Page 68 of Valentine Nook
The drive to dinner was conducted in silence because I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth and not be sick.
The rest of the evening didn’t fare much better.
Eventually, Eddie, stealthily watching from a corner of the bar, felt so sorry for me he poured out a triple whiskey, then ordered me to knock it back and get a grip.
It worked. Sort of. It gave me enough confidence to get through dinner but not enough to ask for a second date.
All first dates since then have been a marked improvement.
But when Holiday and I walk through the doors of The One True Love, Eddie takes one look at my face and silently places a triple whiskey on the bar.
Perhaps I can swap it for a towel.
One of the perks of owning a village is that I can park anywhere I want, but even sprinting in from the spot outside, we get drenched. The rain is coming down so hard that it’s almost drowning out the sound of thunder.
A fork of lightning illuminates the bar for a second before plunging us back into a dimly lit atmosphere. The weather must have kept people home because it’s much quieter than it usually is.
“Evenin’, Your Grace, ’Oliday. Rainin’ is it?” Eddie smirks, holding out a large towel, which Holiday immediately takes to pat her face dry.
“You could say that,” she replies, scraping her wet hair away from her forehead.
“The fire’s lit in the back. Take whatever table you like, no one will disturb you. I’ll come over and serve you myself.”
I don’t know whether he’s offering the privacy for Holiday or for me, but I clap an appreciative hand on his shoulder anyway and guide us through.
“This place is so stinkin’ cute,” she whispers. “I keep meaning to come in here and bribe Eddie to tell me all the stories.”
I pull out the chair for Holiday to sit, then retrieve a second towel from behind the bar and run it over my head. “I don’tthink you’ll need to bribe him. He’ll give it up for free, but you’ll be here for days. Maybe months.”
“Oh yeah, and what stories do you have of this place?”
I take the space opposite. She’s cupped her face in her hands as she eagerly awaits story time. The low lighting and the flames flickering in the hearth make her appear starry-eyed as she looks at me, and I’m here for it.
“See that corner over there?” I nod to the opposite side of the room, where the wood paneling is carved with an intricate scene of Venus and Mars behind an old square table. “Rumor has it that was Shakespeare’s favorite spot to write.”
Holiday’s eyes widen. “No way. That’s seriously cool. Is that where you got your name from?”
I shake my head, trying to keep my expression as impassive as possible. “No. Walt Disney named me, remember?”
Confusion flickers on her face before she picks up a beer mat and whips it at me. “Idiot.”
“Actually, Orlando is an old family name,” I tell her. “What about yours?”
“My mom listened to a lot of Billie Holiday when she was pregnant with me, and Tanner got the family name.”
“It suits you.”
“You think?”
“I do.” I nod. For the first time since I spotted her in Claridge’s, I get to really look at her again. Wet hair scraped back, flushed cheeks, rain-smudged mascara. She looks exquisite. “A holiday, by definition, is happy, relaxing, and energizing. And that’s what you are.”
Her bottom lip rolls in, and I catch the flash of her teeth biting into it as she looks away. I have no idea wherethatcame from, but it’s out there now, and I can’t take it back.
Plus, it’s the truth. Holiday Simpson has energized me more in the past month than I’ve felt in years.
“You’re very sweet. You know that, right?”
Now it’s my turn to be bashful. The way she’s looking at me has my cheeks heating, and if it wasn’t for my beard, my face would be bright pink.
