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As I listened to those two simple questions, it struck me how very, incredibly wrong I had been about Holden St. James — and what I could have missed out on if I had refused to let go of my preconceived notions of him.
Following swiftly after that realization was the thought that I might be in big trouble.
“No, nothing, but thank you for asking.” I paused, feeling like an idiot. “I don’t really know why I called, honestly.”
Holden was quiet for a few seconds, causing panic to swell and rise in me. I chewed on my lip, anxiously waiting for his response, until I felt the skin crack.
“Well, I’m glad you did call. I wish there was something I could do to help.” His admission did so much to make me feel better, and it both thrilled and scared me. “I hope you’ll let me know if there’s anything Icando, even if you just need to talk.”
“I might ask you to feed the piglets at some point, but only because I know how much you love them.” The deep chuckle from the other end of the line had another piece of the knot in my stomach loosening. “What are you doing today?”
“Catching up on work.” Another pause. “I usually spend Sunday catching up on work, or if I’m lucky, getting ahead for the week.”
“Holden, I think we both may need to get a hobby.”
He chuckled, eliciting an answering smile. “You might be right about that. I’m firmly against animal hoarding though, especially rodents.”
“Hey! Rodents is a derogatory term. You could always try cats,” I suggested, my smile widening as I pictured him surrounded by cats.
“I’ll pass. Do you have any non-animal suggestions for me?”
I hummed, making it seem like I was giving his question a lot of thought. “What about knitting?” He made a strangled sound. “No, you’re right. I definitely see you as more of a crochet guy.”
“I’m concerned that you don’t seem to have noticed I’m not a seventy-year-old woman,” Holden replied flatly.
“Holden St. James, it is the twenty-first century!” I chastised in mock outrage. “Anyone can engage in yarn arts now, without judgment.”
“This conversation is making me want to take up drinking,” he muttered, but there was no sting in his words. “Have dinner with me tonight?”
His question caught me off-guard, so it took me a beat to respond.
“I wish I could,” I admitted, genuinely disappointed. “But I don’t think I’ll be getting out of here until late.”
“Try not to stay too late. And call if you need a ride home, okay? Don’t walk home alone in the dark.”
“You’re a good egg, Holden St. James. I’m glad we’re going to be family, even if it does mean Sissy is marrying Macon.” I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth. They sounded all wrong, and didn’t even come close to conveying what I really felt.
“Family, right.” He sounded almost disappointed, his tone evaporating all my warm feelings from earlier.
“I’d better get back to work,” I said in a rush, wanting to avoid hearing any more of his disappointment, or — worse — saying something even more stupid than I already had.
We exchanged our goodbyes, and I walked slowly back to my desk, frustration weighing me down with every step. Why I had I added the “family” bit? It was like I was trying to remind myself of who I was to Holden, trying to set realistic expectations for our relationship. I slumped into my seat, letting out a long sigh that sent the loose hairs around my face into motion. I woke up my computer, suddenly grateful to have something to distract me from thinking about what a colossal screw-up I was.
25
Hours later, a red light started flashing on my desk phone. I stared at it in confusion. I was so immersed in the line of code that I was currently trying to find the error in that it took me a second to re-orient myself to the world outside my computer screen. I tentatively reached for the receiver, lifting it to my ear.
“Hello?” I was greeted by the sound of the dial tone while the red light kept flashing away. “Hello?”
When the only response was the dial tone, I placed the receiver back in the cradle and focused back on the line of code I’d been working on. The red light stopped and then started blinking again.
“Oh, for the love of all...” I picked it up again. “Hello?”
“You have to hit the button next to the flashing light to answer, Einstein,” Jin muttered, brow furrowed as he stared intently at his screen.
I hit the button and the dial tone stopped its obnoxious blaring.
“Hello?” I tried again, sounding unsure.
