“Hey,” he says, coming over. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good.” I give him a small smile. “Thank you for bringing breakfast.” I point to the bag he’s holding. “Could you please make the coffee while I finish up here?”
He nods and goes into the kitchen while I restack some yarn that I’d been showing an earlier customer, advising them on the best type for their project. I don’t like to leave the counter in a mess, and it also buys me some time to collect my thoughts before joining him. I take a deep breath, determined not to let him see my worries. When I enter the back room I see he’s unpacked breakfast and there are two steaming mugs of coffee.
“Sausage sandwiches and cinnamon rolls?”
“I thought you might not have time for lunch and this’ll keep you going all day,” he says, and my heart lifts at how thoughtful he is. He hands me a sandwich and I tuck in, hunger taking over.
“I could get used to this,” I say, marveling at this man, though my anxiety is still at odds with what I’m experiencing. We sit and eat while I keep an ear out for anyone entering the store.
I almost have to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream. I’m still not sure, and so I keep looking at him.
“What?” he asks, catching my frequent glances. “Do I have food on my face?”
“No. It’s just you. I c-can’t believe you’re here and we’re sharing breakfast. It’s just so . . . normal. A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Your name used to bring me out in a cold sweat.”
His eyes darken around the edges in pain.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say sorry enough for what I did to you. Even if I had a hundred lifetimes to say it.”
His words slice me like a sharp blade, letting back in all the demons from during the night. He doesn’t really want me. I can’t blame him, who would? He’s just here out of a sense of shame.
“Is that why you’re doing this? To say sorry?” I blurt out. “I don’t want your pity.”
He winces and puts down his sandwich, then turns fully to face me.
“Holden, when I came back it was to say sorry. I couldn’t conceive that you’d let me be anything more than the guy who’d hurt you. But when I met you, it kindled the flame I’ve held for you for so long. I do want to be with you... more than that. I want to be a part of your life if you’ll let me. But please let me say sorry sometimes without you thinking I’m here because of an obligation. I’m truly not, but I need you to believe it too, or we’re never going to make us successful.”
My brain latches onto the way he saysus. “Y-you think we can be?”
He crosses the short space between us and crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his. “I really do, as long as we’re alwaysopen and honest with each other. If you ever have doubts, then let me know, and we can work through it together.”
I like his words, love them, but I still don’t understand why.
“I just d-don’t know what you see in me. I’m a mess. I feel old, w-worn around the edges. I’m homey, I couldn’t wear a sharp suit to s-save my life?—”
“Do you think I choose my partners based on their ability to be a clothes horse?” he says with a quiet sadness.
“No. . .” I end with a shrug.
He gives my hands a gentle squeeze. “Twenty years ago I fell for a guy who had wonderful qualities. He was creative, kind, funny, and smart. Those were the things I held onto over the years. When I came back I saw he was still all of those things and more. He’s caring, successful, has a beautiful smile that lights up my day, and is also incredibly sexy. Those are what appeal to me.”
He stands and pulls me up with him, drawing me into an embrace. I lay my head on his shoulder, wanting to believe him.
“You don’t look worn to me. You look perfect and like home.” The last word is muffled, spoken into my hair and my heart swells a little. I cling to him and he holds me tight. We stay like that long enough for the insecurities to start to dissipate. It’ll take some time before I fully believe him, but I’m willing to try.
I hear the door open and I sigh, not wanting to face anyone else just yet.
“You stay here and let me handle this. If I get stuck, I call,” he murmurs into my hair, and I nod against his shoulder. He lets go of me slowly and goes through to the store, returning a few minutes later, so I assume everything went alright.
“Now, are you going to finish your breakfast?” he asks.
I begin eating again and Reece serves the couple more customers who come into the store.
“Where do you keep the cashmere wool?” He pokes his head through the doorway. I go through and show him. It gets busy and we work side by side for a while. Every time I catch his eye he gives me a reassuring smile, and my heart lifts a notch at a time.
At around two o’clock there’s the usual Saturday lull and Reece says he needs to go. He’s promised to go with his mom and Marina to show her Nashville before she returns to the UK. He leads me into the back room and into his arms again.
