Page 81 of When We Were Young

“Oh, nothing for me. They’re all yours. I was hoping that when I got here, your mom would offer me coffee, and she did. So, I’m good.”

“Can I have the strawberry one, please?”

For the next few minutes or so, Lizette takes a break, and the three of us sit around the table watching a documentary about mules, of all things.

“Oh my gosh, this is so good.” A satisfied moan escapes Lizette, and I feel it in places I shouldn’t.

I mean, I should because it means things are in working order, but I should not in this situation.

I see Lizette eyeing the second half of her cinnamon roll in the box, and I can tell she’s trying to resist taking it.

“Go ahead,” I say quietly to her. “I’ve seen you in a bikini, and trust me, you can eat whatever you want.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and the tips of her ears turn bright red. She pretends I didn’t say it, which I guess is better than her punching me or something, because it probably wasn’t appropriate.

She puts the other half on her plate and takes her time savoring it.

I’m completely surprised that Simon is making quick work of his full-sized roll.

“You really shouldn’t be pounding on things with a broken wrist.” The concern in my voice is clear.

“I need to get this place up and running. It’s making me crazy.” For a second or two, her mask fades, and I see the stress that I suspect she usually hides on her face.

Simon tugs on my sleeve. “Do you want to split the last one?”

I glance over at him, and I can’t help but grin. He’s got icing on his cheek and looks sated.

“Simon, you’ve had enough. I think we need to leave one for Holden to take home.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t eat a full one. You’d actually be doing me a favor if you ate half of it.”

“Really? I could do that for you.” God, this kid is cute.

I glance at Lizette, and she’s watching her boy, her head tilted to the side. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say love is written all over her face. I feel as if I could watch her for hours.

We spend a few more minutes at the table, and then Lizette rises.

“Thank you for coming and bringing us the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious. And thank you for yesterday, too. Take your time finishing your coffee, but I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not how this is gonna go. I cannot stand by and watch you re-injure yourself because you’re⁠—”

“Dedicated?” she asks.

“Sure, that’s what I was going to go with. How about this? I’ve put in a ton of this flooring. You can hand me pieces and help when I’m getting stuck, but I can put it down for you.”

“Holden, I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done too much.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” I hold her gaze, hoping she’ll say yes. I’m enjoying my time here, and I’m not ready to leave.

I watch her eyes, and I’m pretty sure she’s playing tug-of-war with herself. I count it a win when she nods.

“Okay, but don’t blame me when you’re aching tomorrow. As Simon pointed out, you’re no spring chicken.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lizzie

Ibolt upright in my bed from a sound sleep.