Afterward, they gathered in the living room in front of the fireplace. Holly’s dad coddled the fire into snapping peaks of flame. The smell of pumpkin pie hung in the air and football played on TV. Drowsy from the tryptophan she’d just consumed, Holly daydreamed about where Josh might be spending the day while the rest of the family engaged in their two most popular pastimes: cooing over Holly’s older brother’s gorgeously chubby toddler and revering Holly’s younger sister for her pursuit of a law degree.
The only member of the family not present? Shadow. The cat had hidden under Holly’s parents’ bed in mute protest of the invaders who’d overtaken her residence.
Late that night, Josh was fighting insomnia and thinking of Holly, when a sudden suspicion slid into his mind. He sat up in bed, paused for a few seconds to think, then dashed aside the covers.
He hoped he was wrong. He really hoped he hadn’t overlooked something so important. Surely, he hadn’t.
In his plaid pajama pants, he padded down the stairs of his rented house into the kitchen. His laptop waited on the granite counter. Scowling, he pulled up his assistant’s final guest list document for the rehearsal dinner.
He scrolled down the list of alphabetized names. The tile floor chilled the soles of his feet and cold air blew across his bare back.
Holly wasn’t listed. She’d spent hours driving over the Hill Country with him to look at locations. She’d shared advice and ideas with him. All for a rehearsal dinner he’d forgotten to invite her to. She hadn’t mentioned his oversight to him the two times they’d gone to the caterer. She’d remained quiet and polite about it while helping him pick out the menu, for pity’s sake.
Josh blew out a breath, disgusted with himself.
It had occurred to him, after that night at Das Lokal when he’d told her he’d booked the Olive Oil Company, that he needed to ask his staff to double check the guest list, and if she wasn’t on it, to mail Holly an invitation. He’d made a mental note of it. Planned to do it. But the list in front of him proved that he hadn’t followed through.
He’d been distracted and forgetful lately. He’d been distracted and forgetful because his mind was so occupied with Holly.
The rehearsal dinner would take place tomorrow night. He straightened, pushing both hands into his hair as he stared down at the glowing screen.
He was a jerk. A jerk who needed to make things right.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Chapel said to Holly the next morning, as she accepted her coffee through the door. “Did you remember to put in one and a half packets of sugar?”
“I did.”
“I’m in need of some Bengay for my poor back. Would you be able to pick some up for me later, do you think? If you wouldn’t mind?”
“I wish I could help you, but I’m not going to make it to the store today. My family’s in town so I’m spending the day with them before the wedding rehearsal up at the church.”
“Speaking of the big wedding, Doreen told me that someone else is playing the organ.” Mrs. Chapel pinched her lips and shook her head disapprovingly.
“That’s true.”
“She said that you brought her caramel corn to help her recover from the slight.”
“Also true.”
“Good girl.” She gave a decisive nod, her rheumy eyes regaining their twinkle. “And don’t you worry about the Bengay. I’ll shame my younger sister into buying it for me.”
“No one’s more of an expert at shaming than you are, Mrs. Chapel.”
“Why, thank you!”
Holly moved toward her apartment.
“Some things were delivered for you while you were getting coffee,” Mrs. Chapel called after her.
“Oh?”
“By a handsome man.”
Holly shot her a questioning look.
“I think he’s still there,” the old lady whispered, loudly enough for passersby on Main Street to hear.
Holly walked around the hallway corner and found Josh—Josh!—leaning against the wall next to her door, an array of items covering her doormat. He pushed to standing at the sight of her.
He wore a shirt and tie beneath a sweater vest. With his tall frame and lean physique, he could pass for an Armani model. A sheepishly smiling one. One that moonlighted as a professor of Unfathomable Math.
“Hi,” he said.
He’d either become more gorgeous since she’d seen him last or she’d forgotten how gorgeous he’d been to begin with. Her heart, her poor heart, was melting at the sight of him. “Hi.”
He lifted a hand and flipped an envelope face up as he extended it to her. “I brought you this.” He’d written her name on it in handwriting that hadn’t changed much since high school.
“Thank you.” She took it from him.
“Here.” He lifted the coffee carrier with her lone drink from her hand. She’d forgotten she’d been holding it.
She began to pull open the flap on the heavy stationery. “Is this when you inform me that you’ve secretly been buying up all the real estate in Martinsburg?” A smile played across her lips. She’d thought to herself once that he’d have no way of knowing where she lived. She’d been wrong. “Are these my eviction papers?”
“I typically save my evil real estate plotting for towns large enough to merit a Walmart.”
“Ah.” She uncovered an engraved invitation to the rehearsal dinner.