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22
We stood in the cool air of the atrium while the valet ran to get Holden’s car — the poor kid literally ran off with a mumbled “It’ll just be a minute, Mr. St. James” after taking his ticket. Less than three minutes later, Holden’s black Range Rover was driving past the rows of parked cars before coming to a stop outside the sliding doors.
The valet hopped out, jogging around the car to open the door for me. The interior of the car was cool and pristine. It looked like Holden had driven here straight from the new car lot. If I breathed deeply enough, I could still pick up a hint of that new car smell. I had basically stepped out of the oppressive Savannah heat straight into a slice of heaven.
This strange feeling of contentment didn’t waver even when Holden rounded the hood of the car and climbed in next to me. After a few checks in the mirrors, he shifted out of park and headed away from the hotel. I sighed, wishing I had spent more time exploring the grounds of the Mansion on Forsyth, since this was likely the last time I would get the chance. Holden adjusted the volume of the radio, sending the soft notes of a popular alternative song through the quiet car. It reminded me of how unexpected everything about Holden was, how little I really knew about him.
“You have a very understanding date. Most women wouldn’t be thrilled if their date left with another woman.” I rolled my head on the headrest to face him, likely flattening my curls in the process. I was too buzzed — on champagne and on being in close quarters with Holden — to care about my appearance. I was also very aware that this comment would likely come across as fishing for information, and I was fine with that too, since Iwasshamelessly fishing for information.
Holden glanced over at me, the streetlights casting half his face in shadow and making him appear even more mysterious.
“Greer’s just a friend.” I hummed. “We’ve known each other since undergrad. She works at the firm and didn’t have a date either. My mom likes to use these types of events to matchmake, and she can’t do that if I have a date. So it’s always more bearable if we go together.”
“You two have never dated?”Shut up, shut up, shut up, you nosey bitch.
Another quick glance my way. It might have been a trick of the poor lighting, but I could have sworn one corner of his mouth ticked up at my question.
“No, we’ve always just been friends. Greer had a serious long-term boyfriend all through college and most of law school, so I guess I never really thought of her that way.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to make a comment about how refreshing it was to know that at leastonebrother saw commitment as a hard line, but I swallowed the bitter retort. Holden was not responsible for Macon’s bad deeds, and it wasn’t fair of me to continue holding them against him. Especially because, through his actions, Holden continued to show me that he was in all likelihood, a good guy.
“Makes sense. I had a friend growing up.” Literally one. “His name was Steve. He dressed up as Captain Underwear for Halloween when we were six. No matter how old we got, I couldn’tnotpicture him as Captain Underwear.”
The laugh that burst from Holden seemed to surprise even him, and I couldn’t help smiling at the sound.
“Where were you when I was in Beacon Hill?” he asked, looking at me like I was a yet-unclassified specimen under a microscope.
“Uh, probably in the computer lab.” My response elicited another laugh, this one just a low rumble. I wanted to press my cheek to his chest just to feel that rumble vibrate through me.
I took the opportunity to study his face. His usually clean-shaven jaw was covered in light stubble, and I couldn’t help wondering whether it would be rough and scratchy against my palm or smooth with just the hint of strength. I slid my hands under my thighs just in case my blood alcohol level was greater than my common sense.
“You —” I started, but then my eyes caught the neon lights ahead of us. “Holden, look! Let’s Taco ‘Bout It is open. Can we stop?”
“It’s a truck.”
“Atacotruck, yes. The most magical kind of truck there is.” I pointed to an empty meter. “Ohh, there’s an empty spot! It’s a sign!”
“You really want to eat out of this truck?” Holden asked skeptically, navigating the car into the turning lane despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Luchita’s is less than five minutes down this street.”
“Don’t be such a snob.” I whacked his shoulder lightly. “You’ll like the food, I promise. Food trucks are like hidden gems sprinkled throughout the city, just waiting for you to discover them.”
“Is this the champagne talking?”
“No, it is not. Although I’m sure it’s helping. Haven’t youevereaten from a food truck?”
“No. They all look like health code violations on wheels.”
I gasped, placing a horrified hand over my heart.
“Holden St. James, what are you even doing with your life?” I feigned mock outrage as he effortlessly parallel parked the Range Rover. If I was driving and the only open spot required parallel parking, I changed my plans, but naturally, Holden performed the task with ease.
I checked to make sure there weren’t any cars coming, then leapt out of the car. I was just as excited for the food as I was to introduce Holden to the joys of food truck dining. People milled around the three food trucks parked at a grassy stretch adjacent to one of the small parks scattered throughout the city. In the center of the trucks were a few picnic tables with fairy lights strung from thin poles. I felt a million times more comfortable on the patchy grass lot than I had at the foundation’s fundraiser. Holden didn’t look quite as at home as I felt, and I kind of loved that.
“How hungry are you?” I asked, steering us to the back of Let’s Taco ‘Bout It’s line. My stomach rumbled at the smells of spiced meats and fried goodness surrounding us.
“I’m starving. I didn’t have time to eat before the fundraiser, and a tasting menu just didn’t cut it,” Holden responded, eyes leaving mine to scan the area.
“Sure, sure — those tasting menus will get you every time. Any dietary restrictions I should know about before I order? Keto? Paleo? Nut allergy? Gluten intolerance?” I listed, ticking them off on my fingers as I went. “Spice level tolerance?”
