“The cat?”
“She still lives at the house. She’s the only resident when my parents are out of town.”
He quirked a brow at her.
“I know, it’s weird. When my parents bought the place in Austin we decided that Shadow would move in with me. But she ran away twice—” She had to catch herself from telling Josh where to turn. He turned in the right place without assistance. He remembered the way. “Both times Shadow ran away, I found her back at my parents’ house. So I installed a cat door. I stop by every day to feed her.”
“It seems like you could leave more than a day’s worth of food. Then you wouldn’t have to come by as often.”
“But then, you see, Shadow wouldn’t get enough social interaction.”
He parked in the driveway of her family’s stately 1930s two-story. If Holly did say so herself, the house had been kept up well, its shingles painted a pretty beige, its rock chimney standing proudly straight.
“How come you don’t live here with Shadow?” he asked.
“Because I’m not eighteen anymore. It would seem sort of . . . I don’t know. Sorry? To live here alone at this point. I like my apartment.” She gave him a questioning look. “Would you like to come in? It’ll just take a minute.”
“I’ll stay here. I have some business I need to check.” He motioned toward his phone, sitting in the middle console.
Holly nodded and let herself inside the house.
Josh had no doubt that text messages and business e-mails awaited his attention, but he hadn’t asked to stay outside because of them. For a man who didn’t lie—he preferred blunt, straight-up communication—he’d become quite the liar where Holly was concerned.
Just sitting in the driveway of this house brought up a storm of old memories. He had no intention of going indoors and seeing the places where he’d held hands with Holly, talked with her parents and siblings, picked her up for prom.
In case Holly caught sight of him through a window, he set his phone on his leg and looked down at it.
He was pretty sure he was losing it because he wanted more time with her. She made his mind, body, and senses rush to life in ways they hadn’t in too many months to count. Whenever he met her eyes, attraction snapped like electricity between them. Her smile left him wordless.
He could buy many things in this world, but he couldn’t buy the way she made him feel.
He dealt in math and science and computers. If someone had asked him last week whether magic existed, he would have said emphatically that it didn’t. But Holly was like magic to him. Somehow, she was. She made his cynical heart want the one thing he’d be an idiot to pursue. Her.
When she’d broken up with him, she’d done it over the phone, without warning, in under ten minutes. Kindly cool on her side. Heatedly upset on his side. She’d said the sort of clichés that people always say at breakups. She hadn’t given him any reason that made sense to him, that he could accept. Then, afterward, she’d refused to speak to him or return his e-mails. She’d betrayed his faith in her, and the last thing he wanted was to make the mistake of caring about her or placing his trust in her again.
He turned his phone in slow half-circles on his thigh, frowning, his forehead grooved.
Did anyone in this town have any idea how talented she was? He’d read every one of her novels. He always pre-ordered them, then read them obsessively, not working or sleeping until he’d finished the final page. They were beautifully written, wise, hopeful, filled with adventure and courage. He had no idea how she did it, how she dreamed up worlds and people and plots out of thin air.
He’d been to Martinsburg’s one bookstore. There’d been no big display about their famous local author. They’d had only one copy of her latest release, on the shelf spine out in the YA section. From what he could tell, the people of Martinsburg had overlooked her entirely.
Holly returned, sliding into her seat. “Thanks for bringing me by. You saved me from having to make a trip back later today.”
“How was Shadow?”
“As entitled as usual.” The afternoon rays pouring into the car from behind Holly turned a section of her hair to glowing honey. She was so achingly pretty that his chest squeezed.
“Since we didn’t find a site today”—the level tone of his voice hid his steely determination—“I’m thinking we’ll need to try again soon, if you have the time.” He was not a good person.
“Okay. I . . . have the time.”
The bond between them pulled and the moment grew heavy. He longed to tell her things he had no business telling her. Namely, the truth about how much she’d hurt him and his frustration with himself regarding the resentment he still harbored toward her because of it.
He backed down the driveway, silently calling himself stupid, fool, self-destructive, and much, much worse.