Holly couldn’t helpbut feel that the stars were finally aligning for her and things were going her way. She felt like skipping she was so happy! But, considering just how loaded down her arms were at that particular moment, with grocery bags, her handbag, as well as the coat that she realised was too heavy to wear as spring started to make its debut, skipping probably would be hard to manage.
She took a deep breath as she considered all that had been going on. She smiled as she thought of the meeting that she had just finished, with the owner of Village Consignment, a lovely little vintage store based nearby. She’d got the job, her first real job! She had wanted it so badly, ever since she’d walked into the store for the first time, and her imagination had gone wild as she’d perused the expansive selection of vintage evening gowns and flouncy skirts with billowing petticoats that had probably been worn at sock hops and school dances in 1956.
Holly couldn’t help but wonder about all the sure-to-be fantastic stories associated with the beautiful clothes, and was quick to point out and explain to her prospective boss the history behind many of the classic cuts and hemlines – knowledge she had acquired during her college days, which had successfully ended last summer.
Since graduating, she had been sending out countless job applications and barely making ends meet with a string of waitressing and bartending jobs in Manhattan. Ideally, she’d love to own and run such a store of her own someday, but for now, this was a start.
She had to admit, she was happy that she would have a regular salary; she didn’t feel so guilty about splurging a little bit with the groceries she’d just bought. After all, a night like tonight called for a nice steak and a bottle of wine. OK, it would just be New York Strip and not a fillet, but still …
She pulled a Motorola phone out of her pocket and flicked it open. Despite Holly’s protests, Eileen had insisted she have this cell phone, especially since she lived in a walk-up apartment that was slightly lax on the security in an area that was borderline problematic. For once, she’d decided to humour her mother. Eileen paid the bill for the phone, because it was a luxury that Holly couldn’t quite manage on her own at this point, as well as a habit she didn’t particularly like.
She hated passing people on the street who were engaged in loud conversations with their pieces of plastic – a sight that was becoming more and more common these days. And while she had originally vowed that she would only use it for emergencies, now she really, really wanted to spread the news about her new job.
Holly quickly dialled a few numbers, first calling her mother, then her old roommate Laura, who had since moved back to her home state of Maine and her old girlfriend Sally back in Queens. She was quick about her calls, she didn’t want to run up a big bill; and of course everyone was thrilled for her.
Holly hiked up the bag of groceries a little bit further on her hip and briefly considered calling Dylan, a guy she’d met a few weeks previously and whom she’d been seeing somewhat casually. She wasn’t sure if there were any sparks between them, and Holly was a firm believer in the idea that if fireworks didn’t go off immediately, then it probably wouldn’t ever happen.
She had really tried to like him, and he was a nice guy, good looking and charming; but there was just something missing.
Being with him, and talking to him, it felt, well, forced, and the couple of times that he had been clearly interested in taking their dalliance to the next step, Holly couldn’t get past the kissing.
Dylan also didn’t understand why someone with a college degree would want to work in retail, of all things. Holly had explained that her background was in fashion merchandising, and that you had to start somewhere. When she went on the initial interview at Village Consignment, Dylan had rolled his eyes and compared it to working at the Salvation Army.
She knew that she would probably just have to cut him loose soon. After all, why waste time with someone who wasn’t the one? Why sell herself short with someone who clearly had a lack of imagination?
Holly placed the phone back in her pocket, glancing down briefly. In that split second, she collided with what felt like a brick wall.
Caught off her guard, she was thrown off balance and landed in a heap on the path with all her bags and belongings.
‘Oh man, sorry. Are you OK?’
Holly looked up and was met with the deepest, most liquid blue eyes she had ever seen in her life. The man had dark hair, and a square jaw with stubble that said, ‘I haven’t shaved today, but I still look good.’ She stared at him with her mouth open and felt her heart jump in her chest.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Can I help you up?’ He smiled and a dimple appeared on his cheek. His eyes were heavily lashed and she suddenly thought about her current Hollywood crush, Leonardo di Caprio. This guy had those eyes.
But then she realized he was still waiting for an answer. Holly shook her head, as if she needed to clear the fog away. ‘Oh, yes … sorry, I … right.’ She smiled meekly, at a loss for words.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked, pulling her up from the ground.
‘I think so … ’ She looked at the bags strewn about her. ‘Oh crap. But my wine isn’t.’ The bottle of wine that she had bought had not survived the collision.
‘Oh no, that’s my fault, I’m so sorry. Shit, I’m a klutz. I was walking with my head down. Messing with this stupid phone.’ He held up a Motorola like Holly’s.
‘It’s fine. It was just a cheap bottle, no big loss, it probably would have given me a headache anyway.’ Then she considered her words. What if he thought she was some sort of lush? That she drank bottles of wine alone? ‘I mean, not that I would have drank the whole thing. I was just going to cook dinner – a steak. And, you know, red wine, and red meat and all … ’
Shut up Holly!she thought to herself. She bit her lip. ‘Anyway … ’
A smile played about his lips. ‘It’s OK, I know what you mean. I like a nice glass of wine with a steak, too. Can I make it up to you?’ His grin was broad and open and Holly felt flutters in her stomach.
‘Really, you don’t have to do that,’ she protested, but her heart wasn’t in it.
‘Please, I want to. It’s the least I can do for running you over. I’m Nick. Nick Mestas.’ He held out his hand again. ‘Nice to meet you … erm, I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Holly. Holly O’Neill.’
‘O’Neill? As in the bar chain?’ he queried and she winced. The drinking connection again.
