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I pass the cafe and barber, both bustling with customers. Each window has a holiday display with frosted snowflakes and mini-Santas. As I walk by the candy shop, I stop to admire the train set. After all these years, I can’t believe it’s still running. When I make it to the corner of the square, I see the sign for The Trusted Toolbox, my dad’s hardware store and smile. A place I spent half my childhood. You can never be too young to learn about bolts and pipes, my dad always said when he had us helping him stock the shelves. I was eager to learn everything about it and made Dad promise he would let me run it when I grew up.
That dream clearly died along with so many others.
The bell rings as I open the door and step inside. The familiar scent of fresh-cut wood, a hint of oil and paint, and freshly cut Christmas trees fill my nose. I brush off the thin layer of snow from my jacket and look around for my parents. A couple stands by the register, debating which saw to choose, while another woman lifts paint samples up to the light. Mr. Clemons, my old gym teacher, walks down the aisle, and I wave at him as I make my way to the back in search of Mom and Dad. I move to push against the double doors, but instead of going inward, they push out.
I stumble backward, and my boot slips. Losing my balance, I reach out for anything to steady me, but all I catch is air. I cuss as I go down.
Two monster-sized hands wrap around my waist before I become one with the hard floor. Just as fast as I lost my balance, I’m righted back on my two feet. “Holy, almost brain explosion. Thought I was gonna. . .take out. . .” I don’t finish my sentence.
My eyes lift to meet my savior, and a bit of shame washes over me. I can’t help but take him in, inch by inch as if he’s a piece of meat and I’m fucking starving.
This guy seeps masculinity from his cut shoulders, his lean waist, to his sharp jaw and defined cheekbones. I drink him in like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot summer day. I lick my lips like a feline in heat, taking in the gritty stubble along his jawline, and how his plump lips are formed into a tight smile. Does God still make specimens this flawless anymore? I can’t remember the last time I saw someone so…so… Jesus, I’m in serious need of I’m so much better than my ex sex. It’s as if I saved the best for last. His beauteous gaze. Magnetic eyes. If I look too long, he’ll forever bewitch me, but it’s impossible to pull away. A long, long time ago, in a different life, I consumed those eyes, those full lips.
I inhale a sharp breath as my brain catches up. Gone is the lean, shy boy who kissed me under the pine tree on Wicker Street and snuck into my bedroom every night after my parents went to sleep. Before me is a… is a… beast.
“Liam?” I say his name as if there may be a mistake. There’s no way this is. He is…
“Holly.” My name is a deep purr off his tongue. God, even his voice is different.
“How—when—how?” I should ask myself why in the world I can’t conjure up a damn sentence! “You look so… different.” Like a Viking with a chip on his shoulder. And I may be the chip. . .
“Time changes people, Holls.”
It sure does.
I knew I would run into him at some point. It was inevitable with him helping at the hardware store. But the first person I see? I don’t know whether this is a sign or fate hates me.
“Oh, look! You two found each other!” My mom’s voice rings out, slapping me across the face. Realizing we’re holding each other like a couple of lovesick kids, I drop my arms like he just caught fire and back away.
“Yep. Just—bam—ran into each other. Or…well, I fell, and—Mom!” I throw myself into her arms, almost knocking her over. “I missed you!” I hug her tight, trying to gather myself, and make the mistake of looking over her shoulder at Liam. His watchful eyes continue to take me in. His magnificent lips are in a thin line. Guess he’s still holding a grudge. Pulling my gaze from him and moving away from my mom, I say, “I went home first, and no one was there. I thought you would have been busy baking.”
Mom waves her hand and sighs. “That hasn’t been a tradition in years. No need to bake cookies for just me and your father.”
