Yes. I am all of those things.
I will continue to be all of those things regardless of the length of my hair. I’m smart enough to know that. Is Holly?
Chapter 21
Max
When I leave the barbershop, I have every intention of heading home.
However, I had taken my time cleaning up and closing the barbershop, erring on the side of doing more than is necessary, rather than less. Over an hour has passed since Holly left the shop. I still don’t know if she was upset or excited when she left. If the news she got was good or bad. It’s only reasonable to go check on her.
Besides, I still have the keys to the shop, which she had told Carl she would return to him. Furthermore, she still has my soil samples.
So, really, going to her house instead of going home is only logical. I try not to be disconcerted by the fact that I easily come up with so many reasons to visit her.
Though I’ve never been to her house, I’d gotten her address from Clarissa the other day when I sent her the grocery order, so finding her house is easy enough. Her neighborhood doesn’t have enough streetlights. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Tavey to look up the crime statistics for Holly’s neighborhood.
I park on the street and walk past Holly’s Toyota in the driveway to reach the door to her ranch house. My knock is followed by a cacophony of barking, the clatter of nails on a floor, and... is that the screech of a bird?
She opens the door after my third knock and I’m greeted with her standing there looking disheveled. She’s changed out of her earlier skirt and blouse into yoga pants and a T-shirt for a local animal rescue group. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she’s got a wineglass dangling from one hand. Her sexy-as-fuck lips part, then she frowns.
She looks . . . sad.
“What do you want?” Then she sniffs and steps out of the way allowing me entrance into her home. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind.”
“Why are you sad?” I ask and my voice comes out angry and harsh. I’m not angry with her, but with whatever has made her cry. Sounds filter through from the back of her house. “Is someone else here?”
“What? No, that’s just my dogs. I crated them before answering the door.”
I step fully inside and close the door behind me.
She walks further into the living room and takes a drink from her glass, looking vaguely surprised to find it nearly empty. She sighs. “Look, I know I still need to get your soil samples back to you, but I just can’t tonight. I just—”
Her voice breaks and she raises her hand to rub at her forehead.
The sight of Holly like this . . . Holly, who is normally a ball of cheerful energy, a force of nature . . .
The sight of her like this damn near rips a hole in my chest.
Because she shouldn’t ever look like this.
Defeated. Exhausted. Worn.
I’m used to life kicking me in the teeth. Fuck it. I probably deserve all of it and more.
And, yeah, I know no one makes it to adulthood without being kicked around by life at least at little. She’s already been divorced. And if all the gossip I try not to listen to is right, it’s because her dick of a husband cheated on her. So, yeah, I know her life hasn’t been perfect.
But it should be. Because if anyone deserves a perfect life, it’s Holly, who does so many things for so many people.
I hate—I fucking hate—that she’s crying. And even worse, I hate that I have no idea what to do to make her stop.
So I do the only thing I can think of. Something that feels totally unnatural and completely right all at the same time. I cross over to her and gently take the wineglass from her hand and set it on a nearby console table. Then I open my arms and pull her towards me.
Her body jerks a little. “What are you doing?”
“You’re sad, so I was going to give you a hug. Or is that not appropriate given the nature of our relationship?”
She folds her lips together. “You’re adorable. And under the circumstances, it’s appropriate.” She leans into me.
