Holly stopped him with a raised hand. “If Gabe wanted to tell you about his personal life, he would. That’s not my place.”
With that, Charlie and Holly left the café and walked to Charlie’s car. As soon as they were inside with the doors closed, Holly let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I did it,” Holly said, feeling happiness burst through her chest. “I’m free. Really, truly free.”
She wanted to do cartwheels, to sing at the top of her lungs, to dance in the street. The relief was overwhelming.
As Charlie drove them back toward the inn, Holly stared out the window, watching St. Augustine pass by.
“I thought I’d feel something,” Holly said quietly. “You know, a bit of remorse that our thirty-five years together were now over. Some sadness for what we once had.”
“But you don’t?” Charlie asked gently.
“No,” Holly admitted. “While the divorce wasn’t signed, I felt like it wasn’t finished. Like I was still tied to him somehow. But now it is finished. Completely, finally over.”
She sighed, feeling lighter than she had in months. But somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered a warning. She was too happy. Things were going too well. When was the other shoe going to drop?
They pulled up to the inn, and Holly pushed the worry aside. She refused to let paranoia ruin this moment of triumph.
They walked into the lobby together, and Julie looked up from the front desk with a smile.
“Holly, could I ask you to watch the front desk for a while?” Julie asked. “I need to run back to the house for a bit.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Holly said, moving around to the other side of the desk.
“I’ll see you later,” Charlie said, heading toward the library. “I need to make some calls.”
Holly settled into the chair behind the desk, feeling content. The inn was quiet at this hour, most guests out exploring St. Augustine or relaxing in their rooms. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through messages, smiling at a text from Trinity about the ballroom decorations.
About ten minutes later, the front door opened, and an impeccably dressed woman sauntered in. She was beautiful in a cold, calculated way. With perfect hair, perfectmakeup, and designer clothes that probably cost more than Holly’s entire wardrobe.
The woman walked directly to the desk and looked at Holly with barely concealed disdain.
“I’m here to see Jack,” the woman announced. “We have lunch plans.”
Holly felt her stomach drop. “I’m sorry?”
“Jack Christmas,” the woman said impatiently. “We’re having lunch together. He’s expecting me.”
“And you are?” Holly asked, though a sinking feeling told her she already knew.
“Pamela,” the woman said with a cold smile. “Jack’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Holly corrected automatically, her mind racing. Jack had lunch plans with Pamela? Why hadn’t he told her?
“Yes, well,” Pamela waved her hand dismissively. “The point is, he’s expecting me. Is that still his office?” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger. “I’ll just wait for him there.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you into his office,” Holly said, keeping her voice professional despite the turmoil churning in her stomach. “Mr. Christmas isn’t here at the moment. You’re welcome to wait in the lobby.”
Pamela’s eyes narrowed. “And who are you to tell me where I can and cannot wait? This is my family’s inn.”
Holly felt anger flash through her. “Actually, it’s the Christmas family’s inn. And I’m afraid the policy is clear. No guests in private offices without the owner present.” She pointed to the sign above the office door. “It says so right across the door.”
“Guests?” Pamela’s laugh was sharp and ugly. “I’m not a guest. I’m Jack’s—” She stopped herself. “I have every right to be here.”
Holly stood her ground, channeling every ounce of professional composure she’d developed over years of dealing with difficult clients at her shop.
“I understand this is a difficult situation,” Holly said carefully. “But I still cannot allow you into the office. You’re welcome to wait here, or I can have Mr. Christmas call you when he returns.”
