Page 43 of Pieces Of You

Jamie

I grip tightlyto a marker while Holden drives us to his house. Unfortunately, I’m wearing jeans so I can’t use my thigh, and no matter how frantically I search, I seem to have gone through all the napkins in my bag. I don’t know why I didn’t think to bring a sketchbook when Holden drove me back to my place to pack for the next couple of nights. Yes.Nights. Plural. Because—as Holden said—it’s either that or he’s sleeping in his truck. The bed, to be exact, and to prove his point, he showed me the sleeping bag thrown in there, along with enough snacks to last a lifetime.

Holden asks, “You good, Gladys?”

I’m the furthest thing fromgood. “Stupid napkins,” I murmur, sitting upright. I kick at my bag for no real reason.

“You seem… agitated,” he points out.

I suck in a breath, let it out in awhoosh. “Your mom’s cool with me staying, right?”

He makes a hissing sound that instantly doubles my nerves. “Yeah, full disclosure: my mom’s back in North Carolina for a few days, so—”

“Holden!”

“Relax,” he says, stretching out his back. “I asked permission like a good little boy, and she said she’d be disappointed if I didn’t drag your ass there.”

“So, you told her about my situation?” I cringe at the thought.

“Yes, and shut up about it. Also, she made me stay on a video call with her while I made up the spare bed, even though I told her we’d probably end up staining it, anyway.”

“Holden!” I gasp, backhanding his chest.

He simply chuckles. “I’m kidding.” Then he reaches across to his glove box, opens it, and throws a handful of napkins at my head.

I squeal with relief and don’t hesitate, not even for a second. I uncap the marker with my teeth and draw a single straight line. Blank ink swims across the paper, bleeds through the dips unseen by the naked eye. I draw another line, this one shorter. “Give me a flower to draw,” I order.

He contemplates for a moment. “Dahlias.”

I freeze mid-movement, gaze flicking to his. There’s no possible way he could know. “Another one.”

He eyes me suspiciously, but only says, “Tulips.”

“Tulips,” I repeat and take a moment to think. I picture the ones Gina would pull from her garden and place into thin vases and then the ones in all the books I’d seen. When I’m ready, I start with a single petal. “Tulip bulbs can be substituted for onions when cooking.”

He chuckles. “You’re such a little weirdo, Taylor.”

* * *

I’msure it’s probably rude to be taking as long a shower as I am, but holy shit. It’s been so long since I’ve had a shower with actual water pressure where that water stays warm for over two minutes, and I never want to leave. Never. “I’m never getting out!” I shout. I have no idea where Holden is or if he can even hear me. When we got to his house, the first thing I asked for was a shower. I needed to get the grease and grime and bacon smell off me asap.

An eternity later, I force myself to switch off the water, whispering sweet adorations and words of future longing to the shower head. Then I slowly part the shower curtains, just in case Holden’s crept into the room without me knowing. He hasn’t. I dry off as quickly as I can, get dressed just as fast, and then I just stand there, my toes curling, pressing into the tiles. If I thought I was anxious in the car, it’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling now. Which is pathetic, really, because up until four days ago, being around Holden made me feel… indifferent.

Strange what a couple of kisses given in the heat of the moment can create.

Because now there’s this tension. And expectation. And Holden’s and my expectations are, I’m positive, vastly different.

I groan, more at myself than anyone else, because I sure talk a lot of game for someone scared shitless to deal with the inevitable. Slowly, I face his bedroom door, my feet barely lifting off the floor as I make my way toward his room.

I don’t knock.

I should’ve.

Because he’s at his desk, slamming the drawer shut and turning to me with wide eyes, and is he…blushing? I never thought I’d see the day. Clearly, I’ve just busted him doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing, and that thought has me grinning like a fool. “What you got there?” I tease, swaying from side to side.

His features level. “Nothing.” And then he clears his throat, stands in front of the drawer, hands gripping the handle.

My giggle pours out of me like the loosening of a valve. Slowly at first, and then all at once. I move toward him, my shoulders hunched, tapping my fingertips together. “Is it treeeasure?” I can’t stop laughing, and really, it’s not that funny, but catching him like this has megiddy. It’s like I’ve won a game I didn’t even know we were playing.

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