“What?” Holly held up her hands. “I’m just a writer and a volunteer wedding coordinator and the girl who feeds my family’s cat.”
“She also brings her neighbors coffee and denture cleaner,” he told the caterer.
The caterer nodded, amused.
Josh angled toward Holly. Unhurried, he hooked a hand around the top of her iron filigree chair. “What do you like best? Whatever it is, that’s what I’m ordering.”
She wasn’t used to anyone putting so much stock in her opinion. She could probably get used to it, if forced. She looked over the assembled main dishes. During their last visit, they’d decided on appetizers and salads that had a Southern flair, so she’d continue in that theme. “I love them all, but if it were up to me—”
“It is,” Josh said.
“I’d choose the spare ribs, the fried chicken, and the . . .” she wrinkled her nose and closed one eye. Saying good-bye to any of these dishes felt criminal. “Turkey pot pie.”
“Excellent.” The caterer began stacking the plates on a tray.
“Are you sure you’re okay with those?” Holly asked Josh, under her breath. “Because—”
“I want what you want,” he assured her.
He hadn’t moved his hand from her chair. Having his hand there, such a simple thing, really, caused a crippling longing to break open within her.
The caterer propped her tray on her hip and paused to speak to Josh about rehearsal dinner logistics.
Holly and Josh had shared an uncommon intimacy once.
Holly had never again been able to attain that sort of intimacy with a boyfriend. On the contrary, she’d hardly had a boyfriend serious enough to want to go to the movies with.
She ached to have someone that was hers to share her feelings with, to hug, to laugh with. She’d been hoping and waiting and praying for that person, the person God had in mind for her.
Just—just not him, Lord. I can’t feel this longing for Josh.
She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. She’d been a fool to come here. Up until today she’d been managing her feelings for him. But just now, those feelings had leapt over the line. She was falling for him. Again.
Josh straightened in his seat, removing his hand from her chair. She was in serious trouble, because she was sorry, not glad like she should have been, to lose the sweetness of that small connection.
The caterer swept from the room and returned moments later with five plates of dessert. Josh smiled at Holly, anticipating her delight.
“Oh. My. Goodness,” Holly breathed. Red velvet cake, sheet cake, apple pie, two different cobblers.
They made steady progress, taking time to savor each bite and debate the merits of one dessert against the others. She definitely shouldn’t have opted for a belt today.
When it came time to make the decision, Josh once again asked Holly for her choice. She picked apple pie à la mode. Flaky, cinnamony, and perfect for fall.
The caterer thanked them and disappeared into the kitchen with the plates and silverware.
“I’m going to be gone this weekend,” Josh said, “for Ben’s bachelor party weekend.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m taking the guys to Lost Pines Resort outside Austin to golf.”
“It’s beautiful there. Should be fun.” It said a lot about Josh that he hadn’t just thrown money at Ben’s wedding events then blown in on a private jet for forty-eight hours. He’d come to Martinsburg to spend real time with his friend and to handle the details himself.
“I’m expecting two straight days of humiliation,” he said. “I’m a terrible golfer.”
“Not many golf courses in downtown Paris?”
“Not many. Any chance that you have time to meet me up at the Olive Oil Company when I get back? To discuss how we should arrange the tables and food stations?”
She wanted to say yes more than she wanted an appearance on the New York Times bestseller list. But she had to say no. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m booked solid next week.”
Josh searched her face, then nodded. “No problem.” He set aside his napkin, rose to his feet, paused. As if second-guessing himself, he returned to his seat, facing his body toward hers. “Can I ask you something?” Consternation stitched through his brow.
“Of course.”
Seriousness, the sort of seriousness that hadn’t entered any of their prior conversations, fell between them. Her pulse began to quicken.
“Have you been helping me because you’re friendly and took pity on me?” Ruefulness curled one corner of his mouth and caused a dimple to flash briefly in his cheek. “Or has any of it been because you wanted to spend time . . . with me?”
Was he asking because he’d guessed that she’d developed feelings for him and wanted to gently disabuse her of any crazy notion of a romance between them? Or maybe he was asking because he wanted to spend time with her?