Holly Morgan. The Holly who’d once been his.
Josh had never done anything halfway. It wasn’t in his makeup. He hadn’t done academics halfway in high school or college. He hadn’t done his business halfway. He’d always worked like a machine and still did. In fact, part of what had initially fueled him in his career had been his desire to prove to Holly that he was worth something, that she’d made a mistake when she’d cut him loose.
No, he didn’t do anything halfway.
Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t fallen in love with Holly halfway, either. Theirs had not been a lighthearted romance. They’d kept it pure, but it had also been intense.
Holly had been smart and kind, creative and genuine. She hadn’t had the sort of in-your-face, commercial prettiness that had characterized the popular girls in their high school. But to him, she’d been more gorgeous than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on before or since.
When he’d known her, she’d worn her light brown hair straight down her back. Now it fell a few inches longer than her shoulders, layered slightly, wavy, with some shiny dark blonde strands in it. Her thoughtful, heart-shaped face held a sweetness that couldn’t be faked. She had great cheekbones and little brackets that formed at the corners of her lips when she smiled.
He’d continued to gain height in college. She hadn’t. She stood about six inches shorter than he did now, her build slender but not skinny.
When he’d caught sight of her on the sidewalk just now it had knocked the air from him. He turned his hands palms up and watched the tremor in them. Fisting his fingers, he buried his hands in his coat pockets.
He’d lost two people in his life that he’d never recovered from. His dad and Holly. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by that he hadn’t thought about them both.
The last time he’d seen Holly, they’d hugged each other in an airport terminal like they never wanted to let go. The departure time for his flight had drawn closer and closer. His mom, who’d already gone through security and was waiting for him at the gate, had started calling his cell phone. He’d held onto Holly for as long as he could. When their time had run out and they’d kissed for the final time, his heart had felt like it was breaking clean in two.
He’d looked back at her from the security checkpoint line. At first, she’d given him wobbly smiles and brave waves. The final time he’d looked back, tears had been running down her face.
He’d worked hard to earn his scholarship to MIT, but once he’d arrived there, he’d wanted, desperately, to give it up and return to Holly. Without her, school seemed pointless, his loneliness endless. He’d been certain he’d be able to make a success of himself regardless of which institution issued his degree. He’d wanted to make a success of himself with Holly. But before he could follow through on his desire to leave MIT, she’d broken up with him.
People drifted by on the far side of the shop’s window.
Martinsburg had been founded in the Hill Country of central Texas in 1848 by Germans who’d come for economic and religious freedoms. These days, tourists were drawn here by the town’s old-fashioned charm, surrounding wineries, hunting, wildflower fields, B&Bs, and underground caverns.
Upon arriving two days ago, his strategy had been to limit his interaction with Holly as much as politely possible. But, a few minutes ago, when he’d had the chance to walk away and leave her behind, just as he had in that airport terminal all those years ago, he’d failed. In that instant, he’d wanted some tie to her, some small link. So without thinking it through, all instinct and no logic, he’d asked for her help searching out a rehearsal dinner location.
He shouldn’t have done that. She’d shattered him when she’d ended things between them. The memory caused his pride to twist and burn.
It had been unbelievably painful to talk with her this morning, and their conversation had only lasted for a few minutes. Why had he signed himself up for more?
He could cancel. Or go on one outing with her and call it good. Pulling free his phone, he brought her name and number up on his screen.
Holly Morgan.
It shamed him that he still hadn’t gotten ahold of himself. He needed more time to recover, standing here in a nut shop.
Seven months. He’d had seven months to prepare himself for his reunion with her.
And it hadn’t been long enough.
“Hola!” Sam slid into the booth at the Taqueria opposite Holly, bringing a light waft of Chloe Eau de Parfum with her. “What’s something we can say to one another in honor of this fine Mexican food establishment?”
“Uh, chimichanga?” Holly offered. “La Bamba? I should have taken Spanish in high school, seeing as how I live in a state that borders Mexico. Instead, I took French.” Holly scooted the chip bowl toward Sam. “I’ve never once visited France.”