too well, the appetites of little boys. “I thought so. I made extra food, so why don’t you come join Grace and Hope for dinner?”

  As with many things in life, imagination did not match reality. The evening Holly had so dreaded was spent in ad-hoc science experiments utilizing common kitchen utensils and ingredients. By the time Hope, Grace, and Aidan were done shrieking with laughter over makeshift volcanoes that spewed blue and green lava, thanks to lavish application of food coloring, the kitchen was an outrageous mess.

  It was a small price to pay for an incredibly fun evening.

  Grace reluctantly went home when her parents called for her and for Hope, and after she left, Aidan helped Holly clean the kitchen. His help was slipshod, befitting a male child who had not often been tasked with cleaning up, but he went through the motions without fuss. It was certainly more than Holly had expected, and when they were done, she made hot chocolate for the both of them and they sat together at the kitchen table, sipping at the marshmallow-topped beverage.

  “Is my mommy coming soon?”

  Holly glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was slightly past 10 p.m. “I suppose so. The restaurant should be closing any minute now. If you’re tired, you can nap on the couch, and I’ll wake you when she gets here.”

  “I’m not tired,” Aidan said quickly. His feet swung back and forth beneath the table, his sneakers kicking a regular rhythm against the table legs. His eyes drooped with exhaustion, but his lips were set in a faint smile.

  He almost looked happy, Holly thought. A faint ache settled in her chest. Aidan’s high cheekbones and a strong chin held the promise of Peter’s masculine good looks. Without his usual scowl contorting his expression, she could appreciate the intelligent and thoughtful gleam of his eyes. They took in a great deal without giving anything away.

  He hadn’t been bad, Holly conceded. He had not needed to compete for attention, and as a result, he had been lively and cooperative through the evening. By the end of the evening, he had even lapsed once or twice and imitated Grace in calling Holly “Aunt Holly” instead of “Miss Langford.”

  Somehow, hearing her name on his lips hadn’t hurt the way she had imagined it would.

  The glare of a car’s headlights flashed through the kitchen windows. “That’s probably your mom pulling into the driveway.”

  Aidan leaped from his chair and followed Holly to the door. She flung it open as Debra was raising her hand to knock. Debra’s gaze flashed between Holly’s and Aidan’s face; her expression was set in stiff lines. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Holly said. “I think we had a good time.”

  “We did lots of cool experiments in the kitchen,” Aidan said. His tone was lighthearted as he followed his mother to the car. Within minutes, the sound of his voice was silenced behind the closing of the car door.

  Holly shut the door and rested her head against the cool wood. Exhaustion mixed with relief and a hint of pleasure. She hadn’t just survived babysitting Aidan. She had actually enjoyed spending time with him.

  One step closer toward forgiving Debra.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 9

  The next day was a burst of sunshine and warmth in what had been an unusually cold winter thus far. When Brandon picked her up, Holly took advantage of the great weather to propose a visit to the lighthouse.

  “It’s a great view,” Brandon agreed when they stood at the top together and looked out upon the Chesapeake Bay. He did not sound winded from his brisk climb up the steep stairs. “I’m surprised there aren’t more people out and about.”

  “Well, I’m on vacation, but it is a weekday. You should see this place on the weekends, especially in the fall, when the trees are all decked out in their autumn colors.”

  “I bet.” Brandon smiled. “Part of the problem with New York City is that, with the exception of Central Park, there isn’t much nature to boast of. Here, you’re surrounded by it.”

  Holly gazed out upon a landscape that was both welcoming and relaxing. She had lived in it all her life; it was easy to forget how beautiful it was. A light breeze swept past them, carrying the salt-tinged scent of the sea. “I used to come up here often.” Funny how she hadn’t thought of it in so long.

  “And then you stopped. Why?”

  “He stopped coming with me,” Holly said. For the first time, she did not feel the dull ache in her chest. She blinked, surprised that she had not subconsciously braced for it. Was it because she was planning on seeing Peter again, or was it because she was finally over his past betrayals? Am I naïve or mature? she wondered. Or just plain clueless?

  Brandon’s intent gaze sent a quick jolt up her spine. “His loss. My gain,” he murmured.

  Her breath quickened as he closed the small gap between them. His body heat mixed with the intoxicating scent of his aftershave surged into her head. The world blurred around her, but Brandon’s face zoomed into sharp focus—the faint curve of his lips, the slash of his cheekbones, the absurd length of his eyelashes. Goodness gracious, he was gorgeous. Not beautiful, like Peter, but gorgeous like a sleek mountain cat, blessed with lean, graceful strength and the intense eyes of a predator.

  His lips paused a fraction from hers, and for a moment, they shared the same breath. Her heart pounded, and she reached up to fist her hands in his shirt. He smiled, his easy amusement warming her a fraction of a second before their bodies joined in a kiss. His lips were firm, and his quick and clever tongue swirled crazy, shuddering sensations through her body. Raw need jolted at the base of her spine, and her thoughts grayed into a haze. His arms surrounded her; one wrapped around her waist and the other pressed against her back, holding her against him, supporting her as she sank deeper into the kiss. He tasted rich and smoky, like the expensive whiskey, dark and intoxicating.

  When he finally pulled back, slowly and gently, she kept her eyes closed. She could still taste him on her lips and savor the strength of his arms around her. He had left her enveloped in sensation, in him. “Mmm,” she breathed. She didn’t want the moment to end.

  Laughter lurked in his voice. “Whatever it is you had, I want it.”

  “You’ve had practice.”

  “Some,” he conceded.

  “Lots.”

  “It’s all relative.” Brandon chuckled.
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  She opened her eyes to see a heart-stopping smile on his lips. Desire knotted her nerves until her stomach was aflutter with butterflies run amok. No question, he was a man who knew who he was and what he wanted. She knew, without a doubt, he wanted her. Brandon was sexy, minus the awkward baggage of apologies that never seemed to be quite enough to make up for personal history.

  A wicked thought flashed through her mind. Better than Peter.

  Wasn’t the future the only thing that mattered, after all?

  She gazed up at Brandon. How much of a hardship could it be to explore the future with him—a man of the world, his smooth charm tempered by enough self-deprecating humor to fill their shared moments with genuine warmth?

  Holly did not step out of his embrace. It felt right standing there with him, looking out over the place she called home. “What will we do on the twenty-fourth for our date?” she asked. “You’ve seen the promenade and the lighthouse. We’ve just about exhausted all of Havre de Grace’s tourist attractions.”

  “Why don’t you come up to New York City?”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Spend the twenty-fourth with me in Manhattan.” He laid his hand over hers, which was still pressed against his chest. “Better yet, spend the entire weekend. New York City deserves more than a day.”

  “I’ve been to New York frequently. I used to visit my aunt, remember?”

  “Yes, but how much of the city have you seen? Have you lunched in Chinatown, shopped on Fifth Avenue, or admired the skyline from the top of the Empire State building?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then, you’ve barely skimmed the surface of New York. If the weather’s nice, we could take a walk through Central Park, and finish out the day at Radio City Music Hall. Come on, you’re on vacation.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “I have Christmas Eve and Christmas off, and I can always take another day or two off to be your personal tour guide. You deserve a chance to see everything New York can offer.”

  Her pulse fluttered. “Are you trying to tempt me into living in New York?”