I took the bait. He reeled me in and left me and my savings account gutted.
Damn it. And damn me.
I look at Holden, ready to change the subject. “What happened to you today, anyway? Dottie give you a hard time?”
He pulls his eyes away from me. “Not any more than any other time I’ve been around her.” He downs the rest of his wine.
“Want a refill?”
“Sure. Tastes like expired mouthwash, but what the hell.”
We sit quietly again, both lost in our thoughts. I take a few opportunities to sneak a glance at him, because even if I’m having a bad day, he’s still cute. And in my house. And I have to take what little pleasures life offers me.
“I heard about that job I was telling you about,” he says.
“The one in Florida that I hoped would provide me with a spot I could use for vacations? Please don’t tell me you blew it. I was counting on that.”
He grins. “You have so much faith in me.”
I sigh. “You blew it, didn’t you?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Good. What did they say, then? That they love you and think you’re a wizard and you start tomorrow?” I sigh. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re leaving, and you’re sad that you have to go.” I pat him on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay. I know I’m hard to leave.”
A fit of laughter topples out of my lips. It’s the wine, I know, but I can’t stop it. A few seconds later and he’s chuckling right along with me.
“How much of this have you drunk?” Holden asks.
“Not much. I’m a lightweight. I never drink.”
“I remember you putting down quite a few beers back in the day,” he teases.
I cover my face with my hands. “Don’t go there.”
“What? Don’t remind you how you assured me that you drank all the time and got so shit-faced that I had to carry you into your friend’s house?”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me of that.” I peek through my fingers. “Not my best moment.”
He stretches his long legs out in front of him. “Well, I’m not living mine right now. Get this: I’m one of two final candidates for the job I want, and I actually have an edge.”
“That’s great!”
He grimaces. “Yeah, except that my edge comes from the fact that I’m getting married.”
“You are?”
I try to recall that bit of information but come up empty. Surely, he would’ve mentioned a small detail like marriage.
“No. I’m not getting married,” he scoffs.
“But then how are you . . . Oh . . .” My face falls. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “I see. Big problem.”
“Yeah. Big problem, indeed.”
“Maybe you could just tell them it didn’t work out with . . . what’s-her-name.”
He props an elbow on the edge of the table and rests his chin in his hand. “I could. But I’d likely lose not just the edge but the opportunity altogether.”
“I think you’re being a little dramatic, Doc.”
I make a face and take another long sip of my wine. The more I drink of it, the better it tastes. And the better Holden looks, if it’s possible that he could look better than he did in those stupid sweatpants the other night.
He snorts. “I wish. They said married people demonstrate an ability to commit and see problems through. I can only imagine what they’d think if I tell them I ended an engagement and a job.”
He has a solid point, but I decide not to tell him that. It’s not going to help much. Instead, I try to spin it around.
“Maybe you’re looking at this all wrong,” I say, pointing at him. My finger bounces in the air, so I put it back on the countertop. “Isn’t it possible that they’ll see you as a good decision-maker who knows when to pull the plug? That’s a good quality to have. Very useful.”
His head twists in his palm so he can see me. “Are you always a glass-half-full kind of person?”
“Only when it’s other people. Totally a half-empty kind of girl when it’s my own life.”
He laughs and sits up. There’s still a crinkle of worry at the corners of his eyes. I wish I could say something to make him feel better, but I can’t think of anything more than I’ve already tossed out there.
“If this doesn’t work out, I’m going to be screwed. I’m going to have to go home, get a random-ass job that’s just treading water. And . . . I can just see it now,” he says with a sigh.
“See what?”
His face twists in disgust. “Dad letting me know what a failure I am and having to listen to that bullshit.” He runs a hand down his face. “Shit.”
“Okay, so if that happens, is it really a bad thing? I mean, maybe you’ll find something great. Maybe it’ll be a new open door.”
He flashes me a look. “Maybe, Miss Glass-Half-Full. But then it’s starting from the bottom somewhere else and spending the next ten years working my way up for nothing, really. I’ll look up and be forty and have nothing to show for it but paychecks. It would be a complete setback.” He pours what’s left of the wine into his glass. “Montgomery Farms would be a huge step in the right direction. My work would be relevant. Game-changing, even. Their work contributes to studies and new methods of animal care. I just . . . I have to get it.”
I hop off my stool and head to the cupboard. The wine is sloshing around in my stomach, and I need to find something to snack on.
I grab a box of crackers and carry them to the island. “But let me play devil’s advocate here and say you don’t get it. What will happen? You’ll go back to Phoenix?”
“I guess. I have an apartment there still.”
“Okay. So that’s a plus. Right? And you could find a position close to where you want to live, maybe by your friends. Could be cool.”
He holds on to the edge of the island and tips his weight so the stool is balanced on the back legs. “But I really don’t want to do that. I have this . . . itch to go somewhere new. Somewhere I can really . . . figure it out, you know?”
“Yeah. I wanted to do that once too.”
“What happened?”
My heart sinks into my stomach. Regret and sadness creep over me like a poison filling a valley.
“Life, I guess,” I say.
I look up at Holden. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes my throat tighten. Nervously, I remove a couple of crackers and offer the box to him. He takes it from me.
“I . . .” I’ve never really talked about this to anyone. Not even my brother and sister, although they could piece it all together if they tried hard enough. Maybe they have. I don’t know. But the idea of saying it out loud to Holden—a man whom I won’t have to see for much longer—feels freeing.
I take a deep breath.
“I’d always said I wanted to run this place,” I tell him. “From the time that I was a little girl, I wanted to be like my gramma. But I got older and felt stifled here.”
Holden nods slowly. He sets the stool back down on all four legs.
“I applied to Florida State and got accepted. I think Gramma thought it was a phase or something. She sat me down a couple of weeks before I was supposed to leave and said she’d sign this place over to me the next day. She said she was getting old and that she wanted to see me take over. That it would give her peace.” I look at the floor. “I left anyway.”