by Becky Wade
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 thoughtful, 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.
“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 went 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.”
“He’s not my billionaire and I don’t want to convince him to—”
“Also, you might want to think about wearing tighter clothing, more makeup, and getting a gel manicure every two weeks. Just sayin’.” Sam shot her a big grin.
“Now I know you’ve lost your mind.”
She was supposed to be writing.
Holly had returned to her apartment hours ago after lunch at the Tacqueria. She’d stationed herself at her desk, which faced a glorious old window overlooking Main. She had her computer document open in front of her. Her environment cocooned her appropriately with quiet. Her pumpkin-spice candle was flickering and she’d answered her e-mail. She should be writing. But all she’d been actively doing was waiting for a text or call from Josh.
Sam would not approve.
Beyond the window panes, the sun melted toward the horizon, casting amber light over Martinsburg—
Her phone rang. Holly lunged for it like a woman in sugar withdrawal lunging for the final truffle at a chocolate shop.
The screen announced the incoming caller as Amanda’s mom. Spirits sagging, Holly set the phone down and let it go to voice mail. Because of her volunteer position as Trinity Church’s wedding coordinator, either Amanda or Amanda’s mom called her almost daily. Holly found it more efficient to compile all their questions and address them at one time.
The cursor on her computer screen blinked, awaiting excellence. She tucked her feet underneath her crisscross style and swiveled her chair to face the interior of her home. It had taken her a good deal of time to exchange out all the old furniture her parents had loaned her for these new pieces she’d purchased for herself. Nowadays, her little place looked like the residence of an actual grown-up. Area rugs over the hardwood floors. Quality furniture she’d scored in back-of-the store bargain rooms. The sofa and padded ottomans were pale gray, brightened by one fabulous yellow raw silk chair, and several navy and white trellis-patterned throw pillows.
She’d built a home for herself in Martinsburg totally independent of her family and Josh. The home she’d made included her writing career, this community, her church, friends, relatives.
It hadn’t been easy to get herself to this place. It had been hardest of all during the months following her breakup with Josh. She could remember praying daily back then, hourly even, asking God what she should do, whether she should contact Josh.
Every time she’d prayed about it, she’d sensed God steering her to leave things as they were. Not to contact him.
The tremendous success Josh had enjoyed since then proved that God had been working out His plan for Josh’s life through the guidance He’d given her.
So how come she’d felt their old chemistry when she’d seen Josh today? She’d been faithful to God’s leadership way back when. So why hadn’t God done her the favor of taking away her feelings for Josh?
She planted an elbow on her chair’s armrest and leaned the side of her head into her hand. She’d been on plenty of dates with good guys, guys who were genuine and sweet and sometimes even very cute. Why hadn’t any of her adult relationships moved from interest/attraction to that thing much harder to attain: love?
The Sunday school answer was, of course, that God had been busy teaching her to be totally content in Him alone. Which was well and good, except that the pesky, romantic bent of her soul refused to quit hoping for a husband and one day, children. She was forever striving to balance peace with her singleness against her ongoing prayer asking God to prepare her for someone and someone for her.
Experience had taught her that heart-tugging, love-inducing men were scarce. She’d had one. Maybe she’d used up her quota.
Her phone chimed. She swung her chair back around and scanned the new text message. Are you free on Thursday afternoon to visit rehearsal dinner locations? If not, we can go whenever it’s convenient for you. Thanks, Josh.
She channeled Sam and decided to wait an hour to reply. He didn’t need to know that she’d pounced on his text. She’d certainly reply in the affirmative even though a Thursday afternoon appointment would mean missing her favorite Zumba class.
Zumba would be available forever. Thursday’s outing with Josh presented her with a rare opportunity to achieve something with Josh she’d long wanted.
Closure.
If, when Josh left town in a few weeks, she could part with him on amiable terms, then perhaps she’d be able to close the chapter of her past with his name on it and move on to the someone God intended.
She spotted Josh from half a block away. Casual and still, he leaned against the side of a black Range Rover, waiting for her. Even in jeans and a black crew-neck shirt, he gave off the impression of power, competence, and leashed intensity. He’d pushed his hands into his pockets.
Had he—this sophisticated man—really loved her once? It seemed a distant, fuzzy impossibility. You’re here for closure, she reminded herself. And to lend assistance to an old friend.
She’d contemplated taking him out in her car, since she was the one who knew the area. But she hadn’t been sure what twenty-six-year-old tech gurus were driving around in these days. She’d feared her aging Mazda Miata convertible too dated for him, its quarters too cramped.
She’d instead suggested he drive and that they meet here, at Smith’s Smokehouse. Parking around Main could be tricky for nonresidents without assigned parking spots. Smith’s had a big lot and a location near her apartment.
She stopped a few feet from him. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Josh studied her. “Thanks for helping me with this. I appreciate it.”