When he doesn’t say a word, I prompt, “Hollis?”
He clears his throat. “Sure.” The single-word response sounds slightly tortured, and I wonder if he doesn’t want to come and share my special day with me.
The thought of that sears my heart.
“I’d love for you to be at the weddin’, too. If it’s possible with your schedule, of course.” I hate how stilted this conversation is. It’s downright painful.
“If you want me there, I’ll be there.” His low, husky tone holds undeniable affection, and it warms me through and through.
“I do.”
“So, what kind of weddin’ will it be?” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “A backyard one with Grandpa Joe officiatin’, like you always planned?”
I let out a soft laugh. “Kind of.”
Mother has taken the reins and increased the guest list, to my dismay. It’ll include far more people than I ever wanted or intended, the bulk of whom will be there for my parents, not me. But, as the saying goes, you have to pick your battles.
“As long as you get your convertible with the tin cans at the end, right?” The tenderly spoken reminder has me welling up with tears and emotion clogging my throat.
“And cherry Pop Rocks.”
“Can’t forget those.”
We fall silent for a beat.
“I should get some rest. Tomorrow’ll be brutal. So much beautifyin’ and so little time.” My attempt at injecting humor into my tone falls flat.
“Go rest up, beautiful. ’Night.”
Dismay ricochets through me at the thought of our call coming to an end. “Hollis?”
“Ma’am?”
The words spill out before I can even give it thought. But I can’t regret them. I haven’t spoken them to him in so, so long. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Shortcake.”
He quickly ends the call, leaving me with the startling realization that he didn’t say the same words we’d repeated to one another countless times over the years.
But not like that.
Hollis
THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY
I walk into the party a short time after it was scheduled to start, ensuring the large crowd would serve as a buffer of sorts. They would demand her attention, and that would hopefully mean less awkwardness.
Approaching the table nearly overflowing with wrapped gifts, I deposit mine on it carefully. I’m already second-guessing it, but it’s too late now. I’d stayed up late finishing it for her and hope she appreciates it.
“Hollis!” Before I can turn and fully face the person who called my name, a petite woman with blue-streaked hair latches on to me.
Stephanie.
I laugh. “Good to see you.”
She leans back with a smile. “Hey, stranger.” Her eyes survey me. “You look all…” She struggles with how to finish. “Manly.”
I grin. “That so?”
“Do I need to worry about y’all?” a male voice interrupts. Up steps a guy with a friendly smile. He places a hand at the base of Stephanie’s back and offers his hand. “I’m Tommy. Nice to meet you.”
We exchange a brief handshake. “Hollis Barnes.”
His eyebrows rise. “Whoa. The Hollis Barnes?”
I’m at a loss at how to respond because I’ve never received this kind of reaction before.
“Yes, honey,” Stephanie answers for me. “The Hollis Barnes.”
I glance between them warily. “I’m afraid to ask why I’m not just Hollis Barnes.”
Tommy shakes his head with what appears to be awe. “I’m a huge fan of your work. I follow you guys on Instagram.”
Oh. Well, that changes things.
I nod. “I appreciate it.”
“Are you in town for long?” he asks.
“No.” I attempt an expression of remorse when, in truth, I can’t wait to get out of here. Being around Magnolia when she’s due to marry someone else is flat-out torture. “I’m fixin’ to head back tomorrow.”
We make small talk for a few minutes before Stephanie’s attention shifts to focus somewhere behind me to my right. It doesn’t dawn on me until the small hand rests on my arm. I turn and, fuck. She’s breathtaking. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she’ll be a gorgeous bride.
Seeing her now, in the sleeveless knee-length dress that brings out the blue in her eyes, it’s undeniable that she’s become a beautiful woman. Merely stopping for gas or grabbing a few toiletries from the local grocery store had me overhearing the locals chatter on about how “the Barton girl is fixin’ to take over city council and make things right.”
Everything’s falling into place for her, and I should be happy for her. No, I am happy for her.
I just wish with every molecule of my body that I could be the one by her side instead of Grant.
“Hey, man!” Her fiancé greets me with a warm smile and a handshake. “Glad you could make it.” He sobers, then leans in and offers, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s passin’.”
I nod. “Appreciate it.”
A lady I don’t recognize materializes beside Magnolia. “Your mother needs y’all at the front.”
“We’ll be right there,” Magnolia says. Then she turns to me. “Thanks so much for comin’.” She gives me a quick hug, one that has me closing my eyes to memorize the feel of it before she backs away, accepting Grant’s outstretched hand.
“Please don’t leave without sayin’ goodbye, okay?” Her eyes plead with mine, but before I can offer a noncommittal answer, someone else calls out to her, drawing her attention.
I back away and grab one of the offered glasses of champagne from a passing server. Grant and Magnolia are now at the front of the room, thanking everyone for coming. Then Grant begins retelling how the two of them met and fell in love. It takes all I have in me not to toss back my glass of champagne in one gulp.
When the awws and smattering of applause come at the end, I leave my unfinished champagne and sneak out the exit, unnoticed.
I feel like a fool for leaving that present. It’s juvenile and not sentimental like I’d originally thought.
I don’t wait until the morning. I think I had an inkling earlier, which is why my bag is already stowed in my truck, ready to go.
I hit the interstate in record time, and the pressure on my chest doesn’t ease until I pass over the Alabama-Georgia border, bringing me that much closer to Atlanta.
The text comes in within a few hours after I leave Fairhope, but I can’t bring myself to read it until two days later.
Shortcake: I wish you would’ve stayed so I could say goodbye to you. Thank you for the present. I love it, Hollis.
The selfie taken with the pink convertible model car isn’t what has me throwing myself even deeper into my work these days.
It’s the large, sparkling diamond ring on the hand holding the car I’d painstakingly painted Just Married: Grant and Magnolia Stevenson on the back bumper. On the hood, a small print version of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 glued to the surface. She sticks out her tongue playfully to show me what’s on it.
The cherry Pop Rocks from the packet I’d taped to the bottom of the car.
Magnolia
THREE MONTHS LATER
Wedding Day
Stephanie has gone above and beyond. She’s still proving that even now. After my hair and makeup were complete, she assisted me in getting into my dress. When I whisper to her that I need a quick moment alone, she jumps into action with no questions asked.
“Let’s give the lovely bride some air and a moment to herself.” She shoos everyone from the room, and to my amazement, she handles my mother with ease. “Mrs. Barton, I think the mayor was asking to speak with you, dying to know more about the caterers you hired.”
I stare sightlessly at my reflection in the mirror, my lips curving up at my friend’s blatant fib. But it works. Soon, the room is empty aside from the two of us.
She steps up behind me, and I focus on her ref
lection in the floor-length mirror. “Thank you,” I offer softly.
“Anytime.” She fusses with the ends of my veil one last time before she lets out a sigh. “God, you’re gorgeous.” With a quick squeeze of my hand, she disappears, closing the door quietly behind her.
Once I’m finally alone, I exhale loudly. My cell phone lies on the dresser, playing welcoming background music to all the chatter while I was restricted to the chair where the makeup artist and Michelle, the woman from the salon I frequent, had done their best work.
My childhood room no longer holds any of my belongings since everything’s been packed up and delivered to Grant’s house.
I gaze at my reflection, my eyes flicking over the sparkly headband with the attached veil cascading down my back. My hair is twisted in sections and weaved in an intricate style I could never manage to recreate on my own. My lips are a unique blush color I’ve never worn before.
I reach up to touch them and freeze when I catch sight of the man standing a few feet behind me.
“Hollis,” I breathe softly.
Hollis
I shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to. Much like those in twelve-step programs, I need to complete this final task.
When I sneak up to her childhood room, Stephanie slips out the door the instant I approach. She eyes me with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “She wanted a moment alone.”
“No problem. I’m, uh, droppin’ somethin’ off really quick.”
She studies me for so long that I expect her to refuse. Finally, she nods. “Just don’t be too long,” she says, already rushing down the hall.
I reach for the door, ignoring the slight tremor in my hand, before I tap softly. “Shortcake?” I murmur.
She doesn’t answer, but I know she’s alone, so I tentatively open the door.
And promptly lose all ability to breathe.
Magnolia stands in front of her floor-length mirror looking too beautiful for words with a pensive expression on her face. I quietly close the door behind me, now realizing the music playing from her phone on the dresser must have prevented her from hearing me at the door.
I take a few steps closer to her, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of her in that dress. The way it leaves her shoulders bared, showing off her tanned flawless skin, and her hair done up in some fancy way that displays the elegant curve of her neck, does me in.
When her eyes catch sight of me in the mirror, she freezes.
“Hollis.”
“You’re”—I step closer, and it’s a monumental challenge to force the words past the growing lump of emotion in my throat—“absolutely breathtakin’.”
A slight flush spreads across her cheeks. “Thank you.”
She turns slowly to face me, and I feel like a damn fool dressed like I am. I can’t bear to spend money on brands like Armani, especially clothes I’ll never get use out of, but this is the nicest suit I own. Hell, I’m still probably an embarrassment to her.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”
She wasn’t the only one. Hell, even I hadn’t been sure.
I offer a small smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Gazing down at her, I realize this will be the last time we’ll be together as just Hollis and Magnolia. The last time she’ll be my Shortcake. Because in a few minutes, she’ll belong to Grant.
I move over to the window covered with a gauzy curtain that looks out onto the backyard, where countless guests have gathered. It’s not quite like she’d wanted, but then again, she’d been a young girl who’d wanted a small backyard wedding.
Things change. So do people.
With my back to her, I reach inside my suit jacket and withdraw the letter and the packet. In one hand, I fist the letter tight in a punishing grip. This damn letter holds my words—words she’ll never see, because no way am I fixing to be the bastard who confesses his feelings on her goddamn wedding day.
It’s the end of the line for me. This is goodbye.
Suddenly, someone knocks loudly on the door in three demanding raps of their knuckles. “Magnolia?” a woman’s voice calls out. “Are you still in there?”
Magnolia crosses the room and opens the door just a crack. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We need to get you downstairs in about ten minutes, sweetie.”
I walk to the small wastebasket at the side of the dresser and set the packet of cherry Pop Rocks beside her cell phone before I toss the crumpled letter in the trash.
“I’ll be ready,” Magnolia promises the woman before closing the door. She turns around, and I drink in the sight of her one last time, knowing I need to leave. I shouldn’t even be here.
But now it’s done. It’s over.
I draw to a stop in front of her and carefully place a light kiss on her forehead. “Love you, Shortcake.”
Without waiting for her response, I step from the room and close the door softly behind me.
Magnolia
I find Grant in the spare bedroom. Alone, thankfully.
He turns at the sound of the opening door only to comically spin back around, covering his eyes. “Magnolia! I’m not supposed to see you in your dress.”
A faint smile tugs at my lips. Good grief, do I love this man. “It’s okay, I promise.”
Hands still covering his eyes as I approach, he asks, “Is everythin’ all right?”
The affection and worry in his tone compound my guilt because, well…he’s a peach, as Mother would say. Grant is genuinely a good man.
But I need some answers, and as painful as it might be to ask them, it needs to happen. Otherwise, I’ll have what-ifs hanging over me and plaguing me every step of the way.
I draw to a stop in front of him. “You can look at me, Grant,” I say in a gentle tone.
Cautiously, he lowers his hands and opens his eyes. His gaze surveys me slowly, as if he’s taking in every detail, his expression morphing into one of wonder before his eyes return to mine. “You look beautiful.”
I step closer and smooth down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “And you look quite dapper yourself.” I busy myself by straightening his tie, avoiding his gaze while I drum up the courage to ask him.
“Hey.” His tone is low, cautious but gentle.
I lift my eyes to his. “I have a question for you.”
“O-kay,” he answers slowly.
I press my lips together firmly before I ask, “Do you love me?”
His eyes go wide in surprise before he regains his composure. Expression turning fiercely tender, he takes my hands in his. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I search his eyes, his features, for any indication his words are untrue and come up empty.
It makes my next question that much more painful to ask.
I swallow hard past the lump of riotous emotion. “Am I the person you can’t live without? The love of your life? Do you feel passionate about me?” His lips part, but I rush on to finish. “If I walked out that door”—I gesture to the closed bedroom door I came through—“right now and never came back, would you be devastated?”
His mouth opens to answer, but the words don’t immediately come.
And I have my answer.
My face falls, and I withdraw my hands from his, curling my fingers inward at the painful realization.
Grant wears a tormented expression. “Magnolia, you know what I went through.”
I hold up a hand to stop him, resignation threaded in my tone when I quietly say, “I know.”
He moves to cup my face in his hands, eyes pleading. “I love you, Magnolia. I do. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love someone the way I loved her.”
Anguish etches his features, and I know he’s not saying this to hurt me, but because it’s the truth. When he lost her in that car accident, he lost much of his heart, too.
I reach up to cover Grant’s hands with mine before gently lifting them away. When I release his hands, they drop limply to his sides. �
�I know, I just…” Emotion clogs my throat, and I look away.
“I found a kindred spirit in you that day. That was my first thought,” he says in a hushed voice.
My eyes cut to his, and the sad smile playing at his lips sends pain lancing through my chest.
“I knew just by lookin’ at you that you were where I’d once been. And it took me a hell of a lot longer to claw my way out.” He drags a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. His voice rises with urgency as he continues. “Spendin’ time with you and gettin’ to know you, I fell in love with you—”
“But not the kind of love you had before,” I finish for him, my voice cracking. “Not the kind of love you can’t live without.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment before resignation settles over his features. “No.”
I mash my lips together, willing away the sob that threatens to break free. Turning, I face the window, vying for some semblance of composure.
“But Magnolia…” he says, his voice hurried, laced with unease. “I do love you, and I’ve—”
“Ask me,” I blurt out, still staring out the window, vision blurry.
There’s a slight pause. “Ask you…what?”
“Ask me if I could live without you if you walked out that door right now and never came back.” Slowly, I turn to face him. “Ask me if I’d be devastated.”
Blue eyes survey me cautiously as if he’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
Maybe I have.
With obvious hesitance, he asks, “If I walked out that door and never came back, would you be devastated?”
Tears fill my eyes as I finally admit the truth.
There’s only one man who left me in the midst of devastation. Yes, I managed to pick up the pieces and rebuild my world with help, but it’s never been the same.
Love Me Like I Love You Page 160