Page 72 of When We Were Young

The corner of Brian’s mouth lifts. “Perfect.”

Then he looks at me. “Is the email address you gave me the best way to reach you, or should I grab your number too?”

I hesitate only a second before handing him my phone.

The moment Brian takes it, I feel Holden’s stare again, but I refuse to glance his way.

Brian enters his number, sends himself a text, then hands my phone back.

“It was very nice meeting all of you,” he says as he stands.

His gaze flicks briefly toward Holden before returning to me. Then, instead of offering a normal goodbye, he reaches for my hand and holds it gently between both of his.

“I’ll be seeing you soon.”

And then he’s gone.

The tension in the room afterward is thick enough to cut with a knife.

I hear LouAnn furiously tapping on her phone.

“Who are you texting?” Hayden asks suspiciously.

“Ruthie,” LouAnn says innocently, though the grin on her face says otherwise.

Her gaze darts between Holden and me.

“Oh no,” Holden mutters. “Don’t start rumors. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Something painful twists in my chest at the words.

LouAnn arches a brow. “Well then, if there’s nothing to talk about, does that mean you’ll finally go out with my niece?”

“No,” Holden says flatly.

LouAnn smirks. “Not interested?”

His eyes shift to mine. Steady. Unwavering. Searing.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m not.”

Oh. Well, there’s that, then.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Holden

Aloud crash combined with a pain-filled cry is the first thing I hear when I push the door open on the event space side of Lizette’s building.

“Mom!” There’s panic in the young voice.

I drop my bag and race to the other side, following the sounds of the child crying. When I enter the kitchen, my anxiety level shoots through the roof, and I freeze.

Simon, with his glasses sliding down his nose and tears streaming down his face, strains as he tries to lift a slab of granite, I assume for a countertop, off Lizette’s arm.

Lizette’s lying on the ground on her belly, one of her forearms pinned underneath the stone, and her other hand trying to comfort the little boy as she rests it on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m f-fine.” She’s not fine; there’s no question she’s crying. “Can you please g-go get my phone?”