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There’s something there—a story—that she’s yet to share. Real heartache and pain and hurt. So much so that, no matter the time that’s passed, I can feel it rolling off her in waves.
I pull her tighter into me to try to absorb some of it, to leach off some of the pain, and she doesn’t fight me.
The song builds into the chorus, and so does the beat of my heart. Her head comes up off my shoulder slowly to look me in the eyes, and I don’t squander the gift.
There’s life and light and happiness there in the soft green, but there’s also so much more. Everything dark and missing and hurtful—it stands out in a forest-green ring around her pupils.
As the song starts to fade, the longing in her eyes, the fight to get rid of all of the pain, only grows.
I don’t think about it. I don’t pause. I don’t plan. But between one moment and the next, my head moves, closer to her—so close I can feel the heat of her breath. It feels ragged against my skin, perfectly pure in emotion, and I need to feel what it’s like to touch her.
She turns her head slightly, expecting me to whisper words in her ear, but I have plans of my own—different plans—my lips landing softly on the tiny, perfectly formed corner of her mouth.
She freezes, startled by the touch, but I don’t linger; I don’t push it further. Instead, I bring myself out of the fog that’s been induced by her striking emerald eyes and this poignant song and back into the reality of the room.
“Thanks for the dance,” I whisper to the space between us and step out of our quiet embrace.
Holley just looks up at me with those big green eyes of hers, and it takes all the mental strength I have not to fall back into the entrancing mist, not to reach out and pull her back toward me for an actual kiss. A real kiss.
Fuck, what is happening to me?
With a tight blink of my eyes, I push the wild thoughts out of my head and stay strong, choosing to lead us back to the table instead of continuing this confusing-as-hell sexual tension tug-of-war on the dance floor.
When we arrive, Chloe is waiting and so is our food—which I can’t explain. There’s no way we danced for long enough to one song to merit an order being put in and served, but I don’t question it. I don’t question how long we were really out there, or if we lost track of time. I don’t question when one song turned into two or three or four.
I don’t wonder about what any of it means or if Holley noticed.
No, I don’t wonder at all. Not at all.HolleyJake: Where do you want to meet tomorrow?I stare down at the text message and exhale.
I swear, I can’t escape this man. He’s either with me or texting or calling or rolling around obnoxiously in my thoughts. But what’s truly frightening is the very real possibility that I don’t mind at all.
Clearly. Because any other woman with half a working brain would have excused herself halfway through tonight’s dinner and put some distance between herself and Mr. Eligible Bachelor. Instead, I went back to the table and ate my dinner in an awkward, brain-dead, dancing-induced stupor.
Dear God, the dancing…
Don’t even go there, Holley!
I managed to pull it together enough to complete the basic human function of um-ing and ah-ing my way through the ride back to my car, but let me tell you, it was not my most eloquent hour.
Honestly, it’s probably the reason Jake is texting me now, rather than just asking me about all of this when we said goodbye this evening.
Eventually, I type out what I hope is an easy breezy response.Me: How about Grey Street Coffee? 9:00 a.m.?Jake: That works. And, Holley?Me: Yeah?Jake: Don’t forget to add our conversation about “wielding a hammer” to the article.I smile and bite my lip, and then shoot him another text.Me: I’m seriously regretting giving you my cell number.He doesn’t miss a beat, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have expected him to. Jake Brent can volley banter with the freaking best of them.Jake: Pretty sure you had to. You’re my Bachelor Anonymous emergency contact. If I incur any injuries while I’m on these dates or consume food I’m allergic to, I’m legally bound to notify you.Me: First of all, you don’t have any food allergies.Jake: And secondly?Me: GO AWAY. I’M WORKING.Jake: LOL. See you tomorrow, Holley.I’m going to see Jake Brent again. Tomorrow.
Gah.
While thoughts of the day and evening threaten to consume my brain again, I head into the kitchen and uncork a bottle of wine.
Once a very tall glass of Riesling is poured, I head into my small home office, sit down at my computer and fire it up. She’s a little old and slow, but she does the job, so I wait patiently as she gets ready to work. I lean over and light a candle and turn on the stereo behind me.
