by Rachel Hauck
“I did know.”
Was Ben filling Josh in about her the way that Ben filled her in about him? “And Jessica’s in law school.”
He nodded.
“So I’m the only one left in town.” She gave a little shrug as if to say, I’m still living in Martinsburg, despite that my parents, older brother, and younger sister have all moved on. But I really don’t mind because I like it here and I’m very content and secure. Very! “How’s your mom?” Josh’s father had died when Josh was twelve.
Warmth slightly softened the austerity of his expression. “She lives in Colorado now, near her sister.”
“Is she retired?”
“She can retire whenever she wants.” Which Holly translated to mean that Josh had set her up in such luxurious style that she’d never have another financial care in her life.
“But she doesn’t like to sit still,” he continued. “She’s working at a charity that helps unemployed women find work.”
“That’s good to hear.” Before Josh’s mom had moved, Holly had run into her around town from time to time. Each meeting had filled her with complicated emotions of affection and pain. She didn’t blame his mom for asking her to break up with Josh all those years ago. How could you blame a person for advising you to do the right thing, the thing that had become the springboard for all the success Josh had achieved afterward? On the other hand, Josh’s mom couldn’t have known how very much Holly had loved Josh or how much losing him had devastated her. So, deep in her heart, she couldn’t bring herself to hold his mom completely blameless, either. She inhaled, seeking calm, rooting around for another topic of conversation—
“Well.” He flicked a few fingers in the direction he’d been walking. “I’d better be going.”
“Sure.” She didn’t allow her disappointment to show as she edged closer to the wall to let him pass. “I’ll see you around.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
He moved off.
Somewhat dazed, she watched him go.
His steps paused.
She jerked her face toward her tray and made a show of straightening the cups.
“Holly?”
“Hm?” She pretended to be surprised to discover that he hadn’t left.
“I’m planning Ben’s rehearsal dinner and I need to find a venue. I’m not familiar with Martinsburg anymore. Would you be willing to help me look for a place?”
He was asking her for assistance? “Sure.”
He produced his phone. “May I have your number?”
She gave it to him.
“Thanks. I’ll contact you.” He nodded curtly, then strode down the street.
She was going to search for rehearsal dinner venues with Josh? Because of the wedding and the smallness of Martinsburg, she’d known that she’d cross paths with Josh during his time here. But she’d envisioned their interactions as short and formal. She hadn’t expected to spend real time with him. Or share real conversations.
She made her way along the sidewalk in the opposite direction, passing an art gallery, a wine shop, and a women’s clothing store before coming to the home furnishings store she lived above. A narrow alley between buildings took her to an exterior staircase. From there, a hallway led to her building’s three second-story units. She left Rob’s coffee outside his doorway. He worked late every night as a sous chef and typically woke around this time. She knocked quietly on Mrs. Chapel’s door. Her elderly neighbor opened the door the width of the inner chain she always kept latched.
“Here you are, Mrs. Chapel.” Holly squeezed a cup through.
“Thank you, dear. Did you remember to put in one and a half packets of sugar?”
“I did.”
“The cup feels cold.”
“Sorry about that. I ran into an old friend on the street. Just zap it in the microwave for thirty seconds.”
Mrs. Chapel patted the cup accusingly with arthritic hands. “If you’re going out again later, I could use a new pack of Depends.”
Holly laughed. “Now Mrs. Chapel, you know I’m just your friendly next door neighbor and coffee delivery girl.”
“Fine.” The old lady winked sagely at Holly. “I’ll guilt one of my daughters into picking up the Depends for me.”
“Good plan.” Holly dashed around the corner to her door before Mrs. Chapel could ask her to buy Ensure or Vitamin K.
She’d scored the best apartment of the bunch. It overlooked Main and boasted lots of windows and spacious everything: living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. The moment she set aside her tray, she dug her phone from her purse and texted her girlfriend, Sam Sullivan. Lunch today, 12, Taqueria.
Josh continued along Main Street until he was sure he’d left Holly far behind him, then ducked blindly into a store. One sweeping view of the place told him that the shop sold Texas nuts.
The middle-aged woman behind the counter caught his eye. “Welcome. May I help you?”
“I’ll take whatever’s most popular.” He hadn’t come in for pecans. He just needed a few minutes of privacy.
“Certainly. Our hickory smoked trail mix is our most popular item.”
“Fine.”
She held up an empty sack. “Two-pound bag all right?”
“Yes.”
Josh took up a position near the front window, his back toward the shop, his shoulder set heavily against the side wall.
There was a reason he’d avoided returning to Martinsburg.
And his reason had the most infuriatingly beautiful gray-blue eyes.
He’d spent his college summers taking courses and working close to the MIT campus. For the most part, his mom had come to visit him in Massachusetts. The few times he’d stayed in Martinsburg for Christmas, he’d gone to great lengths to make sure he never saw Holly.
Seven months ago, Ben and Amanda had gotten engaged and announced that they’d be marrying in their hometown of Martinsburg, Texas, population 10,000. Shortly afterward, Josh had made plans to return to Martinsburg for the four weeks prior to Ben’s wedding. So long as he had his technology with him, he could work away from his home base in Paris for up to a month.
He’d told himself it would be fine. He’d told himself that the thing with Holly had happened in another lifetime. He’d had seven months to get his head straight, to prepare himself.
Seven months hadn’t been long enough.
Eight years hadn’t been long enough, either.
“Here you are!” The store employee displayed the trail mix like a fine wine. “Our best seller.”
“Thanks.”
“Would you like to come to the counter for a nut tasting?”
“No. I . . . just need a minute to myself.” He gave her a level stare.
“Ah. Okay. I’ll have this at the register for you when you’re ready.”
He scowled back out the front windows.
Holly Morgan. The Holly who’d once been his.
Josh had never done anything halfway. It wasn’t in his makeup. He hadn’t done academics halfway in high school or college. He hadn’t done his business halfway. He’d always worked like a machine and still did. In fact, part of what had initially fueled him in his career had been his desire to prove to Holly that he was worth something, that she’d made a mistake when she’d cut him loose.
No, he didn’t do anything halfway.
Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t fallen in love with Holly halfway, either. Theirs had not been a lighthearted romance. They’d kept it pure, but it had also been intense.
Holly had been smart and kind, creative and genuine. She hadn’t had the sort of in-your-face, commercial prettiness that had characterized the popular girls in their high school. But to him, she’d been more gorgeous than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on before or since.
When he’d known her, she’d worn her light brown hair straight down her back. Now it fell a few inches longer than her shoulders, layered slightly, wavy, with some shiny dark blonde strands in it. Her thoug
htful, heart-shaped face held a sweetness that couldn’t be faked. She had great cheekbones and little brackets that formed at the corners of her lips when she smiled.
He’d continued to gain height in college. She hadn’t. She stood about six inches shorter than he did now, her build slender but not skinny.
When he’d caught sight of her on the sidewalk just now it had knocked the air from him. He turned his hands palms up and watched the tremor in them. Fisting his fingers, he buried his hands in his coat pockets.
He’d lost two people in his life that he’d never recovered from. His dad and Holly. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by that he hadn’t thought about them both.
The last time he’d seen Holly, they’d hugged each other in an airport terminal like they never wanted to let go. The departure time for his flight had drawn closer and closer. His mom, who’d already gone through security and was waiting for him at the gate, had started calling his cell phone. He’d held onto Holly for as long as he could. When their time had run out and they’d kissed for the final time, his heart had felt like it was breaking clean in two.
He’d looked back at her from the security checkpoint line. At first, she’d given him wobbly smiles and brave waves. The final time he’d looked back, tears had been running down her face.
He’d worked hard to earn his scholarship to MIT, but once he’d arrived there, he’d wanted, desperately, to give it up and return to Holly. Without her, school seemed pointless, his loneliness endless. He’d been certain he’d be able to make a success of himself regardless of which institution issued his degree. He’d wanted to make a success of himself with Holly. But before he could follow through on his desire to leave MIT, she’d broken up with him.
People drifted by on the far side of the shop’s window.
Martinsburg had been founded in the Hill Country of central Texas in 1848 by Germans who’d come for economic and religious freedoms. These days, tourists were drawn here by the town’s old-fashioned charm, surrounding wineries, hunting, wildflower fields, B&Bs, and underground caverns.
Upon arriving two days ago, his strategy had been to limit his interaction with Holly as much as politely possible. But, a few minutes ago, when he’d had the chance to walk away and leave her behind, just as he had in that airport terminal all those years ago, he’d failed. In that instant, he’d wanted some tie to her, some small link. So without thinking it through, all instinct and no logic, he’d asked for her help searching out a rehearsal dinner location.
He shouldn’t have done that. She’d shattered him when she’d ended things between them. The memory caused his pride to twist and burn.
It had been unbelievably painful to talk with her this morning, and their conversation had only lasted for a few minutes. Why had he signed himself up for more?
He could cancel. Or go on one outing with her and call it good. Pulling free his phone, he brought her name and number up on his screen.
Holly Morgan.
It shamed him that he still hadn’t gotten ahold of himself. He needed more time to recover, standing here in a nut shop.
Seven months. He’d had seven months to prepare himself for his reunion with her.
And it hadn’t been long enough.
Chapter 2
“Hola!” Sam slid into the booth at the Taqueria opposite Holly, bringing a light waft of Chloe Eau de Parfum with her. “What’s something we can say to one another in honor of this fine Mexican food establishment?”
“Uh, chimichanga?” Holly offered. “La Bamba? I should have taken Spanish in high school, seeing as how I live in a state that borders Mexico. Instead, I took French.” Holly scooted the chip bowl toward Sam. “I’ve never once visited France.”
Sam scooped salsa onto a tortilla chip.
Sam and Holly had made it their New Year’s resolution to eat at every restaurant in Martinsburg over the course of twelve months. Their town offered a total of one hundred and three restaurants. So far, they’d made it through eighty-seven.
“So?” Sam asked. “Why the urgent summons? It’s Tuesday and we weren’t supposed to have lunch here ’til Thursday.”
“I saw Josh today.”
Sam’s manicured eyebrows lifted. “As in your high school love Josh?”
“The same.”
“High school love turned billionaire Josh?”
“Yes.”
“Already arrived in Martinsburg to ride to the rescue of his loyal pal Ben.”
Holly nodded.
“Tell me all.”
Holly recounted her meeting with Josh, starting with his appearance and ending with his request for her help searching out rehearsal dinner locations.
Sam had the sleek dark hair, oval face, and beautifully pampered skin of a woman born and bred on the East Coast, which, in fact, she had been. She’d married a man Holly affectionately referred to as Mr. Perfect two years ago and moved to Martinsburg when Mr. Perfect’s engineering expertise had scored him a job with Martinsburg’s largest employer, a clean energy company. Sam worked as a CPA and had chosen a navy pin-striped suit for today’s work ensemble.
“He must have it bad for you,” Sam said. “Otherwise why ask for your help?”
“He isn’t familiar with Martinsburg anymore. Maybe he just needs a local to offer up ideas.”
“A man that rich can hire someone to scout locations. Also, how come he hasn’t already booked a place for the rehearsal dinner? Amanda and Ben’s wedding is what, three and a half weeks away?”
Ben’s fiancée, Amanda, was the beloved daughter of Martinsburg’s wealthiest family. Her upcoming wedding had become one of the town’s favorite topics of conversation. Not above football, of course. But it had edged past the ongoing dispute about whether Billy’s barbeque rub was better than Johnny Earl’s.
“Maybe he’s been busy?” Holly suggested.
Sam snorted. “Busy dreaming of a reunion with his high school girlfriend. Did you set a date to scout rehearsal sites?”
“No, I gave him my number.”
“Holly, Holly, Holly.” Sam shook her head pityingly. “Now you’ve handed him all the control. You’re going to have to sit around on pins and needles waiting to hear from him.”
“Does the sitting around have to involve pins and needles?” Holly took hold of a lock of her hair and wound it around her index finger. The truth was that seeing Josh had already turned her brain to mush and made her stomach so jumpy she doubted whether she’d be able to consume even a single cheese enchilada. More’s the pity. She liked Mexican.
“You should have asked for his number,” Sam informed her. “Or you should have said that you’d be free on, say, Saturday from two to five.”
“This is why you’re married to Mr. Perfect and I’m dating no one.”
Sam pointed a tortilla chip at Holly. “My husband is indeed perfect.”
“Yes. I realize.” Mr. Perfect made good money, dressed like someone who knew how to sail, cooked, shopped for groceries, cleaned their house, and frequently showered Sam with gifts.
“He made chicken piccata last night,” Sam said, “and told me to rest while he cleaned it up.”
“Boo! I ate cereal for dinner.”
“I’m now going to leverage the man IQ I used to land my husband to help you land your high school love turned billionaire—”
“No! No, no, no.”
Sam waited for her to explain her reluctance while mariachi music played softly and the scent of cilantro sifted over them with the air conditioning. A few banners of colorful cutout tissue paper rectangles swagged above them.
“I can’t fall for him again, Sam.”
“Why not?”
“He lives in Paris, you realize. He’ll be leaving town right after the wedding.”
“Not all long-distance relationships are doomed to crash and burn.”
“Okay, setting aside the long-distance part, if I let myself care about him again, then I risk putting myself through all the heartache I wen
t through the last time we broke up. I can’t do it again.”
Sam’s face softened. Not usually given to physical displays of affection, she reached across the table and wrapped her hand around Holly’s forearm. “My first man IQ lesson? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Do you want Josh?”
“No.”
“Yes you do. And this is your chance! You have proximity.” She squeezed Holly’s arm to underscore the urgency in her words before sitting back in her booth seat. “I counsel you to mount a full-scale assault on his heart.”
“I typically only mount full-scale assaults on my To Be Read pile of books.”
“Man IQ lesson number two: you have to start thinking of yourself as superior to him.”
Holly laughed. “What?”
“I’m just telling it like it is. In order to catch this guy, you’re going to have to believe that he’s the one who will come to care about you so much that he’ll be heartbroken when your time together runs out. Are you following me?”
“Um . . .”
“What’s the problem? You are superior to him. You’re wonderful in every way.”
“Not in every way. I have allergies and go to work in my pajamas and still haven’t earned the affection of Rob’s lab. Aren’t labs supposed to love everyone?”
“You’re a bestselling author.”
She gave Sam an unconvinced look. A few of her dystopian YA novels had snuck onto the very bottom of the USA Today list. She’d written two books a year since college. Not all of them had done as well.
“Your novels star a fearless eighteen-year-old girl,” Sam said, “who never hesitates to take names and kick bootie. You are your heroine.”
Holly wrinkled her forehead. “She’s like the superhero cartoon version of me. She’s amazing with a rapier, for pity’s sake.”
“Well, you’re going to need to channel more of her in order to convince your billionaire to put a ring on it.”