Page 57 of Hers for the Weekend

“Is everything a reasonable answer?” Tara asked, and Holly shook her head.

“You’re good at lists. Make me a list.”

Tara traced the freckles on Holly’s face with her eyes, trying not to lose her focus to the whisper-soft fingers undoing the buttons of her dress. “I like that you don’t take shit from anyone, even when it seems in the moment like it would be easier to. I like that when you see something that needs to be done, you do it. I like that you’re proud of where you came from. You know yourself. You don’t have inhibitions. You’re always the brightest thing in any room, like you’re lit from the inside out.”

“Oh God, don’t say I light up a room,” Holly groaned. “That’s a surefire way to get me murdered and talked about on Dateline.”

Tara giggled.

“But,” Holly said, “I think you might be the one rewriting reality to make it kinder.”

“I’m not. You’re brave. Much braver than I am.”

Holly smiled sadly. “I’m not brave, Sloane. If I were, I would visit my family more, but I’m afraid if I go there and stand still, I’ll somehow get caught in the trap of turning into my mother. And my mom has a really good heart, but it’s not the life I want!”

“You don’t ever have to be like your mother if you don’t want to be like your mother,” Tara told her.

“That’s not the only thing,” Holly argued. “If I were brave, I would have a food truck.”

Tara gasped. “You do want something more permanent!”

If Holly wanted something permanent, maybe she’d want culinary school? A pastry chef and successful small business owner could fly under the radar at social events, so she wouldn’t be eaten alive by the debutante sharks.

“I do, if it was something where I could make my own hours, get to decide where I go, where I park, who I feed, and if I could pick up and leave whenever I want. I want it, but it’s too risky. Most food trucks fail, and I can’t be broke again. I can’t lose my meager savings on a pipe dream.”

Tara began to speak, and Holly stopped her. “Don’t tell me you’d finance it. I can’t handle that. I don’t want your family’s money, and I don’t want our… whatever is between us… to have that kind of debt in the middle.”

She wanted to argue that it wouldn’t be a debt, it would be a gift, or an investment, but she could see that, no matter how she felt, to Holly it would be charity. Besides, she didn’t want to argue and ruin this moment, especially when Holly had just admitted that there was something between them, and it could maybe exist outside of these walls.

“You’re much braver than I am,” Holly told her. “You’re the bravest person I know. You’re bearding the lion in its den; you’ve faced the worst mistake you ever made and decided to make good for it instead of letting yourself off without consequences. You keep loving your friends fiercely even though your brain is convinced they don’t love you back.”

Tara shook her head, then rolled onto her back and covered her eyes, because she couldn’t look at Holly while she talked about this. “I’m not brave at all, either. I do have all these things I’ve always wanted to do, like sing in a band, and volunteer for the Innocence Project, and learn to cook, and all I do is what I’ve always been told, but I tell myself it’s a long con. I’m not even brave enough to fall in love! I put one foot out of line one time, and it exploded, and now… I’m living this life that matters to me, that I fought for, that I chose, yes, but that I don’t think can ever make me actually happy.”

She felt Holly lift her hand from where it was covering her eyes and peer down at her. “I think you’ve been expanding your circle pretty damn well this weekend,” she said, dropping a soft kiss on Tara’s forehead.

“But what happens when I go back to Charleston?” Tara asked. “I’m going to go back to my little bubble. I’m going to be just like my mother.”

“Tara Sloane Chadwick,” Holly said seriously, “you couldn’t be your mother if you tried.”

Chapter 18

Holly

Sometime past midnight, Holly woke up to find herself lying sideways in bed, on top of the comforter, tangled in both it and Tara’s long limbs. When had they fallen asleep? Why was she still wearing her jeans?

She rolled out from under Tara’s arm, having been awakened by something she couldn’t pinpoint. She changed into a pair of Tara’s pajama pants, which were too long on her but were the most delicious raw silk. The fire had gone out, and the room was freezing, so she dragged a hoodie over her head and stepped into the hall.

As she emerged, she realized what it was that had woken her out of a comfortable sleep snuggled up with a beautiful woman. The air smelled like cookies. Not just any cookies, but Rosenstein’s original recipe mandel bread. She would know that smell anywhere. Following it down the stairs led her to the kitchen, where she found Miriam and Levi, in their own pajamas, baking and laughing and drinking coffee.

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, turning to leave.

Miriam waved a hand to stop her. “Please, we always welcome guests to our Witching Hour Baking Parties.”

“Do you do this… often?” Holly asked in amusement, slowly moving farther toward the kitchen island.

Levi shrugged. “It’s our thing—well, it’s Miriam’s thing. She keeps collecting people in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not me,” Miriam protested. “It’s Carrigan’s! Well, maybe it’s Kringle, but you know what I mean. It’s the magic!”

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