13
HONEY AND MELTED BUTTER OVER SOURDOUGH
Carry You by Novo Amor • Sleep On The Floor by The Lumineers
Natalie
Today is one of those magical summer days when both girls have camp, and Allie and Cara are picking them up after driving an hour away to go blueberry picking. I get to close the store without rushing and check a bunch of things off my to-do list. So wearing a fun outfit—high-waisted flare jeans with a white crop tank top and an oak-colored floral-print sweater—it’s the cherry on top. It’s hot, yes, but the shop is always cold, so I like to dress in layers. Patrons can always pull a blanket over them, but they can’t take clothes off, so I keep it cold, with baskets and blankets around the place.
Thanks to Holden, my home list is a lot smaller too. I’ve thought about texting him to thank him again, but I didn’t want to intrude or sound needy. There’s also the fact that my hands got sweaty every time I even thought about it, andthat’s a feeling I never want to deal with.
It’s been a slow day, but I’ve learned to appreciate those too, especially now that I have to climb up this ladder to shelve some of the fall books that were delivered today. Nobody’s going to be purchasing fall right now, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
Reaching up to the last shelf on the wall seems to be impossible without stepping all the way to the top, but the fear of falling on my ass keeps me from taking the step. The doorbell chimes as I shout, “Welcome to the Blooming Wine. I’ll be right there.”
“You know, Natalie, I’m going to start recording what I find when I step through those doors,” Holden’s husky voice crosses the space. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him, and I’ve known him for what? A few weeks?
“Oh, hi!” I hold the ladder steadily, but in no time, he’s in my line of sight. Not next to me, but standing directly in front of me—well, under me. His back is to the bookshelf as he holds the ladder with both hands.
“Careful. You really shouldn’t be doing this with no one here,” he mentions as soon as my eyes meet his—enhanced by the olive shirt he’s wearing. The color of his eyes dances with a million shades of brown, green, and gold, mixed with amusement and tied together with a bow as the corner of his lips raises lightly.
“Most of the time, I’m alone, and if there are customers here, I really shouldn’t be organizing stock.” I wobble with a quiet yelp as I self-correct.
Holden tsks. “Gee, I don’t know. If someone would’ve told you they had time to help if needed. I wonder what would happen then?”
Taking advantage of him holding the ladder, I step higher, reaching exactly where I need to and sliding the books where they go. “Why did you say you were going to start recording?”
He chuckles, deep and throaty but somehow light and warm. It feels like a hug without the need to touch. “Well, I’ve encountered complete organized chaos, you performing as if you were on stage, and now we’re in a scene fromBeauty and the Beast.”
“Oh, really? And who am I in this scenario? Beauty?”
“Mm, no. I’m clearly Beauty. You, my friend, are the Beast.”
I carefully step off the ladder, landing right in front of him with barely any space between us. I narrow my eyes at him, earning me a laugh.
He raises his hands in the air. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Of course, you’re Beauty.”
“Very funny.” I drag the rolling ladder down the aisle until it lands in its dutiful spot. I love this thing with all my heart; funny enough, it’s inspired by the story Holden referenced.
“Coffee?”
“Is that even a question?” Holden takes a seat at his usual spot while I get to work, mixing ingredients. Today feels like a salted caramel oat milk coffee kind of day.
“Considering it’s four o’clock, I don’t know if you can handle caffeine or not.”
“I can handle a lot, Beauty.” He winks, causing more of a ruckus inside me than the potential innuendo behind what he can handle.
I prep our coffees in silence—his strong, mine decaf, because contrary to popular belief, I’m the one who can’t handle a lot. Theyou’re so strongfollowed byI couldn’t deal with the cards you were givencomments got extremely tiresome and borderline annoying when Nick died. And they never stopped.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks with a tenderness I wasn’t expecting.
I slide the coffee in front of him. “Yeah. Just reminiscing.” I bite my lip, not taking my focus from my drink, willing my breathing to settle. Whenever the little flashbacks happen, the ones that take me to a moment full of emotion from the past, it’s like my body stays there for too long, no matter how hard I try not to.
“About your husband?” I snap my eyes to him, and I find only fear in his. “I-I-I-that was out of line. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I—” I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Damn it.” He stands. “I-I’m somehow really comfortable around you, and I’m used to talking about my mom and sister with my friends, especially if I get lost in thoughts of them too. I’m sorry.”
