anymore. She’s the reason I’m so goddamn heartsick I almost can’t breathe.
“Holley,” I say her name out loud.
I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours consumed by thoughts of her, but it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to bring any of them into the light of day. I’ve been skating by, fueled mostly by the anger I derived from Holley’s ability to act like what happened between us was something we should ignore.
For me, it doesn’t even feel like I can.
I’ve almost called and texted her a thousand times, but the fact that she’s content to shove everything that happened between us aside makes it feel too much like a fool’s errand. A woman who leaves her own bed the morning after sleeping with you is almost definitely willing to avoid texts and phone calls.
“Of course, Holley!” Chloe shouts. “I mean, I think we both know the only reason you went on any of those dates was to be around her more, right?”
I’m both surprised and terrified at her keen observation. My beautiful daughter is so much more than I’ve even given her credit for.
All I can do is nod. I don’t even remember some of the other women’s names. It might make me a terrible person, but it’s the truth. Most of my dates with them, all I did was watch Holley, waiting for her to look up at me and meet my eyes.
I’ve been gone—completely invested in her since the moment I pulled her soaked-business-suit body out of the ocean and she yelled at me for saving her. It’s the whole reason I agreed to do the contest in the first place, though, I didn’t realize it at the time. Hindsight, as always, makes things so crystal clear.
Blind dates and newspaper articles aren’t my style. Not at all. But all of it meant spending more time with her. And deep down, I knew I wanted to know more.
Frankly, I can see now, I wanted to know everything about her stunning, stubborn, adorable, awkwardly cute, clumsy, and sexy-as-hell being.
“You have to go tell her!” she shouts so loud it makes my eardrums ring. “You need to go tell her how you feel!”
“It’s not that simple,” I mutter, and I’m not sure if it’s to her or myself.
“But it is that simple!” she persists, waving her arms around like a lunatic. “You have to go to the party Friday! You have to go and tell her how you feel and make a big romantic gesture. You have to!”
My heart spasms. “Chloe, sweetie…real life doesn’t work like a fairy tale. You don’t know the whole story or any of the details about what’s gone on—”
“Do you want to be with her?” she asks unabashedly.
I do the only thing I can. I answer honestly. “Yes.” It feels like I’ve carved a hole in my chest with a spoon when she’s not around. “But I don’t think she’s sure she wants to be with me. She’s…she’s avoiding me.”
“All the more reason to go to the party! You can go and tell her how you feel,” she all but demands with crazy, urging eyes. “Lay it all on the line. She’s doing my makeup beforehand, so I can promise you she’ll be there.”
“Wait…what?” My laugh is brittle with heartache, but it’s a laugh all the same. Only Holley and my daughter could somehow set up a makeup date in the middle of all of this. “She’s doing your makeup?”
“Of course. She told me she would two weeks ago. She offered and I accepted, and it’s all planned. I’m meeting her at her house before the party.”
My chest tightens at the hope in her voice. It makes more sense now, that Holley agreed to the cosmetics date before everything…exploded…but it also means it might not be the kind of appointment she’s willing to keep. Sadness burns in my lungs as I try my best to deliver the blow softly. “Listen, kiddo, some things have happened since then—”
She shakes her head. “Holley made me a promise, and I know she’ll keep it.”
“Chlo—”
“No, Dad! You’re perfect for each other, and she’s perfect for us. I know it. So, you just be ready for the party Friday, okay? And I’ll make the plays I need to get her there.”
Hope wars inside me for the first time since my confrontation with Holley in the bowling alley Sunday. I know nothing is guaranteed but getting myself in a room with Holley seems like the first step to all of this. I