by M K Hardy
“Oh. God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”
“Why would you? It’s fine. Well…” Was it ever really fine? “It was five years ago. We’re good.”
Brooke nodded solemnly. “Well. Like I said. She’s lucky to have you.”
“Mm. And her grandparents, and her babysitters—it takes a village an’ all that.” Boots duly discarded, Holly began turning down the blankets to get into bed. Brooke seemed to take this as a cue, arranging the blankets on her cot and then slipping underneath them as quickly as she could.
Holly paused again before murmuring into the dark. “If it works for you, I might let that candle burn down,” she said. “Keep the edge off the air. I brought another if we need it.”
“Are you cold? I don’t need all these blankets,” Brooke offered, and the thought of accepting a blanket warmed by her sent a strange shiver down through Holly’s limbs. For a moment she thought she perhaps did need it.
“I’m fine,” she said. Then, “Thanks. Just don’t want us to wake up chilled.”
“Mm. It’s fine. I mean, the candle. I don’t mind.”
“All right. Uh. Good night.” It felt a little anticlimactic, a little unfinished somehow, just settling down beneath the covers with the dim candle still glowing from its perch. Holly tried to shake her discomfort. It didn’t budge.
Brooke stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. She had been doing so for ten minutes, willing herself to sleep, but the longer she lay the more on edge she felt. A hundred words seemed to hang in the air unsaid, and she couldn’t sleep while they were hovering there.
The trip to Highfield had left her in a weird mood. It was unfortunate that Holly had been there to bear the brunt of it. Not that she had handled it badly—she had been more than gracious, and understanding, and Brooke was this close to breaking and spilling everything to her like a broken faucet. The only thing keeping her from doing so was the fact she was still Holly’s landlord, and still planned to complete the deal with Heartspring as soon as municipal services were back up and running.
But she said she’d be there if I needed to talk…
It would be the shoddiest of behaviour, though—leaning on Holly for emotional…well, if not “support”, certainly “venting”, while making plans to kick her out of her shop and actively endanger her business. Listen to yourself, “actively endanger”. You’re letting her get to you.
Brooke was letting Holly get to her in more ways than one. Though this was the first time they’d shared a room it wasn’t the first time she’d lain awake thinking about her. She didn’t know why—Holly wasn’t her usual “type”, though given the spotty record she had with women maybe that was where the appeal came from. She was so unobtainable as to be almost mythical, and so daydreaming about her was nothing but harmless indulgence. Until tonight, when she was mere feet away, the sound of her slow, regular breathing as distracting as a crash of thunder.
Enough. You’re not here to make friends and you’re certainly not here to pick up. Make the deal and leave. The sooner you’re out of this place the better.
That was what her mother would’ve done, after all. Made up her mind and stuck to it no matter what, even if it meant hurting someone else. The thought sent a chill straight through her.
Two Days till Christmas
“I’ll give you three months.”
The comment came out of nowhere, and for a moment Holly was convinced she was still asleep and dreaming. She didn’t even realise until then that Brooke had noticed she was awake—she’d been lying for several minutes, eyes still closed, while Brooke rose and put her boots back on and, by the sounds of it, folded up her bedding.
She opened them now, pushing into a sitting position and twisting to observe Brooke, who stood near the door, hands on her hips.
“Three months for what?” she asked, her tone careful. Unsure. Brooke had already offered her an extension on her two months’ notice. Was this just a reiteration?
“Three months to find me a buyer for your property. You, a property manager, whoever—find me someone who will pay the market price for it and I’ll sell to them.”
“I…seriously?” It wasn’t long. It wasn’t long at all. But it was a shot. A chance. “You mean it?”
“Yeah. I’ll draw up an agreement, if you want. Sign it. So you know I won’t screw you over.”
“Oh, that’s not what I…uh. Thanks.” Holly swung her legs off the bed and stood. She risked a few steps closer to Brooke, who looked like she might attempt an escape at any second. “Really. Thank you.”
“It’s fine. I was never trying to mess up your life,” Brooke said uncomfortably. “I just…needed to get things dealt with. But it’s not fair to you not to at least try another way.”
Holly wasn’t sure what to say to this and ended up falling back on the language she spoke best. She closed the gap between them in a couple of steps and wrapped her arms around Brooke in a fierce hug.
Normally, being Holly, she would have attempted to dispel the awkwardness—made an apology for her handsyness perhaps, or a joking reassurance that this would all be over soon. In the moment, she found she couldn’t speak at all, because all the air had suddenly and mysteriously left her lungs.
Brooke stood motionless for a long moment, and then her hands slowly came to rest on Holly’s lower back, warm and steady. This seemed to shake Holly out of her stupor, and she finally drew back, cheeks flushed, ears ringing, her arms—hell, her everything—trembling a little.
“Sorry, I… Uh. That was possibly too effusive.” She cleared her throat. Moving swiftly on… “Shall we, uh, go see how the weather’s looking?”
“Sure, let’s.”
The snow had finally stopped, leaving the landscape white and pillowy. Downstairs the various guests had begun to stir, some of them a bit worse for the wear, and a concentrated bout of candle-lighting and coffee-making kept Holly occupied and unable to dwell on what had just happened for some time.
Somebody had managed to get through to the authorities and established that the power outage had affected about half the town and was unlikely to be resolved that day, but snowploughs had been sent out and were making their slow way along the streets. Holly figured those among them whose cars weren’t trapped by the fallen tree and utility poles would be able to dig themselves out and make their escapes before too long.
“Did you sleep all right last night? You weren’t too cold?” Margie wanted to know once everyone was filling up on leftover snacks and coffee. “The insulation’s not too bad up there, otherwise I never would’ve sent you girls to sleep there.”
“Oh, it was absolutely fine, we—” Holly hesitated—she couldn’t speak for Brooke after all. “I was so tired I dropped right off.”
“Oh, good! A good walk in the snow always made me sleep like a baby,” Margie said. “Speaking of which—are you going to be able to get home okay, sweetie?”
“Provided I can dig the car out, yeah.” Holly pursed her lips, glancing out of the window. “I could probably walk if I can’t, to be honest. It’s no big deal now it’s daylight and the snow’s let up.”
“No, no, we can’t have that. I’ll call someone from town, they’ll run you home…”
“Don’t be silly, Margie—it’s not a long walk. Anyway, let me at least see if I can dig the old girl out first! Should’ve been fairly sheltered, I think.”
“I’ll help.” Holly hadn’t forgotten about Brooke exactly, but the offer still surprised her. “Let me just get my coat.”
Brooke had forgotten what tough work it was, clearing snow. The plough hadn’t been past yet when they emerged into the frigid morning air, brooms and shovels in hand, but they got working anyway, clearing a space around the vehicle before starting on the roof and working their way down. The snow was thick, but not too tightly packed, and Holly was relentless, starting to dig out the next car along as Brooke was finishing up hers
with the broom. When Brooke shot a quizzical look her way she simply shrugged.
“Don’t much want to leave those old folks inside to dig out their own cars, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Did some infectious Christmas spirit drive Holly to be so cheerful and helpful all the time? Or was it just her nature, innately good even after all life had thrown at her? Holly was grinning warmly at her, now, and Brooke’s cheeks flushed.
What is wrong with you? Get a grip!
“Well, I guess we’d better get back to work,” she said gruffly, turning back to the last drifts on Holly’s car.
“This okay? Doesn’t look like the side streets have been cleared yet.”
Once they’d cleared Holly’s car and the plough had come, Holly had insisted on offering rides to anybody who needed them. She’d departed with an almost full vehicle, comprising Brooke, Janet, whose car was mercifully uncrushed but parked on the wrong side of the fallen tree, and Phil Vanderberg, a retired science teacher Margie’s age. Phil had spent the trip reminiscing with the “girls” about teaching them both in high school—though he recalled very few specifics and in particular seemed to barely remember Brooke at all, which was just fine with her.
With Phil dropped off, there was only Lakeview left to visit. Brooke wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed not to be alone with Holly again—as strange as it was to be sitting side by side with Janet in the back seat (Brooke’s long legs wouldn’t have it any other way), at least it meant she and Holly couldn’t talk about anything important, even if they wanted to. Did she want to?
Embarrassingly, she found she did, and spent the rest of the ride squirming, wondering if Janet could tell there was something funny going on. Janet, however, seemed blissfully ignorant and upon arrival opened her door with a cheery “thank you, Holly, I owe you one!”
“I’ll, um, be along in just a minute,” Brooke said, staring straight ahead out of the windshield. If Janet made a face or raised her eyebrows she couldn’t tell, and a moment later she shut the door and started her trudge through the knee-high snow toward the guest house. Holly clearly deduced this pause meant Brooke planned to say something to her, as she put on the parking brake and turned slightly in her seat, expression expectant.
“I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight, so we could discuss the terms of our agreement and so I could apologise again for jerking you around.” It all came out in one big breath, and Brooke didn’t turn to look at Holly until she had finished speaking.
“Oh. Uh.” Holly appeared blank for a moment, clearly thrown. Eventually she seemed to catch herself. “Uh, that’s really nice of you, and I’d like to, but I really can’t leave Maya two nights in a row. I’m sure my parents or Angie would take her, but what with last night…”
“Shit, no, of course, the kid…” Brooke shook her head, wishing she hadn’t made the stupid offer at all. Another thing dawned on her and she couldn’t help but give a wry chuckle. “I doubt any restaurants will be open in town anyway. And it’s not like I have a kitchen to cook in. Forget I said anything, it was a bad idea. We can…work things out in email.”
“Hey, no, it wasn’t a bad idea, it’s just…a little complicated logistically,” Holly said, her warm expression softening further in sympathy and yet again causing Brooke to curse herself for ever doing anything to make this woman angry and upset. Then inspiration seemed to dawn. “Why don’t you come to my place? It’s not too far—walkable, even in this—and I’ve got a chicken for tonight. Oh, unless you’re vegetarian…”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude…”
“You wouldn’t be,” Holly said simply, sincerely. She didn’t attempt to cajole any further—a refreshing change of pace from Margie’s persistent brand of persuasion. She just waited, dark eyes on Brooke’s, and Brooke was at once relieved and embarrassed by said relief. Still, it would be awkward to refuse now, wouldn’t it? She summoned a grateful smile.
“Okay, if you’re sure. Um, text me your address and what time you want me to come over?”
Holly’s smile widened, and she finally broke eye contact to nod to her cell phone, currently plugged in and charging in its cradle on the dashboard. “Soon as my cell’s got enough battery to turn back on,” she promised. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah, great. And thanks for the ride,” Brooke said, unbuckling her seatbelt. The cold blast of air that came with opening the door was more than welcome, bringing her back to herself as she shut the door and turned away from the car. It’s not a date. So, don’t get excited. You’re just going to talk business. It is not a date.
“When’s she coming?”
“Six.”
“What time is it now?”
“Go read the clock yourself, sweetheart.”
Ever obedient, Maya turned to check the digital display on the oven. “Six is ages away!”
“Only an hour.”
“Can’t she come sooner? You could call and ask?”
“If you don’t get on with chopping those carrots I’ll have to call and ask her to come later” was Holly’s riposte, and with a melodramatic groan her daughter turned her attention back to the job at hand.
Maya wasn’t the only one feeling antsy. Holly had been on edge all afternoon. She tried to explain it away as nerves—she didn’t get a lot of visitors, especially not near-strangers from out of town. But from their disastrous first meeting to their parting that morning, Brooke Hawkins had without fail left her feeling off-kilter and oddly emotional. Holly wasn’t accustomed to being a stranger to her feelings—indeed, she often leaned into them rather harder than she ought to—but with Brooke everything felt different. Perhaps she was still reeling from the rollercoaster dynamic between them; she had spent some days nursing her wrath toward her, so perhaps it was only natural that now, in the wake of Brooke relenting and giving her the chance to stay at the bakery, her feelings had flipped quite so radically, had become quite so fond. Or it could have been the unusual intimacy of their trip through the dark and the snow together to Brooke’s childhood home, a place that obviously held a lot of difficult memories for her. In any event, Holly found something about Brooke’s particular combination of strength and fragility, of remoteness and vulnerability, deeply affecting.
The doorbell rang at 6:05.
“I’ll get it!” Maya declared, jumping up from the kitchen table and run-slash-slipping in her socks toward the front door. An internal tug made Holly want to follow, but in truth she had little choice but to let Maya answer the door alone as she was right in the middle of making gravy.
Maya, never one to modulate her volume, could easily be heard giving Brooke a warm welcome and inviting her into the house, with Brooke’s replies a quieter murmur as Maya showed her round the living room, pointing out objects more or less at random in her eagerness to monopolise her attention. Once she was able to leave the stove Holly went to the kitchen doorway, feeling an increasingly familiar flutter in her stomach as she saw Brooke for the first time since that morning. Brooke was dressed casually, in a lovely mauve sweater Holly hadn’t seen before, and she smiled as Holly appeared in the doorway.
“Hey,” she said, reaching into the canvas bag over her shoulder. “I, um, didn’t want to come empty-handed so I brought some stuff.” Out of the bag came a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a tiny bag of pretzels. “Unfortunately, none of the stores were open, so…”
“Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything…” Nevertheless, Holly strode across to take the gifts, not wanting to leave Brooke standing holding them and wondering what to do. “Uh. Thanks. Not a lot to do around here, huh?” she joked weakly, sloshing the bottle back and forth a little and immediately feeling awkward and deeply regretting doing so.
Brooke didn’t respond immediately, though her cheeks did go pink. The silence was thankfully interrupted by Maya. “Airplane pretzels! Can I have them? I’ll keep them for a snack t
omorrow, I won’t ruin my dinner.” At a tiny nod from Holly, Brooke handed them over, somehow managing to look awkward even in that small movement.
“Thanks.” Maya immediately trotted off toward her bedroom, apparently keen to secrete her treasure immediately.
As Brooke’s gaze found hers again Holly cleared her throat and grinned. “Some wine? I have a bottle of white open. I wouldn’t usually but…” But tonight, I needed it.
“Sure,” Brooke said, a bit too readily. “Just a small glass.”
“Gotcha.” Holly turned to head to the kitchen. “You look really nice,” she added, braver now her back was turned. “I mean, the sweater’s a good colour.”
“Oh, thanks.” Brooke’s voice sounded a little scratchy—was she coming down with a cold? “It’s Janet’s, actually. I was saying I didn’t have anything to wear and she offered to loan it to me.”
“Ah, well. It’s very nice. I feel very underdressed now.” And grimy. Holly was in her usual denim ’n’ plaid and she’d been shovelling snow and sweating in a kitchen in it. Why didn’t I think to change…?
“You look great. Besides, this is just…dinner. No need to get too fancy.”
“Still, I suppose I could’ve combed my hair” was Holly’s rueful response as she tucked a stray lock of her thick, dark hair behind her ear, the rest of it just about tamed into a ponytail. Soon enough their wine was poured, and Holly turned to lean back against the breakfast bar. “Well. This is the house. I’d offer you the tour, but you’ve basically seen it.”
“It’s nice. Very cosy.” It could’ve been dismissive, but Holly thought Brooke sounded warm, and almost envious. “Much nicer than Highfield.”