but reads on some more. “She’s allergic to shellfish and tries to eat healthy.”
I nod. “That sounds reasonable.”
“But she does allow herself the occasional treat of low-calorie, high-protein frozen yogurt.”
Holley scrunches her nose, and I have to laugh. “That seem like a red flag to you?”
“I mean, it’s not ideal,” she answers honestly. “But there’s a lot of pressure as a woman to remain the perfect body type. Maybe she just needs a little encouragement to loosen up.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
Holley’s face changes slightly, but I can’t place exactly how. “We will.”
“When will we see?”
She looks at her phone calendar, holding up a finger for me to wait as she scrolls. “Uh, Saturday. The article highlighting Date Number One will run in this Sunday’s paper, and that will give me plenty of time to get Date Number Two’s article finished up and ready to print during the week.”
I almost open my mouth to let her know I took the time to read last Sunday’s feature article, the one that discreetly introduced me to the world. Truthfully, I was so fucking curious to see what Holley had to say, I grabbed the paper that morning before heading to the beach for my daily water workout.
And, let me tell you, she certainly had things to say.
Pretty great fucking things, to be honest.
But I probably shouldn’t read anything into that, right?
It’s her job to write—
“Does that day work for you, or…?” she asks, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.
“Um, yeah…” I pause and clear my throat. “That works. Let’s do…a four-wheeler date. At Blane Start Park. There are riding trails that lead to a great lake where we can picnic—without shellfish, of course.”
“Of course,” she repeats, scribbling notes down on her pad. “A four-wheeler date?”
“I’ll bring one for you to ride too. Follow us along.”
“Uh, no thanks.” Holley nearly chokes. “I’m better off on solid ground.”
“Oh, c’mon, Holley,” I push. “Haven’t I shown you how fun it is to challenge yourself?”
She raises one perfectly groomed brow. “Like, when?”
“Swimming in the ocean…riding on a motocross bike…pretending you’re a state inspector,” I remind her. “Do those ring any bells?”
She glares at me but scribbles something else down on her pad that I assume signifies her tacit concession.
I smile at the table, holding myself back from saying anything that would really rub it in.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I pick it up to see who it is. It’s a message from Chloe, so I click it open to read it immediately.
Chloe: Just got home. Will you be here soon? The attic fan is making that freaky sound again.
I smile to myself. Normally, any kind of anxiety on Chloe’s part would send me into violent action, but that attic fan has been making the same noise since we moved in to the house. It’s not even something to fix. It’s just the sound of moving air. If that’s what has her spooked, I doubt there’s anything wrong.
Still, I do my due diligence as a dad and cover all the bases.
Me: I’m sure it’s fine, but lock all the doors and keep your phone with you. I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.
Holley’s looking at me when I finish typing, understanding in the arch of her eyebrows. “Time to go?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I toss my napkin onto the table before standing. “How about you? You headed home?”
“Yep.” She stands to gather her things, putting the folder on Rachel back in her bag along with her notebook. “Hopefully I’ll get some much-needed sleep.”
“Sleep? Oh, I’ll probably just hang out in my lair,” I tease.
She laughs. “I bet you will.”
“And I guess I’ll see you on…”
“Saturday,” she supplies for me. “I’ll make sure everything is ready to go and meet you at the park.”
It feels strange, knowing I’m not going to see her for the next few days, but it makes sense. I stick out a hand for hers, and she takes it immediately. We complete a firm, sturdy handshake and then go back to standing across from each other awkwardly.
“Be safe getting home,” I tell her quietly.
“You too, Jake.”
Holley
The afternoon sun warms my shoulders as I walk from the parking lot toward the front entrance of YOLO Yoga. The door is standing open, letting some fresh air breeze through, and I step inside with my freshly dusted and disinfected pink mat tucked beneath my arm.
The damn thing was a mess this morning when I located it in the back of the hall closet. Honestly, the