Page 12 of Saved by my Baby Daddy Spy
“Why are you open around me, but the second other people are around or glance your way, you draw into yourself?”
A lump rises in my throat and I don’t know what to say to him. My heart is racing, and it feels like everyone is looking at me, even though I know that they’re not.
“Maybe that was out of place to ask. We don’t know each other that well. Yet.”
He smiles at me, giving me an out. I feel horrible for taking it, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t imagine telling him my problems. Talking about why I hide from the rest of the world would rip me in half.
I swallow hard and smile before turning back to my food. Holden sighs beside me, but he doesn’t say anything else as everyone digs into their food.
The conversation around the table takes off, but I keep my eyes on what’s in front of me. I don’t know what to say or how to insert myself into the conversation. I don’t want to, either.
My family would draw me into the conversation and then they would start to pry into my life. They would ask about how I’m coping since my relationship imploded on itself. John had been in my life for a couple of years. He had met all my family. He had been to all the important events. Everyone thought we were going to get married, I did too.
Every moment of my life for years, he was there.
And then he left me because I couldn’t stand up for myself.
I would either have to tell them that I have tried dating and have failed miserably at it, or I would have to pretend that I haven’t gone on any dates.
I don’t know which would make them feel more sympathy for me.
The last thing I want is their sympathy. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Hannah, how is John doing? Do you think that you’re ever going to bring him around again? We miss him.” My aunt Dorothea smiles sweetly from the other end of the table, making sure that everyone hears her.
“You know,” Holden says from beside me. “I knew a guy named John when I lived in Europe for a year. He was the biggest asshole I had ever met. Always sticking his nose into other people’s business and starting conversations that didn’t need to be had.”
My cheeks flame as I look down at my food. Dorothea gasps from the other end of the table while Audrey smothers a laugh with a fake cough.
Holden grins at her — though it looks more like he is a wild animal showing her his teeth — before getting up.
“Excuse me,” he says, stepping back from the table. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well this morning.”
He takes off before anyone can say anything to him. As soon as the doors close behind Holden, my aunt starts whispering about him to my mother. I can’t help the smile that curls the corner of my mouth as I meet Audrey’s gaze across the table.
“Looks like he forgot his wallet,” she says, nodding to the little leather wallet beside his plate.
“I’ll run it out to him,” I say as I grab the wallet and run out of the room.
As I head out the doors, searching for Holden, I’m grateful for the excuse to leave. I can’t believe that he stood up to my aunt like that. Even John didn’t do that when we were together. He always told me that I had to stand up for myself.
And I know I do. There must come a point in time when I’m willing to stand on my own two feet and stand up for myself.
Sometimes, it’s nice to have someone else who is willing to do that for you, though.
I push through the doors and step outside. Looking around, I don’t see Holden at first. I head down the stairs and look both ways down the street. There is no way that he got far in the short time that he’s been out of the house.
It’s when I look to the right that I see him, he’s across the street. As I walk to the other side of the street to reach Holden, the thought of talking to him quickens my pulse, I know it’s just to give him his wallet.
The distance between Holden and I diminishes until a black car abruptly screeches to a halt in front of me. Startled, I step back, my eyes widening as I notice Holden, he walks into an alley and two men follow him soon after. What is happening? Is Holden a criminal or something because that sure does look suspicious.
Every nerve in my body tugged me, telling me to head back to the house but I’m curious. The spy novelist in me wants to know what’s going on.
I stand in front of the alley, hiding behind a conveniently placed stack of weathered crates. The narrow alley extends like a forgotten corridor between towering buildings, dimly lit by a flickering overhead bulb that barely illuminates the worn cobblestone path.
The brick walls are covered in graffiti, an erratic mosaic of vivid colors that depicts stories about the urban underworld. Standing in front of the alley and concealed behind the crates, I can smell the smell of damp concrete and far-off traffic in the refreshing morning air.
There's a heavy sense of anticipation about what lies ahead as I watch from my hiding spot. The alley, an overlooked area of the city's underbelly, observes the drama unfolding silently.
