Page 4 of Holding Holly

“That’s…really precise.”

It feels like James is about to say something else, but just then he has to slow down suddenly as a logging truck lags on a hill. After a few minutes, he asks, “So… You’re house-sitting for the holidays?”

“Yes. A friend of one of my art teachers is on some weird sabbatical and they have no idea when they’ll be back.”

“Do they have pets?”

“No, but they have some very particular houseplants that apparently can’t be alone for more than a week. Also, there’s a bird feeder to fill regularly. They’re avid birdwatchers, and don’t want their little friends to be disappointed.”

“Birdwatching is big around here,” James nods. “Huge variety of species. We’ve been getting more and more tourists that come specially for them. Even a few full-blown ornithologists.”

I place another cookie in his outstretched hand. “Cool.” I’m not sure whether his fingers only touch mine because of a bump in the road, or whether it was deliberate. Either way, it makes my stomach tingle. James is the sexiest man I’ve ever been this close to. It’s almost scrambling my brain as I try to chat. “Plus, there’s a garage where I can do my crafts.”

“Nice. What do you make?”

Usually when I mention crafting, the only people who ask follow-up questions are fellow crafters – everyone else, their eyes glaze over. James, however, seems genuinely interested.

“I make candles with seasonal things embedded in them. Cloves and cinnamon sticks for fall. Pinecones and orange slices for winter. Holly for the holidays. Flowers for spring, of course. It’s not a lot of money, but I like selling them at craft fairs. Sometimes I find a local store that will take a few batches.”

“You’ll be very popular here. Lots of crafty people.” He gives me a sideways glance. “Not as in shifty. As in knitters and crocheters and more craft fairs than you can shake a stick at.”

My laugh is growing steadily louder the more I relax. “Noted.”

The rest of our drive is a comfortable intermittent stream of chatter, interspersed with long intervals of just staring out at the breathtaking scenery.

James is part of that gorgeous scenery. He must be in his early to mid-thirties, yet we still seem to have a lot in common besides food. Movies and books and strong opinions on if a band should maintain their original name if there are no original members left.

When we roll up to the Austins’ house, I gasp. “Wow. There was a photo, but it didnotdo the place justice.”

James helps me out, this time holding my hand while resting his other palm on my hip. It feels…not inappropriate in any way. Just like he wants to have an excuse to touch me. Which is perfectly fine in my books. The man is irresistible. I don’t think he could really be interested, though. It must just be friendly flirtation, since we’ve been stuck together for a while.

I retrieve the key from the nook cut into the back of the patio bench and let myself in while James brings in my bags.

He looks around, then slips off his boots. “The house has been unoccupied for a few days, so I’m going to do a quick survey. Just so that in the middle of the night you don’t think you hear somebody in the basement.”

“Wow, thanks.”

I slip off my boots and coat and follow him around for a quick tour of the house. Nothing is remotely out of place, but he still checks every door and window. Then he returns to the front hall, giving me a gentle smile. “This is a very safe town, Holly. And you have my number if anything happens.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Did they leave you a key for that Jeep out front?”

“Yes. I’ll stock up on groceries tomorrow.”

“But you don’t have any food for tonight.” He strides over to the kitchen, and I can’t help but stare at his surprisingly graceful frame. He opens the fridge, then shuts it again as his nose wrinkles. “Unless you’re into designer mustard, it’s pretty much empty.”

He reaches out his hand and I take it automatically. Funny: everything feels so comfortable with him, but my heart is galloping a million miles a minute.

“The grocery store is closed by now. Why don’t we go for dinner, my treat? There’s a super casual pizza and pasta place.”

“Wow. Um, yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled, then text when I’m on my way, okay? Like, two hours or so?”

“Perfect.” I do need some time to chill – he’s such a huge presence that I honestly feel overwhelmed, in a good way.

At the front door, he holds out his arms for a hug. It feels like a safety check. If I give him a brief, polite hug, then he’ll know our dinner tonight is just friendly. But when I look up, there’s a twinkle in his rich brown eyes. He’s hoping for more.

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