Of course he rescued furniture. Of course he did.
“That's not what I expected,” I said.
“What did you expect?”
“I don't know. Brooding? Staring out windows? Standing alone in the dark?”
His mouth twitched. “I do that too.”
“Now you're just playing to type. My own private Mr. Darcy.” I took a sip of my beer, something local that tasted like pine needles and poor life choices. Holden's low chuckle told me he got the reference. Good. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something.”
He considered me for a moment. “Why graphic design?”
“That's what you want to know?”
“I don't know, I feel like I know all about you already.” Holden narrowed his eyes playfully. “Unless there's something else that you want me to know.”
The honesty of it caught me off guard. I set down my beer, thinking about how to answer.
“Just... I'm not as pathetic as my story might lead you to believe. My reasons for moving here are ridiculous, but I'm not—”
“I don't think you're pathetic, Jamie. Sounds like you know what's important to you and you're willing to prioritize the good things in your life. I respect that.”
The words were more perceptive than I’d given him credit for. I nudged his foot under the table, and he nudged back.
The burgers came. We ate, and the conversation kept going, easier now, less aware of being watched. I learned that Holden's grandmother had taught him to cook but he mostly lived on sandwiches. That he'd read the same three books every year since college and couldn't explain why. That he'd never beenfurther west than Utah and had no particular desire to change that.
He learned that I'd switched majors three times before landing on design. That I called my mom every Sunday without fail. That I'd once driven fourteen hours to see a meteor shower and fallen asleep in my car before it started.
“You drove fourteen hours and missed it?”
“I was tired. It had been a long week.”
“That might be the saddest thing I've ever heard.”
“It gets worse. When I woke up, there was a cow looking at me through the windshield.”
Holden laughed. A real laugh, low and startled, like he hadn't expected it to escape. Like his body had betrayed him into joy.
The sound did something to me, cracked open a box that I'd been trying to keep closed. I wanted to catalog it, file it away, figure out how to make it happen again.
Small victory. Worth remembering.
By the time we paid the check, the Tavern had emptied out. Denise wished us a good night with a warmth that felt genuine, and then we were outside in the January dark, breath fogging in the cold air.
“That wasn't terrible,” Holden said.
“High praise from you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets against the cold. “I'll see you in the morning. I've got a video call at nine, but I can be there by ten.”
“Ten works.”
We stood on the sidewalk, wood smoke hanging in the air from the Tavern's chimney. The distance between us felt charged, electric. I thought about the plan. The performance. The kiss goodnight that was supposed to sell our story to anyone watching from a window.
“People might be looking,” I said.
“Might be.”
“So we should probably—”
