“Harrison.” It comes out breathy.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to. But only because I don’t want to hurt you.” He pauses and his eyes search mine. “Do you want me to stop chasing you, Bets?”
We stare at each other, saying nothing, for what feels like several minutes, but I’m sure it isn’t.
I bite my lower lip, then shake my head. No, I don’t want him to stop.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Harrison
It’s been a little over a week since the fundraiser, and I can’t stop obsessing about Delaney. Visions of her constantly pop into my head. To be fair, my thinking about her is nothing new. The difference is that this time, it’s the expression she wore when she shook her head to tell me she didn’t want me to stop chasing her. Sure, I’d hoped for a resounding yes and an opportunity to explore whatever this is—these feelings—that are making me so uncharacteristically preoccupied with her. Her answer wasn’t that, but it also wasn’t no.
I punch in the code to the cabin and step inside. I’m the first one here, so I turn on a light. Damn it, it’s hot in here. I’m turning on the air conditioning when Henry walks in.
“Ugh. One of us should have stopped by earlier to get it cooling,” Henry says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Glad to see you made it on such short notice. I’m pretty sure Holden has never called one of these together before. Kind of weird, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s not been himself lately. Maybe we’ll find out what’s going on tonight.”
Henry grabs four crystal glasses and takes them to the kitchen to rinse them in the sink. When he brings them back, I fill them with two fingers of Macallan. It’s the one thing I’ll splurge on—good whiskey. It’s bittersweet, though, because every time the smooth liquid hits my throat, I think ofher—Delaney—and that night months ago I’m certain I’ll never forget.
We sit in our usual seats, and when I place my glass on the end table, I notice a thick layer of dust. I run my finger through it and hold up the evidence to show Henry.
“Gross. No one’s living here, and this much dust accumulates?” Henry looks at my finger and grimaces. “Isn’t dust mostly dead skin cells and other disgusting human stuff?”
Henry fake gags.
“Look at the cobwebs up in the corners.” He uses his head and gestures to a part of the room where they’re particularly bad. “Maybe we should take turns coming to clean. Or hire someone.”
“None of us has time to come keep house somewhere we don’t even live. I guess we could hire someone, or better yet, make Holden move in until his place is ready.”
Henry shakes his head. “Nah, it’s good that he’s staying with Hayden. It’s not a good idea for Hayden to be alone in that big house with only memories of Charlie to keep him company. He’s not there yet.”
“You’re right. I’m still pretty worried about him. We’ve got to keep a better eye on him.”
Henry frowns, and then we sit in silence, sipping the amber liquid and each of us getting lost in his own thoughts.
Within a few minutes, Holden and Hayden show up. Once they settle in their chairs with drinks, Henry glances at Holden and raises his eyebrows.
“Did Mom forgive you for not inviting her to the award ceremony?”
Holden huffs. “Just barely. I had to call the head of our chapter and have him tell her himself that it wasn’t intentional. I’ll tell you, though—she read him the riot act. She told him that, in the future, she didn’t ‘give a rat’s ass’ if it was a men-only event. ‘When a man’s winning an award like that, you call his mother and any significant woman in his life and invite them.’ She had him apologizing by the time we hung up.”
I chuckle, picturing our mom laying into the guy. You don’t raise five boys and survive early widowhood without being tough as nails. That, and you try like hell not to miss any memorable moments. Yes, there were several bad years after Dad died, but in general, she’s handled life’s challenges like a badass.
“So,” I say, “you wanna tell us why you called us here? Not that I’m complaining—it’s been too long since we hung out here.”
Holden sighs. “Well, I have some pretty devastating news.” I straighten in my seat, bracing myself for whatever it is he’s going to say.
Not again. What’s it going to be this time, universe?
He has all of our attention, and the room is silent except for the whirring of the air conditioner.
“Ella is selling the bakery. Like, imminently.”
Annoyed huffs and groans from the rest of us disturb the initial chilled vibe. In fairness, it’s Holden’s fault for being dramatic and setting his problem up as a crisis when it’s just about fucking pastry.
