Page 90 of Body Check

Off it, Holly is my weakness.

Something that clearly rings true when my heart squeezes and my lungs feel too tight to breathe as it hits me: she still carries around the same backpack I bought for her when she first started Carter Photography.

Pushing away the emotion so I can slam my final point home, I cup the back of her prized camera and lift it from the bag. Straightening to my full height, I turn to Holly and lay it all out on the line.

“Sometimes the high doesn’t feel like a rush of emotions.” I slip the camera strap over her head. “Sometimes it feels like it’s only job is to soothe you. It’s the place where you go when you need to breathe. It’s how you work out your stress and how you bring your own blend of creativity into the world.That’sthe high, sweetheart. It’s not about the fear of the unknown or the warmth that comes from the familiar—it’s all about fulfillment.”

A single tear splashes onto her cheekbone.

She doesn’t make a move to wipe it away.

Neither do I.

“Thank you.”

The two words emerge as a hoarse whisper, but I hear the level of gratitude behind it. “Always.” My voice is pure gravel, but she doesn’t point it out.

Instead, she presses a button on the camera and the little beast whirs to life. She lifts it, holding it to her face, and I hear the telltaleclickof a picture being captured.

“You,” she says after a moment, “you’re my high.”

31

Holly

“Anymore wine, miss?”

I’m two glasses in already, which is honestly one glass past my usual limit.

That’s what happens when you stop going out all the time and spend your evenings with Chip and Joanna Gaines on HGTV’sFixer Upper—the wine gets pushed aside for other, more delectable treats. Like ice cream.

Across the wooden table, Jackson meets my gaze, then jerks his chin toward the waiter. “Want another?”

Considering the fact that I’m drinking alone tonight, it’s probably best that I don’t end up the only drunk. See? Adulthood in its purest form—knowing when to stop imbibing before you end up belting out lyrics to a song no one else in the restaurant knows.

Off a quick assumption, as we walked through to our table, I’m harboring a guess that the clientele here wouldn’t know a Rihanna song if it bit them in the butt.

“I think I’m okay for now, thank you.”

The server’s twin dimples appear briefly with a smile before he heads off to help guests at another table.

We’re seated on a veranda, small tables situated throughout the open floor plan. The ocean lies off to our right, as black as the evening sky. When we were first seated, I counted the number of boats I saw bobbing along the open waters: five, maybe six. Their lit windows do little to illuminate the sky, just as the trio of candles on the table offer a romantic feel but are hardly potent enough to stave off the nippy October night.

I nuzzle in the soft, warm fabric of my cardigan. “You never mentioned why you don’t drink anymore.”

Jackson is mid-soda sip when I speak.

He coughs—splutters, more like—into a balled fist before setting down his drink. “I, uh . . .” Drawing in a deep breath, he picks up his knife and twirls it over the backs of his knuckles—a nervous habit he’s had since I’ve known him. Interesting. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting that question.”

I sip what’s left of my wine. “Take your time.”

In the last day, Jackson and I have taken to Newport like newlyweds on a honeymoon. For every touristy activity we do about town, we’ve hooked up back at The Ruby Slipper. We’ve gone toe-for-toe, have baptized every space of our guestroom, and other than our talk along the Cliff Walk, we’ve stuck to safe, surface-level conversation.

If we’re going to really do this, I need more than sex.

And it should start with him opening up as to why he’s ditched his preferred Beam and Coke when we go out for plain, old Coke.

Like me, Jackson took the time to dress up tonight. His hair is slicked back, his face completely smooth of any hint of stubble. He’s wearing black from head to toe, and when I stepped out of the bathroom after curling my hair, I nearly demanded that we stay in and go right back to our competing tally of Outdoor Activities vs Sexy-times All Over Our Guestroom.

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