“I’m sorry I showed up and crashed your dinner,” she whispers, tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth. She worries it back and forth slowly, bringing her attention back to her feet before looking past me to the house.
“I have a feeling it has to do with my shithead of a little sister.”
Holly lets out a little laugh at that; her playful smile reappearing as she stands tall. She crosses her arms over her chest, and I let my arms fall, tucking my hands into my front pockets.
She looks around at the farm, mostly shrouded in darkness now, but the moon is bright above us, casting a vibrant glow over the fields. The cows are active tonight, happy to be in a fresh pasture, and they’re still moving around with the occasional bellow floating over the grass and echoing through the night.
Holly turns her attention back to me, and then she reaches out, her hand curling around my wrist that’s still tucked tight in my pocket. I let her pull my hand out, and I use my other to push my flannel sleeve up. She peels back the dressing still covering my stitches. A clean one, I might point out. I might be late on having them removed but I’m at least keeping my arm clean.
She twists my forearm in the glow of the flood light, assessing the skin. “Looks alright. A little red, but I don’t think it’s infected. You really need these out, Grayson. Leave them in too long and your skin can grow around them.”
Holly gently lets go of my arm, and I miss her heat immediately. “I know.” I pull down the sleeve of my shirt, a little embarrassed that I ignored her orders. “I called Doc Williams’s office, but he’s out all week. It’s been hell around here.” A bull bellows in the field behind her, and Holly jumps a little, turning and taking a step into my embrace. I reach my hand up to curl around her shoulder, chuckling at how out of place she must feel. “Just making himself known,” I tell her. She spins to face me again, this time not pulling away.
“I can take your stitches out, but…” Her gaze falls behind me again to the house. “I don’t think I have the guts to go in there. Everyone’s great, I’m sure…it’s just—”
“I get it.” She doesn’t want to have to face them just yet. Not after she was coerced into driving all the way out here on a Sunday night and being embarrassed in front of everyone.
“I live down the road about half a mile. A small log cabin you passed on your way in.”
“I know the one.”
I reach for the handle on her swanky car door, opening it up and gesturing for her to get in. “If you feel comfortable, we can head there. I’ll lead the way. Take the drive slow, lots of deer will be out tonight.”
She gives a reassuring nod and smooths back a strand of her corn silk hair as she gets inside the car. I wait until both of her feet are in before shutting the door and jogging over to my truck.
I throw it in reverse, careful not to kick up too much dirt as I lead us away from my parents’ farm.
***
“Come on in.” I hold the front door open for Holly, and the moment she steps inside, I rush ahead of her, cursing myself and the mess I left this morning.
I grab my coffee cup and breakfast plate from the small two-seater table that sits along the far wall and place the dishes in the sink. Rinsing a cloth under the tepid water, I return to the table, wiping the crumbs off the top and accompanying chair before I pull it out and usher for her to sit.
I spy my basket of laundry sitting by the front door, right next to where Holly delicately placed her pristine heels. I rush over to it, picking it up and tossing it in the hall closet before making my way back to the kitchen. “Sorry about the mess. Wasn’t expecting company.”
She winces a little at my comment and her gaze darts away from mine. I swipe a hand over my face, immediately feeling the regret. “Not that I’m mad you’re here by any means, I would … I would have just cleaned up, that’s all.”
“It’s fine, really.” She sets her gray tote on the table, opening it up to pull out a few small packaged items. I watch her delicate fingers place each item in a row, lining them up damn near perfectly. She pauses for a moment, looking around the dining space and into the kitchen before she scoots her chair back.
Her nylon-covered feet pad softly across the worn kitchen floor, and I stand in place, completely mesmerized at the way she moves. Everything she does is with caution,pre-planned, as if she has a back-up plan in case her first choice goes awry. Holly moves to my kitchen sink, flipping on the faucet and letting the water run over the back of her hand until it warms.
I take that opportunity to move to the fridge, opening it up and reaching for a cold beer. With a twist of the cap, I bring the bottle to my lips and down half the icy drink in half a swallow.
“Would you like one?” I ask, showing her the label in my hand as she carefully soaps hers.
“No, but that’s kind of you to ask, thank you.” Her eyes go back to her hands, and I mentally kick myself. Of course she doesn’t want to chug a beer before she takes scissors to my arm. Not to mention her hour-plus drive back to the city.
“Can I get you a glass of ice water? I can make some lemonade if you’d prefer.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you, though.” Holly reaches for a paper towel, pulling off two perfect sheets to dry her hands with. She uses her damp towel to turn off the faucet, spinning in place to look for the garbage can.
“I’ll take it.” I reach for her dirty towel, and as soon as she turns her back, I open up the cabinet under the sink, tossing the towel on the already overflowing garbage.
She watches me, and we stand awkwardly at the kitchen sink before she gestures to the faucet with a tip of her chin. “Will you wash your arm, please? Gently, with soap and water.”
I nod, reaching for the faucet handle and washing my arm as requested. With a clean paper towel, I pat the area dry before returning to the table where she’s already seated across from my empty chair.
Once seated, she reaches for my arm. Holly positions it on the towelette she placed, letting it cover the expanse of the table in front of us. With gloved hands, she runs a soothing palm over the stitches, and even though I’m sweating, likely stinking from the long day and the stress of seeing her again, my forearm breaks out in goosebumps.
