Page 68 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

“Hey,are you making fun of my screwdriver?” I leaned my forearms against the island,looking over the counter’s surface at her. The corner of my mouth lifted into ateasing half-smile, and I saw the flush creep up from the neckline of hersweater.

“Oh,no, not at all.” She smirked, beginning the task of slicing the eggplant. “Itwouldn’t be fair to make fun of something I haven’t had the pleasure ofmeeting.” Her dark eyes looked up at me from her work.

“Oh,please, don’t let me stop you. I have it right over here. Maybe you could sayhi.”

“MaybeI will,” she said, and I could have sworn I caught her eyes frisk over mebefore turning her attention back to her music and her eggplant.

Isnorted a laugh with a tinge of hope that she’d actually follow through withthat, but pessimism told me not to count on us actually getting that far in thenight, despite my hopes of this being the beginning to my own happily everafter while Breckenridge got his.

Iwalked from the kitchen to the living room, suddenly needing a drink to takethe edge off the nerves that were all at once making their presence known inthe pit of my gut. I called to Holly, asking if she wanted something, to whichshe declined, but that wasn’t stopping me from having a shot of Scotch.

Pouringthe amber liquid courage into an etched glass tumbler, I noticed my handshaking.Get a fucking grip, I scolded myself, picking up the glass andbringing it to my lips, sipping at it gently before turning to pull myselftogether on the couch.

Ihad made the decision to tell her that night. Sleeping with her helped tosolidify the notion that I had to get it over with, but it wasn’t until Ioverheard her on the phone with Ben, breaking up with him, that I knew forcertain it had to be that day. I owed that to her after knowing part of thereason behind the breakup was me. I had to make it at least seem somewhatworthwhile on her end.

Pullingme from my thoughts, Holly walked casually into the living room, her handhovering under a ladle of sauce, as she asked me to give it a taste.

Anexplosion of tomato, garlic, and onion burst into my mouth accompanied by ahint of red wine. “Holy shit. I can’t tell if it’s just beenthatlongsince I’ve had homemade sauce or if it really isthatgood.”

Pleasedwith herself, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the kitchen,making sure to tell me that dinner would be ready in less than twenty minutes. Havinga timeframe now made me feel like a prisoner waiting for his turn at thegallows, waiting to hear the executioner call his name, waiting for that ropeto slip around his neck and end it all.

Irolled my drink around the glass, losing myself in its reflection. I could seeit all playing out in my mind: we would have a nice dinner, possibly the besteither of us had eaten in God knows how long, and I would fall further into mylove for her with every taste taken and every word spoken. Maybe she would evenrealize then that she had fallen in love with me over those months of us lyingto ourselves. The wine would go to our heads, and after completing the meal,before the dishes could be cleared, I would kiss her. I wouldn’t be able tocontrol myself any longer after a day of displaying more self-control than Iever thought possible, and I would kiss her long and hard. My hands would roama little, testing the waters and seeing where she would permit me to go, andwhen it had been decided thatthis is it, we would take our hands andkisses to the living room or the bedroom or wherever the hell, it didn’tmatter.

ButI would stop myself, unable to seal the deal without her knowing the truth, andI would tell her. I would crumble at the falling of her face at the realizationthat I had been hiding a crucial bit of information from her for months when Icould have just come clean.

“Andthen … it’s over,” I said softly to the glass before pouring its remainingcontents down my throat.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

HOLLY

“Okay, I’m not just sayingthis,but this is the best eggplantparmI’ve ever eaten.”

Ibowed my head to the man sitting to the right of me. “I’ll tell the chef,” Isaid beaming, before digging in myself.

Oh,thank God, I haven’t lost my touch.

Iclosed my eyes as I chewed the fried eggplant, perfectly crispy around theedges and smothered in mozzarella, and I tried to remember the last time I hadeaten eggplant parmesan. I knew it had undoubtedly been with Stephen in ourlittle apartment. I tried picturing his face and whether or not he enjoyed it,but glancing up at Brandon, I knew instantly that none of that mattered. Notwhen I had this new man, treating the meal like the finest cuisine he had everrolled around his palate. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite that proudover something I had cooked, and I couldn’t think of anybody I would haverather shared it with.

Brandonput his fork and knife down, and ran a hand through his hair before lookingaround the kitchen with the sadness he couldn’t seem to shake all night. Iwondered what was wrong, but fear told me not to ask; too afraid the nightwould end if I so much as mentioned it.

“Thankyou for this,” he said softly, taking in the organized countertops that werejust hours before piled with boxes.

Hehadn’t asked me to clean or put things away, but seeing the shambles thekitchen had been in, I could sense that heneededme to step in and makeit happen, to show him that he wasn’t nearly as broken as his house would’vehad me believe. He had then proven that he wasn’t when he quickly jumped in,putting things in cabinets as though he had always had a place for them in mindand bringing in furniture that had been in storage for years. All he needed wasa gentle nudge in the right direction. Someone to show him he could, and I wasprettyfreakin’ happy that I could be that someone.

“Next,we tackle the rest of the house,” I laughed, not entirely sure I was ready tohandle a job that big, assuming I even had a say in the matter.

Weate the rest of the meal in a state of comfortable chatter; talking aboutthings that didn’t seem overly important and yet somehow felt crucial to whatwas happening between us. It seemed difficult to get him to talk about himselfat times, always seeming to want me to carry the conversation while he kept hisgaze on me and his cheek against his fist, but when I did get him talking, Ifound it hard not to lose myself in his animated storytelling. He had melaughing through stories about him and Nick, mostly tales from their time incollege, and he would grab a hold of my laughter and get himself going. Thesound filled the kitchen, carrying over into the foyer, and up to the cathedralceilings, and I would catch myself looking into the crinkled corners of hiseyes with a swelling in my chest that left me feeling comfortable and content.

Ohmy God. I love him.

Thethought punched me in the stomach when he stood up to carry our plates to thesink. I panicked, trying to scan my mind for some sort of timeline that would’veindicated when the hell that happened and why I hadn’t stopped it. It seemedthat it had been that way forever, but I knew that was impossible because Ihadn’tknownhim forever. There didn’t seem to be a defining moment whenI fell out of love with Stephen andintoit with Brandon, but there Iwas, with the sudden knowledge that that was exactly what had happened.

“So,I thought we could maybe watch a couple episodes ofFrasier,” Brandonsaid, walking back to the table and finishing the rest of his second glass ofwine. “Do you like that show? Nobody else I know likes that show.”

Ipicked mine up, suddenly afraid that looking at him would cause me to fall evenfurther in love with him, and I polished off the last drop, swallowing hard.“It’s my favorite,” I croaked, placing the glass back down on the table with ahand I wished to God would stop shaking.

“Getthe hell out of here,” he said with surprise. “It’s like you were made for meor something.” He took my shaking hand, sending a thousand lightning bolts upmy arm, pulling me to my feet. I diverted my eyes from his, making myapprehension noticeable. “Hey, what’s going on? Is something wrong?” His handsfound my cheeks, holding my head from turning away from him.

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