“What?” he asked, curious to see where her mind was taking her.
“All the arches in the buffet make me think of the opening to The Muppet Show. You know, where each Muppet is in their own little alcove swaying back and forth?” she said, mimicking the motion of the puppets from their childhood.
Holden barked out a laugh, realizing she was right. “I’ve never noticed that, but now I don’t think I’m going to be able to think of anything else.”
“Sorry. It’s beautiful. I don’t know why my mind went there.”
“I like that it did,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. He liked seeing this side of her. One that was a little more relaxed. She was letting her real personality show through, and damn if that didn’t make her even sexier. He didn’t need her getting sexier. “This is probably what you’re most interested in though.”
“Holy cow!” she exclaimed, rushing through the door to the attached kitchen. “It’s stunning! I love the blue cabinets! That’s so unique.” She ran over to them and ran her hands along the counter top, taken aback by the simple beauty of it all.
White marble lay on top of the custom painted cabinets that ran along the length of the kitchen. A large, butcher block style prep table sat in the middle of the room, underneath a hanging rack full of dangling pots and pans. Holden had always wondered how he’d never managed to hit his head on any of the suspended kitchenware, but he was thankful every time he’d moved around the butcher block that he hadn’t. A small kitchen table sat up against the far wall underneath a big picture window.
“Aunt Viv, my godmother, did that. When she and Uncle Field redid the kitchen about ten years ago, he gave her carte blanche to do whatever. His only instruction was ‘just don’t paint the cabinets blue.’ So what did she do?”
“Turned around and painted them blue?”
“Yup. All he could do was laugh. When I asked him why he wasn’t upset, he told me it was his own damn fault for giving her the idea.”
“They sound like wonderful people. Why don’t they live here anymore?”
“Aunt Viv passed away shortly after that, actually. It’s why they are still blue, because Uncle Field couldn’t bring himself to change it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Let me show you upstairs,” he told her, pointing to the staircase hidden in the corner of the room. When they reached the landing that led to the second floor, he pointed to another doorway. “This is your side of the hall. That door right there is your room, which connects to that bathroom. There are two more bedrooms along the hall, then a bathroom, and my room, which is at the top end of the stairs you saw in the living room. Looks the same as this end of the hall, just a different staircase, and then there is another small bedroom on the other side of it.”
“Okay, that should be pretty easy to remember,” she smiled, turning to look at the rest of the staircase. “Where does this go?”
“After you,” he said, gesturing with his hand for her to lead the way. She gave him a cautious look, but started up the stairs anyway. Slowly making her way up the steep and narrow steps, she teetered a bit, her legs a little unsteady. Making sure to stay behind her, Holden got a great view of the glorious backside he’d been admiring from afar all week. His hands ached at the thought of holding on to her hips, feeling the way they curved under his grip. Watching her like this was doing things to him he didn’t think were possible anymore, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. Although his dick certainly seemed to have an opinion.
Three or four steps up, a floorboard creaked under her foot, catching Gigi off guard, causing her to stumble. Before he knew what he was doing, Holden lunged forward, his hands catching her in the exact spot he had just been distracted by. With one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against him for balance, he felt his cock twitch as his groin made contact with her ass.
“Steady,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Old house, so the steps are small and steep. Here, hold on to the railing.” He guided her hand to the rail, placing his over hers for just a moment as she gripped tight.
“Thanks,” she whispered, starting the climb again.
Her soft, feminine body had felt even better against him than he’d imagined. For as brief a moment as it was, it seemed to have awakened something inside him. Something he’d thought was long gone. Now he was going to have trouble not letting his mind wander into thinking about what she felt like underneath those yoga pants.
As they entered the open space at the top of the steps, he heard Gigi gasp softly. The vaulted ceilings and exposed beams gave the room a rustic look that Holden had always found peaceful. A large picture window, as well as several skylights, provided plenty of natural light during the day and some great views over the back of the property. The desk that Holden used during all those pretend writing sessions sat directly across from the picture window.
Gigi wandered through the room, finally stopping in front of the antique curio cabinet that housed a number of books and awards. She scanned the book titles curiously, holding up a finger and pointing to each one, as if she were taking inventory.
“You have Caulfield Montgomery’s entire collection!” she squealed. This was the most excited he’d seen her. “And some of these are first editions!”
“Well, they should be. They’re his,” Holden said.
“His?”
“Yeah, that’s his collection.”
Gigi turned back to the hutch, this time looking at the awards nestled in among the books. When she turned back to him, her eyes were wide all over again, and a stunned look had taken over her face.
“How do you have his collection?” she asked, her voice sounding both impressed and unsure.
“Well, it’s his house. Where else would you expect his collection to be?” Holden responded, trying to sound nonchalant.
“This…this is Caulfield Montgomery’s house? The Caulfield Montgomery? As in the greatest southern gothic author of our time?”
“Don’t let him hear you say that—it will go right to his head…”
“There is no way this is his house. We’re in Vermont! He’s from…Baton Rouge…” she said, the realization and connection to what he told her the other day coming together.
“He is. Then he went to Dartmouth, where he met his best friend, Heathcliff. The two immediately bonded over being named after literary characters. Although, it should be noted that Caulfield was a family name and he wasn’t directly named because of the book. They met and married a pair of locals and stayed here. But don’t tell anyone you know that. He much prefers everyone thinks he wrote all his books in New Orleans, rather than a loft in Vermont.”
“Heathcliff is your father?” she asked.
“And before you ask, yes, my mother’s name is Catherine.”
“It is not!”
“Oh, it is,” Holden confirmed.
“So then you are named after The Catcher in the Rye?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. The sparkle that shone seemed to ignite something in him too. He had no idea why, but suddenly all he wanted was to make sure that look never left her eyes.
“Holden Hemingway St. James. Whatever else would you expect from a Lit professor and a special ed teacher?”
“I think it’s fantastic,” she said, smiling. It was the biggest smile he’d seen from her, and it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside that learning about his name and his family made it appear. “And I’m jealous of this collection. I love his books.”
“Now you’re really not allowed to meet him,” he laughed. “You’ll be bad for his ego.”
Gigi giggled in response, and it sent a bolt straight to Holden’s already struggling erection. Damn, that sound was going to be trouble.
“Well, I did write my senior capstone paper on the role of the color green in At Midnight,” she offered.
Holden looked at her, puzzled. He would never have guessed her to be someone who would be into such a genre, much less to have actually stu
died it. Maybe she wouldn’t be such bad company after all.
“You studied literature?” he asked, sounding more surprised than he’d intended. The only thing he knew about this woman was that she was starting over after her husband had a heart attack. There was no reason to think she wouldn’t have liked to read. Just because she looked like she could be a cast member of one of the Real Housewives shows didn’t mean anything. For all he knew, she didn’t really come from money like he’d been assuming. He really needed to make more of an effort to get to know her.
“I’m not as stupid as I look,” she answered softly. Instead of it coming off as a joke or even as if she were defending herself, it came off sounding defeated, almost as if she were reminding herself as much as anyone.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I should probably head to my room. It’s been a long day, and I need a shower,” she said, looking down and gesturing to her soot-covered clothes. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”
Gigi quickly made her way back to the stairs and scurried down them like she was on a mission. Holden figured she probably was—a mission to get away from him.
“Night,” he replied, to the now empty room. So much for that.
Gigi
The ancient looking hardware in the shower took some fiddling with to get the hot water going, and Gigi figured there was probably some special trick or secret handshake she needed to do each time to get it just right. She probably should have asked Holden that before when he’d pointed out her room, but she didn’t dare go back and ask him now. Not after that disaster of a conversation.
Stripping out of her clothes, she left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower. Normally she would have made sure to take the extra special care of folding them and placing them on the counter, since Bradley hated clothes being left on the floor, but this was her chance to do things how she wanted. Steam billowed out from behind the shower curtain and engulfed her as she tugged it shut, filling Gigi’s lungs as she inhaled deeply. The hot water felt so good against her skin, allowing her muscles to finally relax.
She replayed the day’s events in her mind as she leaned her head back under the stream from the showerhead. From Audrey’s feedback about her subpar cupcakes, to starting a kitchen fire and having to be rescued by her sexy-as-sin landlord, to the discovery that she was now staying in the home of her favorite author—it had been a hell of a day. At this point, she was pretty sure she couldn’t be any more embarrassed if she tried. Her new life was not off to a very good start.
Am I in over my head? she wondered, lathering her hair. She’d felt so lucky to stumble into a job like she had, she hadn’t even considered what it all meant. But baking shouldn’t have been this much trouble, right? People did it every day, so how hard could it really be?
Then there was Holden. Goodness, that man did her in, and she had no idea why. But just looking at him made her forget how to breathe. No man had ever done that to her. Not even Bradley. Sure, she’d thought Bradley was incredibly handsome, and when he’d flirted back with her that night at the country club she’d felt giddy inside, but that was nothing compared to the butterflies Holden was giving her. Something about that broody stare of his and how his ice-blue eyes seemed haunted at times made her want to curl up in those beautifully tattooed arms and share secrets. The feel of those strong arms wrapped around her this afternoon as he carried her out of the carriage house had been incredible and left her wondering what it would be like to have them hold her while she slept. Or what his hands would be like as they explored her body, his gruff voice whispering her name. Just the thought of it was sending shivers down her spine, despite the temperature of the water.
But she needed to be careful. Just because this man made her girlie parts come alive in a way she wasn't sure they ever had didn’t mean anything. She had no idea who he really was, or if he could be trusted. She couldn’t let herself be swayed by his connection to famous authors, or by his beautiful old house. What if the truth got out? It was bad enough she was lying to everyone about her baking skills. What would happen if they found out her husband wasn’t really dead?
Worse than that, though, was the thought of Bradley finding her. There was no way that he had handled it well when those church doors opened and she wasn’t starting her descent down the aisle. His temper was unstable on a good day, and that would not have been a good day. She’d been on the receiving end of that temper enough over the last ten years to know just how he would react. The only question in her mind was, would she live to tell about said reaction?
A knock at the door as she was stepping out of the shower startled her. There was only one person it could be, but she was not about to greet him in a towel.
“Yes?” she called out hesitantly.
“Hi,” Holden’s voice came through the door, sounding just as hesitant. “I…I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It’s fine!” she said hurriedly, cutting him off. She knew she should probably let him finish, but she’d just been fantasizing about him in the shower. There was no way for him to know that, but even with the door between them, she felt like she’d been caught red-handed. Turns out she was wrong earlier—she could get more embarrassed.
“Okay, well then, I guess I’ll just see you later,” he responded. There was an awkwardness to his voice now, and she hated that she was causing it. But she needed to keep him at arm's length.
The new Gigi didn’t need a man. She was a strong, independent woman. That was what she had told herself from the moment she created her plan to start over.
But, what if she wanted one?
6
Gigi
“What are those?” Kirk asked, warily eyeing the tray she was carrying.
“Scones,” she replied brightly. “I thought they would be fun!”
It had been almost two weeks since what Gigi now referred to in her head as “disaster day.” Colebury was a small town, and word traveled at a rapid pace, letting everyone know that the fire department had been called into action. Kirk had spoken to her more that next morning than he had her whole first week combined. He still treated her like she was in the way, but at least now a little less so.
“Roderick makes the scones.”
“Well, today he let me make them,” she quipped back, trying to sound polite.
“What happened to cupcakes? Those were finally starting to get good,” he told her. His strange, semi-robotic tone had grown on her a bit, as weird as that sounded. Maybe Kirk wasn’t ever going to be Mr. Personality, especially compared to Roderick who seemed to be nothing but personality, but Gigi could at least try to find some good in him.
He was right, however. She had finally figured out the perfect amount of time to bake the cupcakes and had yet to burn them here at the café. The fondant that Zara had ordered also came in, so she’d been able to work with that and create adorable little toppers for the cakes. Not only had the complaints stopped, but she was even starting to get compliments on her work. Maybe all she had needed was time.
“I’ve got some about to go into the oven right now. But I saw this recipe online and asked Roderick about it, and he said to have at it.”
“Don’t worry, I checked the bottom of the baking sheet first,” Roderick joked, slipping back behind the counter, heading to the kitchen. He winked at Gigi, who just rolled her eyes in response. He’d been having way too much fun teasing her ever since he’d learned what had happened. It had all been in good fun though, and in a way made Gigi feel like she was starting to fit in.
“Oh, what are those?” an older gentleman asked as he approached the counter.
“Orange cranberry scones!” Gigi answered brightly.
“Those sound great. I’ll take half a dozen for the store,” the guy told Kirk. Gigi’s heart soared hearing these words and she couldn’t help letting a little giggle escape as she smiled at Kirk, trying to politely tell him “told you so!” with her eyes.
Heading back to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to come together. On top of her finally feeling like she was getting her footing at the Busy Bean, life at home had settled as well. After that first eventful evening, she and Holden had managed to find a rhythm, making the whole situation only slightly less awkward. Gigi was up, out the door, and at the café before Holden seemed to even be out of bed. But every morning, right around nine fifteen, he walked into the Busy Bean, placed his order, and then found an open seat to eat his muffin and read something on his phone. Not that Gigi had been watching him or anything. She just liked knowing when to expect seeing him.
When she’d arrived home in the afternoons for the last few days, he’d been working on hauling some of the damaged stuff out of the carriage house. She’d been more than a little distracted when she saw him carrying a burnt cabinet down the stairs, his jeans slung low on his hips, white T-shirt hanging from his back pocket, and those muscular arms on display. It was a good thing the car was already in park, or she might have had another accident. His chest was as intoxicating as she had imagined, with well-defined pecs, a flat stomach, and a little patch of dark hair that drew her eyes south to some place else she’d been picturing. While his abs weren’t chiseled like some underwear model on a billboard, it was apparent that he spent time keeping himself in shape, and the presence of the hip-V was more than prominent enough for her liking.
They made small talk if they saw each other in passing in the hall or the kitchen, but Holden spent most of his time up in the loft when she was home. She wondered what he did up there, but she didn’t have the guts to go up there and try to get to know him. No matter how intrigued she was by him, she didn’t want to push it. He was already going out of his way to let her stay in the house. She didn’t need to annoy him by being all up in his space all the time.
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