Page 67 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

“Ido, and I remember it fondly, but I had the illusion going in my mind that yourwardrobe consisted of too casual and too formal with not much in between.” Hereached over to grab his leather jacket from the arm of a nearby armchair. Hiseyes never left me as his arms pushed into the sleeves. “But you look verynice.”

Alittle too nice for the grocery store, I soon found out, stepping out of hiscar and staring up at the Stop & Shop sign. “This is what you had in mindfor today? Grocery shopping?”

Slidinghis sunglasses on and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, he roundedthe car to stand beside me and extended his elbow for me to take. “Well,a few months ago you told me that you used to cook dinner when you had your ownplace, and if I recall correctly, you also mentioned it was one of yourfavorite things to do and that you miss it.” I hooked my arm through his and wewalked toward the store as he continued talking. “So, I thought I’d putyou to work on your day off and ask you to cook me dinner, because I can’tremember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal on a day that wasn’tThanksgiving or Christmas.”

Steppinginto the store from the cold, I hugged his arm to me, touched by his thoughtfuland very likely romantic gesture. “Where am I going to cook, though? Liz andAnna will be back at the house, and that’s fine by me, but—”

Brandonreached for a hand basket. “Actually, I know of a kitchen where you will havethe freedom to do whatever you want. Just get everything you need, and leavethat part to me.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

BRANDON

“Icannot believe you livehere,” she said breathlessly, covering her mouth with agloved hand. “This isthehouse. H-how can you … I don’t …” Thefragmented sentences spilled out of her mouth as her hands shook, her feetmoving gingerly over the stone pathway to the porch of the Victorian.

Ihurried ahead of her, the grocery bags hanging from one hand with the keysdangling from the other. I couldn’t begin to explain how I could’ve lucked intobuying the one house in the entire tristate area that she dreamt about as akid. I attempted to wrap my brain around the unexpected coincidences, andwondered if they weren’t coincidences at all. Maybe it was simply fate slammingthe pieces of this puzzle into place in a blatant attempt to shove us together.

Islid the keys into the three locks, and pushed the heavy door open. “My humbleabode, milady,” I said, waving a hand inside.

Shestepped wordlessly over the threshold, her boots taking silent steps into theempty foyer as she looked up with wonder, turning herself around underneath thechandelier in a sort of dance, illuminated by the light streaming from the openfront door.

Ihad been given the unique and enviable opportunity to feast my eyes upon manywomen possessing undeniable beauty; not on a screen, not in the pages of a bookor magazine, but in person. Many women who flaunted their most prized assetswith the support of clothing or makeup with the sole intention of being noticedby attractive men. Holly was not one of those. She was so unaware of hownaturally beautiful she was, so completely oblivious to the delicate featuresthat made up her appearance. It was enough to strike me speechless in thedoorway of my house as I watched her, helpless to the surge of passion thatsent my heart into speedy overdrive.

Hereyes swept the foyer; taking in the wood paneling and marble floor, the pocketdoors on either side and to the back, and the heavy rail of the grandstaircase. The shutting of the door brought her from the fairytale trance asshe turned to face me.

“Ican’t believe you live inthishouse,” she repeated, speaking through aveil of awe and disbelief. “I would pass by hereallthe time when I wasa kid.”

Herhand reached out to gingerly brush against the carved filigree of the banister’snewel post as I smiled. Her lips stretched into a grin that reminded me of akid on Christmas, receiving the gift they had waited all year for and wereconvinced they could never get.

“Oh,my God, I just can’t believe this isyourhouse,” she said once again,as though saying the words would get that fact to seep in.

Tomy surprise, she wiped a tear from her eye, careful to not smudge the makeupshe wore. I had a hard time grasping the idea of the house bringing her totears after I had spent too many years treating the place like a harsh reminderof everything I had lost and everything I never got the chance to have. A tidalwave of guilt swept over me.

Ileft Holly standing dumbfounded in the foyer to slide open the pocket door tothe kitchen. Looking around the room of piled dust, cobwebs, and boxes, Iwished I had taken a moment to see a fortune teller. Maybe then I could havebeen a little better prepared to woo a woman with my crust-entombed gourmetkitchen. I dropped the bags containing the ingredients for eggplant parmesan tobegin a quick clean-up around the room, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with notknowing where anything was. Holly cleared her throat from the doorway and Iturned with my eyes wide with embarrassment, paper towels in hand.

“Wow,Birdy wasn’t kidding,” she said meekly, running a hand over the granitecountertop. I slowly nodded my head, wondering if I should just chalk the wholething up to another failure in my attempt at a romantic life, when suddenly shetook the paper towels from me and began unfolding the flaps of the box tops.“Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?”

“Ican’t ask you to clean my kitchen.” I scoffed at the idea, raking a handthrough my hair. But seeing her dig through the boxes, removing the things Ihadn’t seen in years, I submitted to the idea of letting this woman help me toput the other pieces of my life back together. “Um, I think there’s some stuffunder the sink.”

Openingone of the boxes to help her unpack, I pulled out a set of dishes my mom hadbought for Julia and me; an early wedding gift to use when we got our ownhouse. They had spent months on a shelf before being packed in a box, never tobe eaten upon. I swallowed hard, thinking of all the forgotten belongings Iwould uncover. All the things I thought I would never see again, but glancingup at Holly, I saw them then as treasures I was ready to unearth.

Shecaught my gaze and smiled. “I have my work cut out for me, huh.”

Slidingthe dishes out of the box and stacking them in the sink, I laughed heartily.“Oh, you have absolutely no idea.”

***

“Thistable,” I announced, rolling the circular tabletop into the kitchen’s breakfastnook to meet up with its pedestal legs, “belonged to my grandfather, and when hepassed away, it belonged to my parents. I ate on this thing almost every nightuntil they gave it to me a few years ago, and it’s been living in my garageever since.” I looked down at Holly, standing next to me with her hands on herhips and her hair piled into a messy bun. “Now, it lives in here.”

Hollyran her hands over the wooden edge of the heavy antique. “I like it,” she saidwith an approving nod and a smile before heading back to her peeling at theisland.

Iset out to perch the tabletop back on its legs and screw it into place. Aftergetting down on my knees with the electric screwdriver my father had gifted meyears earlier, I stopped to glance over at the woman who had been through twohours of unpacking and scrubbing, turning the dingy hole of a kitchen into aplace I felt proud to call mine. She had music blasting through the speakers ofher phone, some poppy guy I didn’t recognize, and her hips rocked as she sang,while skinning the eggplant with the peeler I had no idea I owned. She might bethe death of me, but I would die a happy man,I thought, finding comfortin the expansion of my heart.

Shecaught my gaze. “What are you looking at?” she said with a little smile.

“Justyou,” I said softly before screwing the tabletop back onto its legs, and whenthe two-minute job was complete, I smacked the table’s surface and nodded withpride at my brief stint with handiwork. “Yeah, I’d say I’m ready to puttogether some shit from Ikea. What do you think?”

“Right,”she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not sure Ikea can handle you and yourscrewdriver.”

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