Finding Holly

by B. E. Baker

  “Oh no,” I say. “I think I went the wrong direction on your Christmas gift, then. But for the record, there are no take backs.”

  She looks up at me with sparkly eyes. “I don’t want to take anything back, but the wood pile is right here.”

  I already know where it is, of course, but when she turns and trots toward it, I follow her.

  “What?” She turns wide eyes toward me. “What is this?”

  She points at the boxes on the wood pile. “Did you put these here?”

  “What would make you think that?” I ask. “I’m a visitor here. How would I even know where your woodpile was located?”

  She smirks. “No fair. I didn’t know you’d even be here.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I think you got me something.”

  “What?” She rummages around and pulls out a long, flat box. She squints at the tag. “This is addressed to James from Pais.”

  I hold out my hand and she puts it into my hand with bafflement. “I knew you’d worry that you hadn’t gotten me anything.”

  “Well, then open it.” She puts one hand on her hip.

  “I don’t need to,” I say. “I know what it is.”

  “I don’t know,” she objects.

  I pull off the wrapper. “Chocolate truffles from my favorite place in Switzerland. And I don’t even have to share them, because you don’t like chocolate.”

  “Which makes me the perfect woman,” she says. “I see you’re finally coming around.”

  “Ha.”

  “So should I open these other boxes now?” she asks. “Because it’s cold out here.”

  “Or I can carry the firewood, and we can open them inside.”

  “My family will be there,” she says softly. “And I kind of like it being just us.”

  “Okay,” I say. “That’s fine.”

  She grabs the largest package first, which I expected.

  “It’s big.” She bounces the small luggage-sized package up and down. “It’s square, clearly in a box, but it’s not heavy.” She compresses her lips and looks down at the woodpile. “I think it’s a new coat.” She looks up at me.

  “Open it.” I suppress my smile.

  She rips it open and lifts the quilt from the box. She looks from block to block slowly, her eyes filling with tears. An image of Noel holding her as newborn. Another of them sitting on a tree branch. One of them both covered in paint. Another of Noel giving her a piggyback ride. And another of them both on horses. “It’s all my favorite photos of Noel.”

  “Your mom helped me pick the images,” I confess. “But my grandmother’s friend made it. She makes these a lot.”

  “It’s perfect,” she whispers.

  “I thought that you had gone long enough without thinking about him every day, and you might want to have him close.”

  She clears the space between us in a few quick steps and wraps her arms around me, her head flattening against my chest. “I love it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “You’re perfect,” she whispers. “I’m so glad you came out here. I’m so glad you love me, too.”

  I can’t suppress my smile this time, and I don’t want to. “Too?”

  She looks up at me then. “I love you, James. So much. Honestly, I think I realized it as I looked at you in Vienna, while we were getting married. I almost couldn’t say I do, not knowing it wasn’t real to you, because it felt so real to me.”

  I kiss her then, my lips finding hers naturally, as if we’ve been kissing one another for decades, not weeks. Kissing her is like finally coming home, finally finding a peace I’ve never felt. But it’s also closing a deal, and benching more than I’ve ever benched. It’s every good thing, and everything I’ve ever yearned for, all rolled together into one feeling. I want to pull her close and never let her go, and I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her up to the ridiculously frilly room I’ve been sleeping in. I want to drag her home to New York and follow her to Atlanta. I want to spend every Christmas here, and wake up every morning in Hawaii by her side.

  Basically I have no idea what I want, except I want Paisley at the center of it. Always.

  She finally draws back. “Okay, one more gift, and then I’ll give you my gift.”

  I wave the box at her. “I already have it.”

  “I have a better idea,” she says. “Something I’ll show you upstairs in my room.” She lifts her eyebrows.

  I can’t breathe. “Okay, well, then open that last thing and let’s head upstairs.”

  “What about that fire?” she asks.

  “I don’t really care about that, as it turns out. That was just a little white lie to get you out here.”

  She laughs then. “I thought you didn’t lie.”

  I shrug. “Turns out the two things I never did, lie or have a girlfriend, were the two things I needed more than anything else.”

  Her smile’s smug, and I don’t mind at all. She releases me to walk over for her second gift, and I step a little closer, already feeling bereft. She tears the paper off quickly to display the large blue box underneath. “Tiffany’s?” she asks. “I already have a ring.”

  I shrug. “I liked the idea of. . . Well, you’ll see.”

  She opens the felt-lined box and her mouth falls open.

  “When you’re looking for a gift for a literal princess, where else can you go but Tiffany’s?” I clear my throat. “You said you lost yours. I figured my princess needs a crown.”

  She swallows hard and lifts it from the box. It’s simple, as far as crowns go, with eight relatively thin sections that rise to identical points all the way around. She gasps and turns bright eyes my direction. With the sun rising behind her, I can’t imagine my life ever containing more joy than it does right now.

  “It’s so colorful,” she says.

  “I told the jeweler it needed to be mainly diamonds, but I wanted the highest quality rubies, emeralds, sapphires and champagne diamonds to provide pops of color.” Two of each adorn the top of the various sections, in alternating fashion. The largest is an eleven carat flawless sapphire at the front.

  “It’s.” She gulps. “It’s breathtaking.”

  “So are you.” I step closer and take it from her so I can place it on her head. “You have to wear it inside. Your family hasn’t seen it, and they made me promise to show them first.”

  She kisses me again, and I lose track of time and place and my entire purpose.

  “I love it,” her mother says behind me.

  We break apart and turn. Her parents and brother are all a few feet down the path toward the house.

  “What do you think?” Dad asks. “Do you like it?”

  Paisley trills. “I love it.”

  “It’s nice that we’ll have a crown again,” her mother says. “I mean, really, it’s about time.”

  “I think it’s great,” Cole says. “But it will look even better inside where it’s warm.”

  “Agreed,” Paisley says.

  Her brother carries the Noel quilt, and her mom helps her dad up the path. This time, when she takes my hand to walk back to her home, I interlace our fingers. I don’t mean to let go, not any time soon.

  And after a celebratory round of hot chocolate with her family, we walk up to her room.

  Late on Christmas Day, when we finally wake up, I sit up and look over at the crown resting on her nightstand. “I did alright with my presents,” I say.

  “You did more than okay,” she says.

  “But I think I liked your present best of all.”

  She grins at me. “That’s good news, Mr. Fulton.”

  “I think so too, Mrs. Fulton.”

  When March rolls around again, I should be reading the letter for my fourth year from Gigi. “I already opened it, you know,” I tell my wife. “But it’s strange, not opening something today.”

  “You can open the next one,” she says. “I mean, you’ve done what the fourth one said, right?”

 
I shrug. “I’m not angry at my dad anymore. Does that count?”

  She slaps my shoulder. “You forgave him.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Mostly.”

  “I think you should open the last letter,” she says. “It’s my first March as part of your family, and I’ve been dying to see what one of them says.”

  She had me at family. She’s part of my family. “Oh, fine.”

  I reach into the box on my dresser and pull out Gigi’s final guidance, her last task.

  “She won’t be gone,” she says softly. “Even without a new letter to look forward to, she’ll still be here.” She places her hand over my heart.

  “I know.” But it’s my last message from her, ever.

  I slide my finger under the seal and pull out the yellow paper.

  Dearest James,

  If you’ve done it, if you’ve gotten married, and you’ve forgiven your father, then you’re ready. You were the sweetest grandson anyone could ever hope for. You took care of me all the time, without being annoyed. You made sure I had what I wanted, and I never felt alone.

  You have a lot of love to give. More than you know. And whatever reservations you may still harbor, it’s time. You’re ready. So my task for you this year is:

  Have a baby.

  I believe in you, and I know you will create the beautiful family I always longed for, the whole, happy, healthy family I always hoped you’d find. Shower that wife with love, and the two of you together will make a safe place for a child.

  Know that I’ll be holding him or her until he or she flies down to earth from up here in heaven.

  All my love and best wishes,

  Gigi

  Paisley reads the entire thing over my shoulder and goes totally still next to me.

  “It’s not like we have to actually have the baby this year,” I say.

  Her face whitens.

  “Or at all,” I say. “I mean, we haven’t talked about it. If you don’t want kids, I would never make you have them.”

  She blinks.

  “Do you want kids?” I ask. “I guess we should have talked about this before.”

  “We didn’t consider much of anything before tying the knot,” she says.

  “We really didn’t,” I say. “But it worked out alright.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she says. “Because I took a test a few days ago, and I’ve been trying to think of a clever way to tell you.”

  My jaw drops this time. “You don’t mean.”

  Her mouth curves into the half smile I love so dearly. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d be excited.”

  I pick her up and swing her around and around. Then I put her down. “Oh no, that didn’t make you sick, did it? I wasn’t thinking.”

  She laughs. “I’m like five or six weeks pregnant. I feel totally fine so far.”

  “Oh good.”

  “But I take that as a gesture of excitement?”

  “Elation might be a better word,” I say.

  And I really mean it. Gigi may not have met Paisley before she died, but I’m one hundred percent positive she’s beaming at us from up in heaven. I may not have had the best role models besides her, but I think Paisley and I will do just as my grandmother wanted.

  This newest prince or princess will be ridiculously loved.

  *THE END*

  I am including the first chapter of Finding Home next, so if you’re curious about the next book in this series, read on for a sneak peek.

  * * *

  If you’d like a FREE book of mine to read, you can sign up for my newsletter on my website at www.BridgetEBakerwrites.com! I’ll send you an ebook copy of Already Gone, a standalone YA romantic suspense.

  * * *

  Finally, if you enjoyed reading Finding Holly, please, please, please leave me a review on Bookbub, GoodReads and/or the ebook seller of your preference!!!! It makes a tremendous difference when you do. Thanks in advance!

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  And if you’d like to join a fun group of readers (and me!) on a facebook group, check us out right here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/750807222376182 Bonus: I’ve decided to write some short stories, one for each series, that will be made available FREE, exclusively in my reader group. So if you want an extra peek at your favorite characters, come grab them there.

  23

  Finding Home Bonus Chapter

  I botched my very first haircut.

  Badly.

  Luckily, the college student whose hair I was cutting liked that the sides of her bob were uneven—she asked me to make the difference even more dramatic, and I dyed her hair a deep ebony for free. I still recall the sound of her combat boots clomping against the Aveda Institute’s wooden floors as she strutted out. But now, six years later, my hands don’t shake, my heart doesn’t race, and my breath doesn’t hitch when a new client with ultra thick hair down to her bum asks, “Can you do a long feathered bob?”

  I’m at least as comfortable now with a pair of scissors in my hand as I am without.

  “Do you have an interest in donating to Locks of Love?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I wish, but I went gray super early, and I color my own hair.”

  “That’s too bad,” I say. “Because you have a lot of hair.” Now that she mentions it, I can feel the color in her hair. I must have been distracted, to have missed it before.

  “I have too much hair,” she says. “And I’m sick of getting headaches from all the weight.”

  “We can take care of that.” I pump the seat up repeatedly. Being abnormally tall in my profession is a little obnoxious, but my boss, Persephone, ordered me a special, high lift chair, and that has helped my back tremendously. Watching all her deep brown hair falling to the floor in sheets when I start snipping is a high that’s hard to replicate.

  “What prompted the change?” I expect one of the standard responses: new job, new baby, new relationship, or the most common of all, divorce.

  “Nothing, really,” she says softly. “I just woke up this morning and realized that I’ve been in a rut. Same job, same boyfriend, same apartment. It’s time for a change. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Do you like your job?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don’t not like it.”

  “What about the boyfriend?”

  “Same.” She laughs half-heartedly. “This sounds really depressing. But maybe I’ll start by changing my hair and go from there.”

  “Not a bad plan,” I say, ignoring the buzz coming from the phone in my pocket. Probably a telemarketer.

  Snip, snip, even, feather. My hands fly across Virginia’s hair, almost without thinking. Thick hair in cute, short styles is all about layers, layers, layers. By the time I finish and spread a little more smoothly on the edges, my spirits are lifted. She looks transformationally different. Younger, stronger, more energetic. I spin the chair around.

  I expect her to grin from ear to ear. I expect her to gush. I did an amazing job, and she looks adorable. She should be delighted.

  Her face falls. “What if Steve hates it? Oh no, oh no!” She begins to breathe in quick, shallow breaths. “What have I done?”

  My phone rings in my pocket. Again. I ignore it. “I’m so sorry to hear that you don’t like it.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. But, oh, what was I thinking?”

  “Sometimes it’s a shock at first, but it might grow on you.”

  Her eyes widen and then pool with tears.

  Good grief. “I’m so sorry that you hate it.”

  She wipes at her eyes. “No, please, it’s not your fault. You did a beautiful thing. It really does look exactly like the picture I showed you. Thank you.” She chokes and drops her face into her hands.

  My phone rings again. Geez. I sneak a look at it while she’s sobbing. Unknown number. Well, it’s not like I can take the call right now. Hopefully they’ll leave me a message. I pat Virginia’s back and murmur that things will get better. I’m not quite sure
how, but a moment later she’s hugging me.

  This is a strange job sometimes.

  My last client is right on time—an uptight businessman who usually makes me nuts. But after the mess from earlier, Mr. Predictable is a real relief. I trim a quarter inch off his hair like I do every ten days without fail. He tips me exactly twelve percent, and I’m finally done for the day. I hang up my apron and disinfect my clippers and my scissors and wave to my boss on the way out. “Night, Persephone,” I say.

  “Goodnight, Beth! I forgot to tell you that I can’t make it tonight, but I bet you have a big turnout.”

  She almost always comes to see me perform on Thursdays. “No problem! See you tomorrow.” I unlock my Civic with the press of a button and pull my phone out of my pocket to see who called.

  “Beth!”

  The sound of my name makes me jump, and I very nearly drop my phone in the gutter. I look up and meet my brother’s bright blue eyes. “Uh, hey Rob. You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” he says. “But I have some news, and Brekka and I leave tomorrow for a week in Colorado.”

  “Is she skiing again?”

  Rob laughs. “It’s May.” His tone implies that should mean something to me.

  “Uh, okay.”

  “The slopes all closed a few weeks ago,” he says.

  “Right,” I say. “I mean, that makes sense.” I think of Colorado as the land of mountains and snow, but I suppose even there snow melts eventually.

  “Do you mind if I sit in your car for a minute?” Rob mops his forehead with his sleeve. “A little air conditioning might be nice.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure, whatever, that’s fine, but I’ve got like five minutes, tops.”

  Rob circles around and opens the passenger door. He slides into the seat, shifting a box of Kleenex and a few empty protein shake containers without comment. “Are you headed to Parker’s tonight?”

  I nod.

  “How’s that going?”

  “Well, I’d love to chat with you about it, or maybe have you and Brekka in for a dinner—I get half off on two separate meals every time I play—but if I don’t leave soon, I might be late. I’m too new at this to be late. We really need to get together soon, but for now, maybe just tell me what’s up.”