by Cindy Kirk
“I booked the Olive Oil Company,” he said calmly.
“But someone else already had it reserved.”
“It was reserved by a group who were planning to hold a charity fund-raising meeting there. Turns out they were willing to move their meeting back a week in exchange for a sizeable donation to their charity. Look, I . . . I’m sorry you found out about it this way. I should have let you know sooner that I’d booked a location.”
“No, it’s okay.” She refused to feel hurt. She wasn’t the event’s cohost. She was just the person who’d offered up some venue suggestions. “When did this happen?”
“Recently.”
“All expertly arranged by your assistant, I’m guessing.”
A lazy smile started on one side of his mouth and grew. The sight of it warmed Holly in ways that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. “Exactly,” he said.
“That’s wonderful.” It was wonderful. The Olive Oil Company barn couldn’t have been a more perfect location. But this development also meant that she and Josh had lost the one pursuit that connected them. She swallowed against a foolish sense of disappointment. “If you recall, the Olive Oil Company was my very first choice.”
“I recall.”
“So what this means is that you went with my choice.” She smiled.
“You’re obviously very gifted with both weddings and rehearsal dinners.”
“Obviously.”
“How are you with caterers?”
She paused. Was he asking her for more help? “How am I with choosing a caterer? Inexperienced.”
“My assistant has already chosen a caterer.”
“Of course.”
“I’m wondering how you are with choosing a caterer’s menu?”
“You mean to tell me that your assistant didn’t already select the rehearsal dinner menu?”
“She lives in Paris and is unavailable to sample dishes.”
“I’m relatively experienced at sampling dishes. Sam and I have been to more than ninety of Martinsburg’s restaurants since January.”
“Then you’re more than qualified.”
“You’re more than qualified, Josh. You’ve probably eaten at the finest restaurants on every continent. You don’t need my help.”
“No,” he said bluntly, “I do.”
He had a tiny scar on his jaw from a bike riding accident when he was a kid. She could remember kissing the spot.
She could not go gooey over him! If only he wasn’t so distractingly handsome. If only he’d quit looking at her so intently. It made her feel . . . lovely, when she wasn’t. “You don’t need my help.” Her voice came out confidently, loyally covering her internal weakening. “You didn’t need my help with the rehearsal dinner location either, it seems.”
“I might not need your help, but I want it.”
She was playing with fire! She should turn him down. More contact between them was not wise.
“Please,” he said.
She caved. “All right. I don’t really have the willpower to turn down”—more time with you—“a trip to a caterer’s shop to sample delicious food.”
“Good. Now that I think about it, we’ll probably have to go twice. Once to select appetizers and salads and once to select entrees and desserts.”
Ben returned to his bar stool, breaking the bubble for two she and Josh had created. All the sounds and colors of the bar rushed back. “I’ll be in touch,” Josh said.
“See you guys soon.” She made her way to the booth and slid in next to Sam.
“What’s something we can say to each other in honor of the German heritage of this restaurant?” Sam asked.
Rob slid down slightly in his booth seat and gave them a mock scowl. “For the record, I think it’s goofy when y’all do that.” He’d been to several of their Year of Restaurants meals.
“It’s so much more fun when we have someone here to find us goofy,” Sam insisted. “My husband is home mopping the kitchen floor—”
“—being perfect—” Holly noted.
“—so you’re all we have, Rob.”
“Guten appetite?” Holly ventured, holding up her water glass.
“Danke schön.” Sam murdered the pronunciation with her thick East Coast accent. “Wiener schnitzel! Dachshund!”
They all laughed and even Rob reluctantly clicked his glass to theirs.
“Dude,” Ben murmured. “You’re going to have to stop staring at her. She’ll notice.”
Josh twisted on his stool to face the dinner one of the servers had slid onto the bar. He and Ben both had burgers and shoestring fries in front of them. Josh didn’t even remember ordering. He’d lost his appetite.
“I knew you’d fall for Holly again once you saw her,” Ben said. He dipped a few of his fries in ketchup. “I remember how crazy you were about her.”
“Yeah.” His lungs felt hollow. Who was Rob? Holly couldn’t actually like that guy, right? With the ponytail? His thoughts shifted in pessimistic patterns, turning his mood sooty and dark. Of course she could like him. Rob was more handsome than he was. Rob kept smiling at Holly like she’d hung the moon. Plus, he lived here.
Not everyone in Martinsburg had overlooked Holly. Rob hadn’t.
“Holly’s even prettier than she was in high school,” Ben said. “She’s made a success of her career and she’s nice to everyone in this town. She’s sort of like our glue. You know?”
Josh took in an uneven breath. “I know.”
Ben’s face communicated sympathy. “Why don’t you tell her how you feel about her?”
“Because I don’t want to get involved with her.”
Ben whistled. “You could’ve fooled me. You’ve been watching her ever since she came in.”
Josh pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I’m an idiot.”
“Tell her that you’re an idiot for her. Women like that kind of stuff.”
“I’m leaving soon.”
“Relocate here.”
“I don’t want to live here, Ben.” Everything in this town reminded him of the kid he’d been.
After his dad had been killed by a drunk driver, his mom had moved them to Martinsburg so that she could take a secretarial position a friend had offered her. Josh had arrived in Martinsburg grief-stricken and mad at the world. A loner. Desperate inside. He’d been terrified and ashamed of his terror because he’d been fourteen years old and his mom had needed him to be strong. He’d been all she had left.
His mom had insisted he play on the JV soccer team, and looking back, he was glad she’d insisted because that’s how he’d met Ben. Ben was the child of a single mom, too, but unlike Josh, Ben had a naturally outgoing and optimistic personality. He’d befriended Josh when Josh hadn’t had anything likable to offer. He’d been Josh’s closest friend ever since.
All through high school, Josh and his mom had lived paycheck to paycheck and barely had enough to cover rent and groceries. To help out, Josh had worked loading and unloading inventory at a warehouse after school and in the summers. The money he’d made had never gone far enough. He’d realized early that if he wanted a better life for his mom and himself he only had one option: to ace his academics and earn his ticket out of Martinsburg, a town that had become, for him, a symbol of hardship and shame.
The second semester of his sophomore year of high school, he’d sat two chairs behind Holly Morgan in AP English. She’d entered his gray life like a bolt of sunshine. And almost from the first day of that semester, he’d loved her.
It had been as simple and as fast and as inexplicable as that.
He’d loved her.
Holly’s manner had been easy and the kindheartedness she’d extended to him sincere. The fatherless and sullen kid, who had plenty of smarts but just one friend, had fallen helplessly for her. She’d been his point of hope, the one aspect of life in Martinsburg he treasured. She’d treated him as a friend for the next two years but his feelings for her had never wavered.
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br /> Then one night in the winter of their senior year, when he’d been helping her study for a math test, he’d sensed that things between them had shifted. He’d gathered his courage and taken hold of her hand. She’d squeezed his hand in response. He could still remember the way his heart had pounded and his thoughts had blown out of the water, sitting there next to her at that table with a math textbook open between them, her hand in his.
He’d been introduced to faith as a kid, but Holly was the closest thing to a miracle his teenage self had ever experienced. During the months they’d dated, he’d looked into her eyes and seen God’s love for him looking back. She’d taken him to church and talked through spiritual things with him.
Then the girl who’d strengthened his belief had also become the one who’d most tested it when she’d broken his heart. It had taken him a few years to find God again after that. But eventually, he had. His relationship with God had been his life’s anchor ever since.
Josh sliced a glance across the restaurant and saw Rob lean toward Holly to say something. Holly tilted her head to listen.
Pain and wanting washed through Josh so powerfully that he had to brace against it.
“Look away,” Ben said.
Josh did.
“How come you didn’t tell me you’d seen her?” Ben set down his burger and wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Because I haven’t been able to decide in my own head if seeing her is a good idea or not.”
“What was she saying about looking for rehearsal dinner locations? You’ve had that Olive Oil place booked for six months.”
“I lied to her. I ran into her on the street and I asked her if she’d help me look for a location. I wanted to see her again and that was the only reason I could come up with on the spot.”
Ben’s forehead creased. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been driving around town searching for a place to hold the rehearsal dinner when you already have a place? Because you want to spend time with Holly?”
“Yes.”
Ben clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell her the truth. About all of it.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to get involved with her.”
Ben’s expression turned pitying. “You’ve got it bad, dude. Seriously bad.”
“This is delicious.” Holly pointed her fork at a plate containing melt-in-your-mouth spare ribs. Oh, how she adored spare ribs. Maybe today hadn’t been the best day to wear a snug belt with her jeans.
Josh finished chewing. “I agree.”
Five days had passed since their discussion at Das Lokal, two since their first visit to the caterer.
Josh had picked her up in his Range Rover an hour ago (She’d blown off Zumba class again, but really, who could think about exercise at a time like this?) and driven them thirty minutes to his caterer’s shop in the nearby town of Hollis. Compared to a big city, Hollis was a pipsqueak. Compared to Martinsburg, a flashy metropolis. Just like at their first visit, the caterer had seated them at her one table, which was framed by a deep bow window. On the far side of the square-paned glass, the afternoon crouched gray and chilly. Inside, the shop brimmed with bright and cheery warmth. It didn’t hurt that the dear lady who owned the place kept bringing them plate after sampling plate of wonderful food.
Josh leaned back in the white iron filigree chair he’d been given, a chair so girly that it made him look extra-manly in comparison. He wore a chocolate-colored sweater that had a very slight V at the neck. The sweater’s austerity, and the way it fit close to his body, suited him. “I’m not much of a party planner,” he said.
“I imagine you’re pretty busy, what with being a technology mogul and all.”
“True.” The wry humor in his eyes made her mouth go dry. “I’m very important.”
“Very. And armed, lest we forget, with an assistant who seems skillful at everything, including party planning.” Holy smoke, these ribs should come with a warning label.
“I have a party planning question.”
“You could speed-dial your assistant.”
“I’d rather ask you.”
Her lips quirked. “All right.”
“Amanda told me she’s having a sit-down dinner at her reception. Should I avoid having a sit-down dinner at the rehearsal dinner?”
Holly considered his question while setting aside her fork. “Your rehearsal dinner is going to be very nice, Josh. I’d counsel you to avoid doing anything similar to what Amanda’s doing at the reception. It’d be a shame to show up the bride.”
“Point taken.” He speared a bite of buttermilk fried chicken. “How would you recommend I serve the meal?”
“Food stations? They’re classier than a buffet, and in keeping with the rustic, Texas feel of the evening.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m guessing you’ll want to begin with appetizers and drinks on the patio at sunset. Weather permitting, of course. It’s Texas. It could be freezing or it might be perfect.”
“Did you try this chicken?”
“Yes. It’s amazing.”
He indicated the brisket. “What about this?”
“Outstanding,” she said.
“You were saying? About the appetizers . . .”
“Right. I’d serve them on the patio. Then, you can have food stations set up inside the barn with the main course dishes, salads, cheeses, fruit, bread. I’m guessing Amanda and Ben will want to say a few words to their guests at some point during the evening?”
“Yes.”
“So maybe dessert could be served to everyone individually, at their tables, during that portion of the evening.”
The caterer, a woman in her early forties wearing a floral apron, bustled in. The kitchen heat had flushed her face but done nothing to stifle her proud smile. “What do you think?” She placed her hands on her hips.
“I think you should apply for Master Chef,” Holly said. “You’d win.”
She beamed. “Have you decided which dishes you like best?” She directed the question to Josh, knowing full well he was the one in possession of a Visa Black Card.
“Whatever the lady decides.”
“What?” Holly held up her hands. “I’m just a writer and a volunteer wedding coordinator and the girl who feeds my family’s cat.”
“She also brings her neighbors coffee and denture cleaner,” he told the caterer.
The caterer nodded, amused.
Josh angled toward Holly. Unhurried, he hooked a hand around the top of her iron filigree chair. “What do you like best? Whatever it is, that’s what I’m ordering.”
She wasn’t used to anyone putting so much stock in her opinion. She could probably get used to it, if forced. She looked over the assembled main dishes. During their last visit, they’d decided on appetizers and salads that had a Southern flair, so she’d continue in that theme. “I love them all, but if it were up to me—”
“It is,” Josh said.
“I’d choose the spare ribs, the fried chicken, and the . . .” she wrinkled her nose and closed one eye. Saying good-bye to any of these dishes felt criminal. “Turkey pot pie.”
“Excellent.” The caterer began stacking the plates on a tray.
“Are you sure you’re okay with those?” Holly asked Josh, under her breath. “Because—”
“I want what you want,” he assured her.
He hadn’t moved his hand from her chair. Having his hand there, such a simple thing, really, caused a crippling longing to break open within her.
The caterer propped her tray on her hip and paused to speak to Josh about rehearsal dinner logistics.
Holly and Josh had shared an uncommon intimacy once.
Holly had never again been able to attain that sort of intimacy with a boyfriend. On the contrary, she’d hardly had a boyfriend serious enough to want to go to the movies with.
She ached to have someone that was hers to share her feelings with, to hug, to laugh with. She’d been hoping and waiting and praying for
that person, the person God had in mind for her.
Just—just not him, Lord. I can’t feel this longing for Josh.
She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. She’d been a fool to come here. Up until today she’d been managing her feelings for him. But just now, those feelings had leapt over the line. She was falling for him. Again.
Josh straightened in his seat, removing his hand from her chair. She was in serious trouble, because she was sorry, not glad like she should have been, to lose the sweetness of that small connection.
The caterer swept from the room and returned moments later with five plates of dessert. Josh smiled at Holly, anticipating her delight.
“Oh. My. Goodness,” Holly breathed. Red velvet cake, sheet cake, apple pie, two different cobblers.
They made steady progress, taking time to savor each bite and debate the merits of one dessert against the others. She definitely shouldn’t have opted for a belt today.
When it came time to make the decision, Josh once again asked Holly for her choice. She picked apple pie à la mode. Flaky, cinnamony, and perfect for fall.
The caterer thanked them and disappeared into the kitchen with the plates and silverware.
“I’m going to be gone this weekend,” Josh said, “for Ben’s bachelor party weekend.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m taking the guys to Lost Pines Resort outside Austin to golf.”
“It’s beautiful there. Should be fun.” It said a lot about Josh that he hadn’t just thrown money at Ben’s wedding events then blown in on a private jet for forty-eight hours. He’d come to Martinsburg to spend real time with his friend and to handle the details himself.
“I’m expecting two straight days of humiliation,” he said. “I’m a terrible golfer.”
“Not many golf courses in downtown Paris?”
“Not many. Any chance that you have time to meet me up at the Olive Oil Company when I get back? To discuss how we should arrange the tables and food stations?”
She wanted to say yes more than she wanted an appearance on the New York Times bestseller list. But she had to say no. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m booked solid next week.”