by Wendy Owens
He pulls away, kissing my neck, and I push my lips against his ear and whisper, “You’re right. You’re a really good tour guide.”
I feel his body convulse with laughter, as his head moves down my body, and he lifts up my shirt, trailing kisses down my stomach. My hips lift toward his head in anticipation. I close my eyes, waiting for him to tug at the button of my pants, but nothing happens.
I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me.
“What?” I gasp.
“We better get back,” he says, standing up.
“Huh?” I squeak, exasperated.
He reaches out a hand to help me up. I take hold, and he yanks me upright, pulling my body close to him. “You said you wanted to slow down last night, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“I changed my mind,” I moan.
Holden laughs; Jesus, I love his laugh. “Uh-huh, come on, give me a hand,” he directs me, grabbing the empty containers and tossing them back into the basket. Though I’m frustrated, Holden has just piqued my curiosity.
I bounce down the stairs, each step exuding energy. The last two weeks have felt like a dream. I’ve spent about every waking moment with Holden. Kenzie still can’t believe I haven’t screwed him yet. She can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea that two people might be able to spend almost every minute of every day together and simply enjoy conversation.
We do enjoy the occasional kiss; all right, perhaps more than the occasional kiss. His hands have also explored my body many times, but he doesn’t seem to be pushing me to speed things along. Though it sounds cliché to Kenzie, he’s a gentleman. I’ve told him about Jack, probably more than I should have. I explained that we had been together since college, and that I’d never really had a serious relationship besides him.
When I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep, I tend to dive into our relationship. Analyzing every detail. My conclusion is that we’ve both been hurt. Maddie left him at the altar, and I … well, we don’t need to rehash my issues. Two people who have experienced our kind of hurt start off in a common place. Maybe it helps to relate to one another, but I think it also makes us cautious; hence why I haven’t ripped his clothes off yet, no matter how bad both of us have wanted to.
I doubt at any stage in my life I’d sleep with a man after only two weeks. Though the idea makes me curious, it isn’t who I am. And while Kenzie likes to play off that she is a wild child, I know her too well. Through all of her complaining, she loves Ben and would never be unfaithful to him, no matter how much she claims she could be tempted.
Holden is stationed behind the bar. My stomach flutters when I look at him. Our eyes meet, and it’s like that little shock you get when there is too much static electricity in the air. I push all the air from my lungs as I walk by him and cross the room, taking a seat in front of the fireplace. I prop my feet up on the small stool in front of me and pull my book up in front of my face, cracking the pages. It’s funny to me how comfortable I feel here. I never feel like this anywhere. I’m always holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong. Since being on this trip, though—well, really since meeting Holden—everything has changed. And I like it.
“Tea?” Holden asks, clearing his throat over my shoulder. I’ve told him for days now that I hate tea. In fact, I think it tastes like hot dirty water, and I’m not sure why anyone would subject herself to it.
He explained to me that it was because I hadn’t found a flavor of tea my taste buds enjoyed and that everyone likes tea. Since that conversation, he has brought me a different blend of tea each day to see if it might be the perfect mix for me. So far I’m winning the argument.
“And what do we have today?” I ask, placing the book on my lap.
“A blackberry mojito green tea.” The way he is glaring down at me, I want to kiss him, taste his lips.
“Mojito? Now that sounds like a tea I could get behind.” I laugh, eagerly taking the cup and saucer from his hands, and sip. I wince.
“Still not right," he remarks.
“Sorry slick, keep trying,” I confirm, scrunching my nose in disgust.
“I’m going to find a tea you like.”
“If you say so.” I can’t quit smiling at his persistence.
He plops down in the chair across from me. He usually doesn’t come over to me so early in the day, often consumed with running the pub, but today seems to be slow. I’m trying to get back into my book, but I can sense he is staring at me.
I tilt the pages down, allowing my eyes to engage with his. “Yes?”
“What part are you at?” he asks.
I think about his question, realizing he means my book. “Have you read this?”
“Oh yeah; I love Hugh Howey.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. Back up,” I gasp, shaking my head. “We’ve been hanging out for two weeks now, spending all our time together, and you never once mentioned anything about books. You know that my entire trip is focused on my bookish ways, and yet you never think to mention you’re a reader.”
“I love to read actually.”
“And you never mentioned this why?” I exclaim.
“You never asked,” he answers plainly, a hint of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.
Leaning over, I strike him in the arm with the book. He flinches, laughing. I settle back into my chair, smiling at him. “I love that you’re a reader.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
I think about his words. I wish everyone were a reader. Not the recreational and occasional three or four books a year, but the obsessive like me. I can’t understand not having that thirst.
“No,” I answer directly, and his face shifts as he sees my somber expression. “Jack hated reading. The only thing he ever read was law journals, and it was because he had to.”
A silence settles between us, and my gaze is drawn to the embers of the fire. I’d managed to avoid thinking about Jack much, but here he was, in my mind. I’d started to think maybe I was finally getting over him, but once again there is an ache in my chest as he enters my thoughts. I tell myself I don’t miss him, because how could I miss someone who could treat me so poorly.
“You don’t talk about him much,” Holden interrupts my thoughts.
I shake my head, and my voice cracks, “Still fresh I guess.”
I look over to see large blue eyes, his eyebrows lifted, and I squirm uncomfortably in my seat. I know that look. I’ve seen it a lot lately, but never from him. It’s pity. I need to shift this conversation and soon.
“He really did a number on you, huh?” Holden continues.
“Wha—” I start, then change the subject. “No more than Maddie did on you.” I can’t figure out why I do that. Every time I start to feel vulnerable I have to make someone else feel even more uncomfortable. But my statement doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the way I thought it would. His brow narrows, and I can see he is considering my words.
“Then yeah, he must have messed you up pretty good, because Maddie destroyed me.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …” My chest aches, and I wish I could disappear.
“No, don’t be silly. I don’t mind talking about it with you. I mean …” He looks over his shoulder as if checking to see if someone is listening, then looks back to me and smiles. “I don’t really have anyone here I talk to like I do you. I keep things bottled up because I know nobody will understand. But it’s not like that with you.”
“I feel the same way. I think part of me getting on that plane was because I was sick of everyone asking me about Jack. If I tried to talk about it with them, they always wanted to fix it. You can’t fix what happened.”
“Exactly, but sometimes you just need a person to listen.” As Holden speaks these words I feel a shiver run through my body.
“Listen.” The word leaves my lips at the exact same time he says it. We both sit quiet, looking at one another.
“I’m glad you came here.”
“Me too.”
/>
“You know I’m here to listen anytime you need.” The way he says this makes me wonder if he’s talking about something specific.
“Are you trying to ask me something?” I press.
“No …” He shifts in his seat, glancing at the fire and then back at me. “It’s just that every time you talk about Jack, you tend to change the subject.”
“I told you what happened.”
“Yeah, you did—sort of.”
“What do you mean ’sort of’?”
“You told me what he did, and then clammed up,” Holden answers.
“It’s not like I’m trying to hide anything. I just don’t see the point in dwelling on it.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” he begins, starting to stand up. “I should probably get back to work anyway.”
I don’t want him to leave. I feel my leg begin to vibrate nervously as I try to think of something to say. Something to keep him here, next to me. It’s better when he’s next to me.
“It hurts.” The moment the words leave my mouth I feel my eyes growing wet, the raw emotion pressing on the back of my eyeballs. I wish I could reach into the air, pull my statement back, and swallow it.
Holden hesitates, then sits back down across from me, I can feel him staring at me. “What hurts?”
Up until now, we’ve kept everything light and fun. Anytime either of us discussed our past or what happened to us, it was more in a matter of fact way. This is different. It feels intense, and the idea of opening up to him in this way terrifies me.
“I loved him … I mean, I thought I loved him.”
“I’m sure you did love him,” Holden says, leaning closer to hear my now soft tone.
“No, I couldn’t have; how could I love someone who would be capable of doing that?” It’s too late to stop the conversation. We’re here, in the middle of it, and now all I can do is hope for some insight. And not appear completely pathetic by then end of it.
“A child still loves a parent who neglects them, a wife loves a husband who is an alcoholic, and we fall in love with the person, not the mistakes."
“I guess.” His wisdom surprises me.
“The trick is understanding when a person we love is toxic.” These words make me want to crumple into his arms. I don’t dare in front of all his patrons. He understands what I’m going through in a way so few do.
“I want to hate Jack so bad,” I groan. “I actually walked in on him having sex with our neighbor, in our own bed.” I hadn’t told him the graphic details before this.
“Ouch,” he says before making a hissing noise by sucking air between his teeth.
I laugh. “Gee, thanks, that really helps.”
He laughs too. “Sorry, that just really sucks.”
“Still not helping.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think he was crazy for cheating on a woman as amazing as you,” he says, then stands, gently kisses me on my forehead, and walks away. I melt back into my chair. I can definitely see where opening up and being vulnerable can be a good thing. A very good thing.
When I decided I would head out on this adventure to explore the world, I’d never intended on staying longer than two weeks in any given place. Yet, I’ve been at The Three Horseshoes for three weeks now, and I can’t imagine leaving any time soon. Every day I wake up more excited than the last to see Holden. It’s not just the way he kisses me, though that is incredibly nice, but it is so much more. There is something in his eyes when he looks at me, something that tells me I’m special, but also there’s a mystery there. An unknown that is compelling me to stay and learn all I can about this intriguing man.
I hear a knock at my door. Pulling on a gray hoodie, I wrap it tightly around me before answering. It’s Bea. She has a stack of fresh towels and sheets in her arms.
“Good morning, dear; just bringing by some fresh linens for you.”
“Come on in. I was just doing some writing,” I explain, stepping to one side and allowing her to pass by.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense,” I say with a smile. I see the way Holden interacts with Bea. She’s important to him; that much is obvious. “I really should be heading out for my run soon anyway.”
I walk to the corner and pull out my sneakers that are hiding beneath a chair and take a seat. Bea wastes no time. She swaps out my used towel for the fresh one and turns around, stripping the bed in a matter of seconds.
“Wow, that’s kind of amazing,” I comment.
“What is, dear?”
“Just the way you are with the bed; it takes me half the morning to change my sheets at home,” I laugh.
She doesn’t find the humor in my statement. I hope I haven’t offended her. Then she replies, “Well, when you’ve been working in service as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Like it where, dear?” Bea continues with her work, not pausing to even make eye contact.
“You know, here, at The Three Horseshoes.”
“It’s home, and I suppose one should love their home,” Bea answers and then covers the fresh sheets with the quilt, smoothing it out with her forearm before placing the pillows on top.
“Sounds like someone is avoiding the question,” I taunt, trying to build a playful rapport with the woman.
She pauses, looking me up and down, and I find myself wishing I had said nothing and allowed her to do her work in peace. “Can I ask you a question?” she asks me pointedly.
“Of course, anything.”
“Why are you here?”
“Wha—” Her directness throws me off, and I can’t hide my look of shock. She can see that her question has unsettled me and quickly makes her way around the bed, taking a seat on the edge across from me.
“I don’t mean to upset you,” she says, reaching out and placing a weathered hand on my knee. “I only ask because when you first came you told me you would be staying for a week or two. We’re well past that now, and it does not appear you’ll be leaving us anytime soon.”
My mouth hangs open. I’m starting to think she dislikes me, but try to think this is just paranoia. “Have I done something to offend you?”
She laughs a strong and hardy belly laugh, throwing her head back in the air. “Why no. You seem like a very sweet girl. I’m simply trying to understand your intentions.”
“My intentions?” I ask, consumed with confusion.
“Well, yes, with Holden. The two of you have become very close, very quickly. I assume that’s why you’re still with us. I’m curious of your intentions,” she continues, not at all uncomfortable being so blunt.
My eyes widen, I shake my head, and reply, “I hadn’t thought about it. I’m sorry. I guess I don’t understand. Are you and Holden related in some way?”
The older woman presses her lips together, and I catch a twinkle in her gray eyes. Her skin is wrinkled and the flesh at her throats hangs from years of work. She says nothing at first, stands, walks to the door, and closes it, before returning to the grooved spot on the bed.
“Has Holden told you much about his father?” she asks me.
“Hale?”
“Yes, Hale.”
“A little, just about them moving back here after his mother passed away,” I explain.
Bea swallows hard and peers out the window as she recalls the story, “We were all friends once, Hale and Abner, Holden’s mother, Claire, and myself. Claire lost a baby, Holden’s younger brother, which was when Hale decided to move her back to the states. He hoped being close to her family would snap her out of the depression.”
“Holden never told me that part.”
“I think sometimes sickness looks for the sad. Disease knows that when a person is that broken, they won’t fight back. I believe that’s what happened to Claire. It wasn’t right what that boy had to go through. His mother should have fought to survive for him, but she didn’t have it in
her. That in itself is too much for any child, but then to have the bitter fight between Hale and Claire’s parents.”
“What fight?”
“They wanted to raise Holden. And I understand, when you lose a child, no matter how old they are, it’s a pain that is inconsolable.” The way she said this I could tell she had once suffered such a loss, but I dare not ask about it.
“So what happened?”
“Hale brought him here, and he never saw his grandparents again. He needed a mom, and I was happy to help Hale in that way. It was the least I could do for them. Hale bought this place and asked Abner and me to come help run it."
"Oh wow, I had no idea."
"We’re a family. It was hard on Holden when he lost his dad, and then to have Maddie run out on him right after …” Bea balled her fists, and I could see the anger rising in her.
“I’d never hurt him.”
Bea looks at me, licks her lips, and smiles slightly. “Sweetie, you may not mean to hurt him, but it’s like I said with sickness, it’s attracted to the broken.”
“Are you saying I’m a sickness?” I snap.
She reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me over onto the bed next to her. Our faces are quite close, and she’s looking into my eyes. “I’m saying he’s broken. Another bit of pain like he’s had might just destroy him.”
“Well, I’ve been hurt, too,” I say defensively.
“I’m sure you have, but I don’t know you. He’s like a son to me. I’d do anything for him. He smiles when you’re around. He’s taken to humming while he does his work. You make him happy. I hope you can understand, I just want to make sure he’s not falling for someone who isn’t going to be able to be available for him.”
I can’t help but grin at part of her statement. “You think he’s falling for me?”
“Sweetheart, you can’t tell?”
“I thought he might like me.”
“That boy is well on his way to loving you. So think about what I’ve said. If you know you’re not ready, don’t let him think you are, for his sake.”
