Page 72 of Valentine Nook
And the idea of that makes me unbelievably sad.
Her finger is back to running up and down her wineglass. “What did you think I was going to ask you earlier?”
“When?” I reply, trying to shake the thoughts of Holiday leaving.
“In the car, when I asked if you had a lot of cash. You thought I was going to ask something else.”
The journey back home feels like eons ago, and I wrack mybrain. When I remember, I wish I hadn’t.
I could say I’d forgotten, but she’ll find out sooner or later, and I’d rather it was from me.
“I thought you were going to ask about Caroline.”
Holiday’s jaw flexes. “Your ex? Do you miss her a lot?”
I shake my head. “No, not really. Not at all, actually. In hindsight, we weren’t well suited.”
“You were getting married?”
“That was the plan.”
“And you got cold feet?”
I shake my head again. Holiday’s looking down at her wine, trying to come across as casual in her questioning, but I can see how badly she wants to know.
Except I get the impression it’s not for the same reasons as everyone else—for idle gossip. And when I open my mouth to tell her, I realize the humiliation I usually feel is missing.
“I visited her the night before our wedding and found her screwing my best friend.”
Blue eyes flare impossibly wide, and I brace myself for the same reaction everyone else likes to give—the pity, the head bob. What I don’t expect is Holiday smothering a laugh.
But that’s exactly what she does.
She tips her head back and laughs. It’s one of those laughs that begins deep in your belly until it rumbles up your throat and bursts out.
“Oh,man.That’s spectacular. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing. It’s not funny. But also, wow. That sucks.” She wipes a tear away, trying and failing to contain her amusement as she waves a hand in front of her face. “Please ignore me. I laugh at the most inappropriate things. Sorry, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I reply truthfully.
The anger I’ve been holding on to since December is absent. I don’t even feel annoyed. Holiday’s laughter is so infectiousthat I start to chuckle, which sets her off into another round of loud, uninhibited, raucous laughing.
Fuck me if I don’t enjoy watching her.
And that’s how Eddie finds us.
“Are you going to let me in on the joke?”
Holiday shakes her head, wiping away tears, and squeaks out, “It’s really not that funny.”
“Hmm. Well, the bar’s closing soon if you want anything else.”
“No, thank you, just the check. I have a voucher.”
“Do you now?” he replies, trundling back to the bar.
“Come on, I’ll leave the car and walk you back to Bluebell. It looks like it’s stopped raining,” I tell her, and after we’ve settled up and said goodbye, we make our way outside.
I don’t even look at the whiskey still waiting on the bar.
