Unmistakable

  After I take a quick shower, I dig through my bag for exactly the right outfit. Since I’m going to see my parents, the sparkly little green dress that I stole from Iz’s closet is out of the question, so I settle on a creamy black wool that my mother brought back from Paris a million years ago. Then, I apply an extra coat of mascara. Upon second thought, I add some lip gloss.

  Not bad. Not great, but definitely better than those sweatpants.

  When I enter the living room, I see Holden standing at the window, wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and looking considerably more stunning in the daylight. With the sunshine reflecting off his golden skin, he sparkles. I would have to be blind not to want him. Dumb. Insane. All of the above.

  Thankfully, he senses my presence before I do anything really stupid. His back stiffens and he turns around slowly.

  “Good morning,” I whisper.

  I’m afraid of what he might say. I’m afraid that he won’t say anything at all. And he doesn’t, not for a long time. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold and impersonal.

  “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great,” I squeak.

  He leaves, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and a buzzing cell phone. I’d rather deal with potentially angry parents and a certainly irate Iz than my wanton behavior and its ramifications.

  Twelve new messages. Crap.

  Mom:

  5:43 am: Stella, what time do you get in?

  7:53 am: Are you here yet?

  8:04 am: Waiting for you.

  10:08 am: Making your favorite dinner. Jello salad.

  To be fair, that one does elicit a small chuckle.

  Dad:

  9:07 am: Mom’s worried.

  9:15 am: Love u.

  9:42 am: Where ru?

  Izzy:

  Wednesday, 11:56 pm: Call me.

  3:07 am: Murder. Death. Kill.

  3:09 am: Shit. Sorry. Love u. Murder death kill inappropriate. Too worried for social niceties.

  7:00 am: Stella?

  8:30 am: Two hours. Then I call ur parents.

  I glance at the clock. It’s almost 10:30. I need to handle all of the texts in one fell swoop. If Izzy gets to my parents first, I’m toast. If my parents call Izzy, I’m even bigger toast.

  To: Izzy

  10:13 am: In SF. Call u tonight. Um. New development. Need to talk but not now.

  To: Mom

  10:14 am: Get in around 12. Have a couple of things to do and will grab cab. Love you and see you soon.

  To: Dad

  10:14 am: See Mom’s phone. Love u.

  After I press send on the last one, I realize that I screwed the timeline up. If I was really getting in around noon, that message would have been sent from somewhere over Nevada. Or Texas. Or something. I was never very good at geography. If they happen to notice the inconsistency, I just have to hope that they’ll be so happy to see me that they won’t ask too many questions.

  That’s probably unrealistic, but since my life is currently held together with duct tape, unrealistic expectations are pretty much all I’ve got.

  Holden appears at the door with two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one of them to me and sits gingerly on the edge of the couch.

  “Thanks.” My voice is bright and too cheerful by half. He’ll know something is wrong. Maybe he’ll just ignore the kiss. I wouldn’t mind that so much, actually. It might be better than a lecture.

  “You really shouldn’t have kissed me,” he says, casually taking a sip of the coffee.

  Why can’t I find a nice, strong, silent type? Someone who won’t give me grief about kisses?

  Then, I catch his words. I kissed him? I mean, if we’re talking technicalities, I guess I did. Still. He was the one who started it. He said he wanted me. I never would have let my stupid crush slip out of fantasyland if he hadn’t opened up that sexy mouth of his and said his stupid sexy words.

  I try to determine how exactly I am going to respond to his infuriating assumption. Then, I see his mouth start to twitch with laughter.

  “Come on, Holden. I expect more from you.”

  He lets out a loose laugh that vanquishes all of the remaining tension from the room. “Sorry. Had to try. The look on your face.”

  “I sort of kissed you.”

  “You definitely kissed me.”

  “You wanted me to kiss you.”

  “Fair enough.” He pauses, and his mouth isn’t laughing anymore. “What I can’t figure out is whether you wanted to kiss me.”

  I’m all bluster. “Of course I did. I’ve had a crush on you for almost forever. Honestly, I thought you were going to be a bit of a dud. Well, not a dud, exactly, but more of a gentle kisser. A sweet one. Not that sweet is bad, but it’s not exactly going to get a girl’s pulse racing, if you catch my drift. As it turns out, you’re pretty good.”

  Yeah. I said that aloud. I am such a dumbass.

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re pretty damn good yourself.”

  A single step brings him perilously close to me, and before I can figure out how to stop him, he crushes his body into mine. I can’t ignore the demands of his powerful muscles, and when he leans down to brush a decidedly not-friendly kiss over my lips, it feels a little bit like fireworks.

  When he steps back, his gaze unsettles me with its directness.

  “I don’t like casual sex. I don’t like games. I don’t like back and forth nonsense and high drama. I do like you. I like your mind, and I like your hair, and I like your body, and I like that you make me laugh. In fact, I like everything about you. I’m also a professor at the college you attend, and while you’re no longer technically my student, I can’t see that the administration would take too kindly to my having any kind of relationship with you. So, unless this is something more than a few nights in my bed, I’m out. No games.”

  I stare at the man in front of me, who’s a mass of contradictions and somehow, not a contradiction at all.

  “Holden…”

  “I wasn’t finished,” he says coolly. “I would hope you would pay me the same courtesy by telling me exactly what’s going on here.”

  I could fall in love with him. He could fall in love with me. This, whatever’s brewing between the two of us, could be easy and uncomplicated and lovely. It could be real. If he does break my heart, he would at least try to be gentle.

  But…the noise wracking my brain is too loud to ignore.

  More importantly, Holden deserves better than half-truths. I take a deep breath.

  “I like you. A lot. I like your mind. I like your hair. You make me laugh. And I certainly like your body. In fact, I like pretty much everything about you.”

  That earns a chuckle, but his eyes don’t relent. He’s waiting for the but. I choose my words carefully.

  “However…”

  I give him a sideways glance and am justly rewarded with an eye roll.

  “However,” I repeat, “I got my heart blown to smithereens not too long ago. I haven’t recovered. If I’m being perfectly honest, I might never recover. It’s a long, sad story, and I don’t want to talk about it right now except to tell you that I don’t have much to offer. No games, but no lies, either.”

  His face relaxes. “I’ve known there was someone from the first day that I met you, Stella. I know there was someone between us last night, because no matter what anyone tells you, you’re lousy at secrets. I just needed to know if you’d admit it to me and if you’d admit it to yourself.”

  My brow furrows. “So…”

  “So, what are you offering, exactly? You said, and I quote, that you weren’t offering much. That indicates that you’re offering something.”

  I have to think about that one. I do just that, until I catch a glimpse of his shimmering hair. Dr. Delicious strikes again. It’s really not fair of him.

  “Friendship? With potential benefits? And a promise not to besmirch your good name?”

  He crosses to me again, his amber eyes lit wi
th flame. “Potential benefits? Is there any negotiation room on that one, or am I another fallen brother left behind in the friend zone?”

  “To be determined.”

  He reaches into my hair and slides his lips down my jaw, placing tiny, teasing, butterfly kisses over my face until I want to throw the TBD status out the window. Then, he abruptly pulls away.

  Seduction comes as naturally to him as breathing. I should have figured that one out, too.

  “I can live with to be determined.” His lips slide into a lazy smile. “Come on. Let’s get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

  “You should come with me.”

  Surprise crosses his face before he can hide it, and I like the little leap of power in my belly. He shocks me on a minute-to-minute basis, but I’m probably correct in my suspicion that he knows every move I’m going to make eons before I do.

  “To your parents’ house?”

  “You already know my mother,” I point out. “It’s Thanksgiving and I could really use the moral support, pal.”

  His amber eyes, once so predictable and now not so predictable at all, flash at the word “pal.”

  He groans. “Moral support, huh?”

  I want him to come. I need him to come.

  “Holden, please.”

  He softens. “Are you sure they won’t mind?”

  “They won’t.” I think about stopping there, but I can’t resist the tease. It’s too much fun. “Unless you’re one of the dimwits. My mother used to say that 95% of her students were dimwits, and since you were her student…”

  “I’m not a dimwit and Caroline has never said that word in her life. You’re a little liar. Get your bag. You’re going home and I’m coming with you.”

  Just before we reach the car, I place my hand over his. “Thanks.”

  He smiles, and the brilliant light of it, and of him, warms my skin. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter 20

  Granger Manor sneaks up on us. It’s a long drive from the main road to the house, at least a mile or two, and most of it is through a dense forest. Before I’m ready, the trees clear and the house appears, as beautiful and imposing as ever.

  My father wanted to sell it, and strangely enough, I was the one who refused. It’s fraught with terrible memories, landmines of pain and regret, but it’s filled with all of the good ones, too. Even though it’s been more than three years since I’ve seen my childhood home, each piece of stone, each enormous column, is imprinted on my memory.

  I know which couch to lift to find the tiny burn hole that appeared after one of Jack’s parties. I know which drawers squeak. I know that behind the Britney Spears poster in my old bedroom, there’s still evidence of the time I got slightly overeager with my box of 164 new crayons. I probably should have chosen more wisely in my attempt to camouflage the damage, but I was going through a pop phase, one that I may or may not have recovered from.

  When we reach the final pair of gates, Holden reaches over to brush a wayward piece of hair from my face. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “Yes.”

  I have to do this.

  He nods once as he pulls the car into the family lot, the one at the top of the hill. When I try to slide myself from the cool leather seat, but my body feels like it’s made of lead, and I remain stuck in neutral, unable to take a step in one direction or the other. After he opens my door, Holden places a reassuring hand in mine and the atoms readjust, allowing me to take a step towards the place that I once thought I’d never see again.

  “I haven’t been here since…” Unable to finish the thought, I glance at Holden.

  “Again, Stella, are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  If I can’t do it, we can go back to the bungalow. I can start working on falling in love with him. I managed the crush perfectly fine. Piece of cake.

  It’s not going to work, Stella.

  “Will you stop saying that?”

  Holden gives me a quizzical look. Before he can ask what I mean, a woman with long, blond hair flies into my arms.

  “Stella, baby,” she croons.

  “Hi, Mom,” I whisper.

  Finally, when she’s had her fill of hugging, she pulls back and drinks me in. Guilt stabs at my gut, but I don’t flinch. She’s hesitant at first, but the relief creeps slowly into her face until she’s filled with it. I’m absurdly pleased with myself. I’ve finally done one thing right.

  “Thank the lord,” she whispers. “You finally ditched the punk rock stripper look.”

  I laugh. “I did. Izzy actually threw a party for it. A good riddance party.”

  “I hope she burned all of those clothes you bought.”

  “Yep. Goodwill didn’t want any of them.”

  My mother releases peals of girlish laughter. I haven’t heard her laugh in years, but it’s still inconceivable how I could have forgotten the sound of it—reckless and giddy and completely at odds with her elegant attire and status as the most important mind in the field of psychology. At least, I think that’s how Holden put it.

  I turn my head automatically to grin at him. My mother’s gaze follows my own.

  Just as abruptly as it began, her laughter dies.

  Her eyes are fixed on Holden, her expression fierce and hopeful and heartbroken. I have the sudden urge to protect her from more pain. I turn to him, to tell him to leave, to ask why he hadn’t told me that his relationship with my mother was so strained, but all at once, I understand.

  She mistook him for Jack. For a second, her heart allowed her to believe that both of her children had returned to her, but the cruel reality set in all too quickly.

  I smooth her hair, touching it just as she just touched mine, comforting her as if she were the child and I were the mother. She grips my arm tightly before turning to him and opening her arms.

  “Holden,” she murmurs. “I have no idea why or how you’re here, but I am sure glad to see you.”

  I plead with Holden, silently. Please don’t hurt her.

  I needn’t have bothered. He understands grief. He puts his arms around her and embraces her tightly.

  “I’ve missed you, Caroline.”

  She blinks the tears out of her eyes and slings one arm around his waist and the other around mine. As she leads us towards the house, I try to protest.

  “Mom, I need to get my stuff.”

  “There’s time for that later,” she declares, brushing my concern away. “I need to play catch up with my favorite daughter and my favorite former student.”

  Holden turns wide, innocent eyes on her. “Your favorite former student? It seems like you’ve changed your tune, Caroline. If I remember correctly, David was the golden child and I was the screw up. ‘Get your act together, Holden. You’re wasting the most precious gift of all, your brain.’”

  He does a perfect imitation of my mother’s sternest voice. She’s not going to like that. While she’s a champion at dishing it out, she’s never been a very good recipient of teasing.

  She merely chuckles. Clearly, I’m not the only Granger who isn’t immune to his considerable charms.

  “David was an idiot. And you’ve never made a bad choice in your life. You’ve certainly never screwed anything up, to use your colloquialism.” She turns to me then, her eyes wicked. “Half of the department was in love with him, and the other half was in lust. I may have been a bit too harsh, but it was all for his own good. Holden was a miniature Lothario with a bigger ego. I was attempting to ensure that his head wouldn’t grow too large to fit through my office door.”

  “Unfortunately, you were too late,” he says lightly.

  I give my mother a sideways look. While the little incident in the bungalow might have proven that he is perfectly aware of his power over the female population, Holden is the last person in the world who is in danger of an overinflated ego. It isn’t fair of her to tease him like that, not when she really should know better.

  Her impish smile betrays her. She’
s making trouble again. Beneath that elegant veneer, there’s a world-class mischief-maker. Her eyes dance between Holden and me, and because I know what’s coming, I let out a low groan.

  “How do you know my daughter, Holden?” she asks. “If I remember correctly, you turned down every single one of my invitations to come to dinner, so I know I couldn’t have introduced you.”

  I’m glad he’s the one who has to deal with that question. I push open the front door, and my heart beats a little faster. Home.

  Holden lets out a long whistle when he sees the enormous chandelier in the foyer. “If I had known where dinner was going to be held, I might have reconsidered.”

  My mother swats his wrist. “Really, though. Answer the question. You can understand my natural curiosity, since it’s a trait we share. You see, Stella’s never brought a man home before. I hardly expected the first one to be you.”

  She ignores my grunt of protest and keeps her attention focused on Holden.

  His answer is easy. “It’s a small world. Stella was in my introduction to psychology class at Greenview.”

  She’s going to have a field day with that one.

  “Please tell me you didn’t stoop so low. Psychology 101? No. I raised you better than that.”

  Her response is far more subdued than I expected.

  “It’s a long story.” One that I don’t want to tell. “To respond to your unspoken question, mother dear, Holden is a friend, not a man.”

  “To be determined,” Holden mouths.

  My mother misses nothing, and Holden’s not-so-stealthy mouthing is no exception. Evidently, I’m not the only one who needs to work on nonverbal communication skills.

  “Interesting,” she says, tapping her finger against my arm. “Care to elaborate on that, dearest daughter of mine?”

  “A friend,” I repeat, my voice firm. “We were on the same plane from Atlanta, and I figured a Thanksgiving invitation was a fair reward for saving me from a fate worse than death.”

  “And what was that, exactly?” My mother’s face is impassive, but I know her too well to completely ignore the little flash of amusement that perfectly matches Holden’s normal countenance.