Holidate

by Monica Murphy

  Like I’m standing in a tunnel.

  “Candice?” The alarm in Isabel’s voice is obvious and I turn toward the sound of her voice, but can’t see her. “Candice, dear, are you all right?”

  No, I want to say. I’m not all right. Reaching for her, my fingers gasp at her wrist. I can feel myself starting to sag.

  Oh man, I think I might faint? I used to a lot when I was a teenager. I have low blood pressure, and combine that with not eating in the morning—a habit of mine during high school—and always being busy, busy, busy? I’d drop all the time. To the point that my friends and family got used to it.

  But it hasn’t happened in years.

  Still recognize the telltale signs, though.

  “Candice!”

  I sag against her and I feel her grip my shoulder, trying to keep me upright. But I’m going down for sure. I whisper Isabel’s name, but I don’t think she heard me.

  And then everything goes dark.

  Five

  My eyes spring open and I realize I’m lying on the sidewalk. The very hard, very cold sidewalk. Something soft is beneath my head, propping it up, and when I actually try to look around, a rippling pain stops me in my tracks.

  Dang, that hurts.

  “Candice! There you are.” Stella is kneeling by my side, her expression full of concern. Where did she come from? I know we were standing outside of Sweet Dreams, but she was inside busy working. “Are you all right?”

  “My head hurts,” I croak, closing my eyes and resting my hand against my forehead. “What happened? Did I faint?”

  “You did.” This comes from Isabel. She’s crouched next to me on my other side. “I tried my best to catch you, but you just crumpled to the ground.”

  “I saw you go down from inside, so I ran out to help,” Stella adds. “Did you bump your head?”

  “I’m not sure.” I reach for the back of my head, my fingers probing through my hair. I don’t feel any bumps, but—

  Oops. Yep, there it is. Right at the top of my skull. I wince when I touch it, bracing for the pain. Ouch, it’s a big one.

  Isabel reaches for me, her fingers tentative as she searches for—and finds—the bump. Her touch is gentle, but I still pull away from her searching fingers. “You could have a concussion,” she says, her voice full of motherly concern.

  Oh, how I miss that. Motherly concern. I have Mitzi, my stepmom, and she’s great. I adore her. But she’s always been so careful not to mother me too much. I think she was afraid of stepping on my dead mother’s toes.

  “I doubt that.” I try to sit up, but both of them rest their hands against my shoulders, keeping me down. On the very cold sidewalk, which is miserable. “I’m fine,” I insist, but they’re both shaking their heads.

  “We should call an ambulance,” Isabel tells Stella, who’s reaching for the back pocket of her jeans. She pulls her phone out, her fingers poised over the screen.

  “Should I?” Stella glances in my direction. “Maybe we could just take her to urgent care.”

  “I don’t need any care. I’m fine.” The last thing I want to do is go to the hospital. Too many bad memories there. I struggle to sit up, and this time they let me. The moment I’m upright, though, the pain tears through my head, making me dizzy. “Oh God.”

  “Oh, I am definitely calling 9-1-1.” Stella’s fingers punch on the nine, I see it happening, and I reach out, grabbing hold of her wrist so I can stop her.

  “Please don’t call an ambulance. I don’t want to cause a scene.” I murmur the words, hoping she realizes how serious I am, and she clears her screen before her gaze meets mine.

  “Okay.” She nods, then looks over at Isabel, and they remain quiet for a moment. Like they’re silently communicating? Hmmm. “Could you maybe drive her home?”

  “Absolutely,” Isabel says.

  I chance a glance at Isabel Sullivan, wondering exactly what we were supposed to be meeting about in the first place. Thinking too hard hurts my already sore head, and it seems that the reason has sort of…

  Slipped my mind?

  That’s weird.

  I let them carefully pull me to my feet, Isabel wrapping her arm around me so she can guide me to an empty chair that’s in front of Sweet Dreams. I settle in, gasping when my butt hits the cold metal seat.

  “I’ll go get a pack of ice for the bump on her head,” Stella says before she dashes inside the café, leaving me alone with Isabel.

  “As soon as she returns, I’ll go get my truck and drive you home,” Isabel says, her voice, and her eyes, filled with kindness.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure her. “I can sit here alone while you go get your car.”

  She frowns. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, but the movement hurts, so I stop, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “Yes. Really. I’m okay. Just have a headache.”

  Isabel glances through the window of the café before she returns her gaze to me. “Stella’s just inside if you need anything.”

  “I know. She’ll be back out in a few. I’m sure of it.”

  “Don’t move. Stay right there,” Isabel says before she takes off down the sidewalk.

  Wincing, I reach for my bag and pull my phone out, checking my notifications. I have a couple of texts I should answer, but it’s as if trying to formulate words is stressing my brain, making it ache. Deciding I’ll answer them later, I tuck my phone back into my bag.

  I’m watching the door, waiting for Stella to come back out when I spot an incredibly tall, incredibly handsome man coming down the sidewalk toward me. It’s like he doesn’t even notice me, though. He stops in front of the door to Sweet Dreams, a hesitant expression on his face as he reaches for the door handle, his arm dropping to his side at the last minute. His entire demeanor is full of hesitation and I wonder why he looks so worried about walking into the café.

  He stands there for a while, never saying a word, barely moving. I assume he’s contemplating whether he should walk inside or not, and not knowing what he’s going to do next is keeping me in suspense.

  I finally can’t help but say something.

  “They have really good coffee,” I tell him in encouragement.

  He turns his head in my direction, and I’m frozen in place at what I see. The first thing I notice are his eyes—they’re bright green and stunningly beautiful. Olive complexion—which just sets off the color of his eyes, don’t you know. Thick, dark brown hair that’s a little long and in desperate need of a haircut. Granite jaw that’s lightly shadowed in scruff. He’s got the sexy lumberjack look down pat, with the dark boots on his feet and the jeans and the black-and-gray flannel shirt he’s wearing, with a white T-shirt underneath. Not my usual type, but I can certainly appreciate his appeal.

  In fact, I can most definitely appreciate his appeal.

  As in, I find him appealing.

  “I’ve been here before,” he finally says, the sound of his deep, delicious, slightly gravelly voice making me tingle despite how my head throbs.

  “Oh.” I try to smile, but even that hurts. So I do the best I can, my lips curving upward into a weak excuse. “You just looked reluctant to go inside. And no one’s ever reluctant to go into Sweet Dreams.”

  He faintly smiles in return, revealing a set of straight, white teeth, and I blink at him, stunned silent for a moment. Trust me, that never happens. I’m a talker, remember? It’s my best trait.

  “They have good sandwiches. I come here a lot for lunch,” he explains, his smile fading. It’s still a good look for him.

  Goodness, he’s attractive.

  “I do too!” Well, I wouldn’t say I come here a lot. But he’s right that they have delicious sandwiches.

  And why have I never seen this guy around before?

  He faces the door once more, leaning in and peering through the glass. “I was supposed to meet someone here, but I’m late. And I don’t see them inside.”

  “You should text them,” I suggest. “Maybe they had to leave alread
y. Especially if you were late.”

  He sends me a look, and I get the sense he might think I’m judging him. “I got distracted. At work. That’s why I was running behind.”

  “I’m not judging.” I hold up my hands like I’m about to be arrested to reiterate my no judgment remark, and the side of his mouth kicks up in this lopsided, closed lipped smile thing that is super cute. This time I really do smile at him, ignoring the pain. His smile fades as he contemplates me and I can’t help but stare back as well. This man is sooooo good looking. And from the way he’s watching me, I get the sense that he might…

  Find me attractive too?

  I’m not one to brag about all the men I can get, because if I’m being real, I don’t attract a lot of men. I assume it’s because I don’t put myself out there, and maybe I’m just not their cup of tea. Sarah has told me it’s also because I spend a lot of time with older women planning fundraisers and joining every committee that catches my eye, so how am I supposed to meet any available men my age?

  I mean, she has a point, but…

  Have you hung out with older women for an extended period of time? If they like you, they become your champion. Your surrogate grandma, aunt, whatever. Some of them consider me a member of their family. Which means they would love it if I could actually become a member of their family.

  That means they’re constantly trying to fix me up with their sons. Or their grandsons. Or their nephews, their best friend’s grandsons…the list goes on and on. And I’m constantly turning them down. I like these women too much to want to take a chance and date their son or grandson or nephew or best friend’s neighbor’s divorced cousin. What if it doesn’t work out?

  Talk about awkward.

  But anyway. This man is still watching me and I swear his pretty eyes are positively sparkling. With a devilish gleam. Like maybe he wants to whisk me away somewhere and ravish me in private.

  Huh. I’ve been binge reading a bunch of historical romances lately and my thoughts are showing that.

  Seriously, though. There’s an intensity to him that I find rather…interesting, and I’m not sure why. And when I say intensity, I’m meaning his aura. He has presence, and it’s intense. Sounds very woo-woo, doesn’t it? But it’s like I’m drawn to this man and I can’t even explain why.

  The café door suddenly swings open, the man leaping out of the way at the last second so he doesn’t get hit. It’s Stella, with a sandwich bag filled with ice in her hand. She heads straight for me, walking past the handsome stranger while announcing, “This is going to be cold,” before she presses the ice squarely on the back of my head.

  “Ow!” It doesn’t really hurt. More like that cold ice is extra shocking, especially while I’m sitting outside with this biting wind blowing around me.

  “Sorry.” Stella doesn’t sound very sorry. “I did some quick Googling and it said you should put ice on the bump.”

  “Are you all right?” the man calls.

  We both turn to study him. I’d forgotten he was still there, considering Stella made her sudden appearance and assaulted me with the ice. “She’s fine,” Stella says as she turns away from him, her voice curt.

  “Thank you for asking,” I add weakly, not wanting him to think I’m rude like Stella. Because she’s totally acting rude, and I don’t get why.

  He’s frowning. Scowling really. I bet he didn’t like how Stella spoke to him. Great. There went my lumberjack fantasy. “See you around,” he says before he takes off.

  The moment he’s gone, Stella asks me, “Who was that guy?”

  “I don’t know. He said he was supposed to meet someone here earlier, but he claims he was running late.”

  “Of course he was. Guys like him always keep others waiting. They’re the type who believe their time is more valuable than ours,” Stella says bitterly.

  Is Stella a total man-hater? I had no clue. “Guys like him? What do you mean?”

  “The extremely good looking ones, that’s what I mean. Here, hold the ice.” I reach up, pressing the bag of ice against my head while Stella grabs the other chair and pulls it up so she’s sitting directly across from me. “I also read that you should rest, but you shouldn’t sleep for the next few hours. It’s important that you take it easy, but you also should stay awake.”

  “I won’t sleep,” I say grumpily, pulling the bag of ice away from my head, but Stella reaches for it, grabbing the bag from me so she can press it against the knot once more. I heave out an irritated sigh. “I have too much to do today to rest.”

  “You’ll need to cancel your plans,” she tells me.

  “But I have a luncheon and a committee meeting,” I practically wail. I sound like a baby, but dang it, this entire week is jam-packed with things I need to do.

  “Reschedule them,” she says, her voice final. Dang, Stella is brutal when she wants to be. “Come on, Candice. You don’t have to be on every decorating committee there is. There are other people who can step up.”

  How does she know about all my committees? I’ve never told her about them. As a matter of fact, I don’t spend a lot of one-on-one time with Stella, because like I mentioned earlier, she intimidates the crap out of me.

  Now, listen. It’s not because she’s ever been mean to me or anything like that. Even when we were kids and I was that annoying girl on her dance team, she was always nice to me. Or maybe she merely tolerated me, I don’t know. But Stella has a very strong personality. She knows what she wants, and she goes after it, no hesitation. I’m not like that.

  At all.

  Stella comes from a wealthy family, like me, and we used to love dance more than anything else in the world, but that’s all we have in common. She works at her family’s café as the head barista and she shares an apartment with her best friend, Caroline. She has a take-charge attitude and she doesn’t seem to take any crap from anyone, including random handsome dudes we meet on the street. And while we have a shared past, we were never close. Sarah was the one who kind of reintroduced me to Stella, and also to Caroline, and they’ve both been nothing but nice to me every time I see them.

  But still. It’s my own issue and insecurities, not anything wrong with Stella.

  “Where did your friend go?” Stella asks.

  For a minute there I think she’s referring to the mystery man, but then I realize no. She’s talking about…

  “You mean Isabel? Um, we’re not really what I would call—friends.”

  “You’re not?” Stella frowns. “Then maybe you shouldn’t let her take you home.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. She’s very nice. Her family owns Sullivan Christmas Tree Farm,” I explain, like owning a Christmas tree farm is reassuring? I’m not making sense. Maybe it’s the head wound. “We’re working on the arts council fundraiser together.”

  Come on, someone who owns a tree farm and works on fundraising committees has to be kind, right?

  “As long as you’re comfortable with it.” Stella tilts her head. “You have to promise to text me later to let me know you’re alive.”

  “I don’t think I have your number,” I say weakly. Is it wrong that I let Isabel take me home? Stella’s right. I don’t know her that well. Crap, I can’t even remember exactly why we were meeting at Sweet Dreams. I don’t remember needing to go over the decorating plans again for the fundraiser so…

  Yeah. Confusing.

  “Give me yours,” Stella says, pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. I recite it to her and she taps it in, hits a couple more buttons, and then I hear my text notification ding from within my bag. “There. Now you have my number.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  “You know, you shouldn’t be alone this afternoon. While recovering from the concussion.” Stella sends me a pointed look.

  “We don’t even know if I have an actual concussion.” Maybe I should go see a doctor, or to an urgent care nearby. Maybe even the emergency room, though the wait will probably be terribly long and I don’
t want to deal with that.

  I’d rather go home.

  “You shouldn’t take any chances. They say the worst thing you can do after getting a concussion is sleep,” Stella says. “So you need someone to keep you company to prevent you from falling asleep.”

  Uh oh. No one’s at home. I still live with my dad and stepmom. The house is large enough that we don’t have to see each other for a few days if we don’t want to. I know I’m twenty-three and I should be living on my own, but what’s the point? I’ll get my own place eventually.

  The problem? Everyone is gone right now. My father is away for business for the next two days, and Mitzi is currently out of town—she left yesterday for her annual holiday shopping trip with her friends in San Francisco. They stay at a luxury hotel, shop at designer stores and eat at the best restaurants the city has to offer. She invited me, but as usual, I was too busy and had to decline.

  Now I really wish I was with Mitzi and her friends, shopping my little heart out and eating yummy food.

  “You live with your dad, right?” Stella’s question pulls me from my thoughts and I lift my gaze to find her watching me.

  I’m surprised she remembers that detail. Like I mentioned, we haven’t talked much since we’ve come back into each other’s lives. “I do.”

  “Is anyone at home?”

  I could lie, I suppose. But I would feel terrible, so instead I confess the truth. “No.”

  Her delicate brows lift. “Not even a servant?”

  She doesn’t ask the question rudely, which I appreciate. We used to have live-in help, but once I graduated high school, my dad reduced our housekeeper’s hours to a few days a week.

  Yes, we’re very wealthy. And Stella’s family is too. Everyone knows the Ricci family in this area. They own a bunch of famous restaurants.

  “Not even a servant,” I tell her. “Maybe I could just hang out here at Sweet Dreams for a while?”

  “Hmm, that might work,” she says, tapping her index finger against her pursed lips.

  Okay, I actually didn’t mean for her to go for that idea. The last thing I want to do is hang out at the cafe for the next few hours. They’re so busy all the time, and just thinking about the chaos and noise a lot of customers bring makes my head hurt worse. Besides, if I can do that, I may as well go to the luncheon and my meeting after all…