Page 34 of Grump Hard
“We should celebrate our win. Together,” she says, her voice breathier as she adds, “Tomorrow night, maybe? I think that Fleetwood Mac tribute band everyone loves is playing in Manchester.”
Shit.
Shit!
She beat me to it. She beat me to the asking out, and I can’t help but feel like a failure. She shouldn’t have to do all the work. Holly is always the one doing the work. After just a week in town, that’s abundantly obvious. She’s the organizer, the arranger, the connector. She’s the merrymaker and the edge-softener and the way-paver, the person who’s always thinking ten steps ahead to make things easier for everyone else.
I would have liked to be the one paving the way for her, for once, but…
Well, maybe it’s not too late.
“I mean, unless that sounds lame,” she adds, her smile fading, proving I’ve taken too long to respond. “If so, it’s no big deal. I could always go by myself or ask?—”
“No, I’d love to go,” I say, cutting her off before this gets any farther off track. “I was just thinking…” I pull in a breath. “I’d rather not wait. I’d like to take you out right now. For drinks and dinner at the pub. And I’d like it to be…a date. If that’s all right with you.”
The smile that blooms on her face is bright enough to banish the last of the shadows from my Grinchy heart. “That’s very all right with me. Just let me grab my coat.”
As she does, Elliot calls from the exit, “See you later, Luke. Have a good night!”
I lift a hand in farewell, too happy to be bothered by the smug tone in my brother’s voice or his knowing laugh as he steps out into the night.
I’m too happy to be bothered by much of anything, in fact.
Eleven
Holly
As Luke and I head across town to the village pub on foot, I wonder…
Is it possible to give yourself a heart attack from too much winning?
Too much happiness?
Too much inner-high-fiving because you were right?
I was right! I was so flipping right! Luke Ratcliffe is still the sweet boy I once knew, but now he’s all grown up and even braver, smarter, and more heroic. And if there’s anything more adorable than the awkward way he asked me out, I can’t imagine it.
Because the awkwardness means he was nervous, and being nervous means he cares, and caring means that there’s an excellent chance we’re going to make out tonight. My lips and Luke’s lips are going to lock! It is practically a certainty at this point!
But I can’t think too much about that now, or I might truly give myself giddiness-induced heart failure.
“Thanks,” I say when Luke opens the pub door for me, voice breathy as I slip past him. God, he smells so good. I don’t know if it’s cologne or just rich people detergent, but I want to soak my pillow in his soap-and-exotic-herb scent and cuddle it all night.
“Wow. Busy,” Luke observes in a low rumble as we move inside.
“Always,” I assure him. “Especially this time of year.”
The Silver Bell Falls Pub is the town’s unofficial living room, but it’s especially packed tonight. And practically overflowing with warmth and good cheer. The small dancefloor is shoulder-to-swaying-shoulder, nearly every stool and chair is occupied, and the line for the bathroom is all the way down the hall and starting to wrap around the bar.
Busy nights are always fun, but finding a table is going to be trickier than usual.
“How about this plan of attack…” I scan the crowded pub as I shrug out of my coat, taking in the three-deep line at the bar and harried-looking servers at the food pick-up window. “You’re taller than almost everyone in here. Let’s use that to our advantage. Why don’t you scout us a table and lock that down, while I order drinks and food at the bar?”
“Solid plan.” He nods, taking my coat as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “A pretty woman is going to be served ten times faster than I will.” He hands me a credit card heavy enough to be made of a chunk of granite. “Have them open a tab on this, and I’ll take the brisket sandwich with sweet potato fries and an Old Fashioned.”
I hum in appreciation. “Yum. That sounds perfect. I think I’ll have the same.”
“Oh, and some cobbler for dessert,” he says, that easy, open look in his eyes I could get used to. “Smelling all that icing activated my long-dormant sweet tooth.”
