He slows his pace and shoves his hands in his pockets. “The scoop, huh? What will that consist of?”
“Just that the new vet in town was having dinner with me. You and I getting married is somewhat of a scandal around here,” I joke. “I mean, I was sort of the Most Eligible Bachelorette, you know. And you slide in here and put a ring on me.”
I look across my shoulder.
The dimple in the center of his chin creases as he mulls over whether I’m kidding or not. That little indentation used to be my go-to when he would tease me about my freckles. I’d tell him at least my chin didn’t look like a baby’s butt. But now, I kind of like it. It gives him a playfulness, and it’s a warning that he’s chock-full of trouble.
He turns and catches me looking at him.
“Were you really?” he asks.
“What?”
“The Most Eligible Bachelorette.”
My cheeks split into a wide grin. “I was kidding, Doc.”
This seems to satisfy him. He worries his bottom lip back and forth as we mosey our way up the road.
“I hope our scandal is really good,” he says finally. “There’s something fun in getting to be the bad boy that leads you astray.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but our scandal is more of a low-key thing. We’ll probably only get one, maybe two more good days out of it, because the scandal mill is pretty busy right now.”
“Ooh. What are we gossiping about?”
“Well,” I say, digging my hands into my pockets too. “The mayor of the town next door got drunk, stole a police car, and parked it on the courthouse lawn last week. So I’m pretty sure everyone is still dishing about that.”
His eyes light up. “The town next door? Is that where we used to go to the Fourth of July festival every year?”
“Yes. Barnstable. Same place.”
“Wow. I haven’t thought about that for a long time. Do you remember those Popsicles we used to get that looked like red, white, and blue bombs? And then we’d climb up on the—”
“Hill by the bank and watch the fireworks,” I say, finishing the sentence for him.
He nods, a look of satisfaction painted on his face. I’m sure I have something similar on mine too. I can’t believe he remembers those silly Popsicles and our Fourth of July tradition, but there’s something acutely wonderful about the fact that he does.
“I tell everyone I’m with on the Fourth every year about the time the fire department let them off and the one came sailing right over our heads,” he says with a laugh. “No one ever believes me about that.”
“I was scared of fireworks for years afterward.”
“Logically,” he says, shaking his head. “Man, we had some good times around here. Do you remember the summer when I was into baseball cards and you were into the bubble gum that came in the packets?”
I let my head fall back. “I loved that stuff. It had the best flavor. I’d forgotten about that.”
“And you used to go into . . . was it called Harvey’s?”
“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “He blamed you for throwing that baseball through his window.”
“The old codger. That was . . . Aaron that did that,” he says, his face jerking toward mine. “I saw him today. What a coincidence.”
“Not really. This is Honey Creek, you know.”
He half shrugs. “True.”
We step over a broken piece of sidewalk and around a bicycle whose rider is nowhere to be seen.
“I’d forgotten about Harvey’s,” I admit. “You would give me the money, and I’d go in and buy them since he wouldn’t let you in.”
He bumps me with his shoulder. “And then I’d split the gum with you. Pretty good plan, if you ask me.”
“Hey, it was a business arrangement,” I say, bumping him back. “We both won in the end.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He makes a face I can’t read as we reach the top of the hill. A silence fills the space. All I can think of is how we’ve always been good business partners. A yellow sign in the shape of a beehive welcomes passersby to Honey Creek. Holden stops and points to the small font beneath the trio of bees smiling that spells out the town’s population.
“You know, I thought the rest of the world would’ve caught up with Honey Creek by now,” he says, almost to himself.
“We check the rest of the world at the county line, don’t ya know? Just to make sure you city people aren’t trying to sneak in all that modern hocus-pocus stuff.”
He laughs. “One of the reasons I always liked visiting here was that it really was so different from Phoenix. But I was just as happy to get back home.”
I scoff like his statement offends me somehow. “We were just as glad to get rid of you.”
He takes his hands out of his pockets and runs one through his hair. The look on his face is animated. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. I just don’t know what they’re turning about.
“I get why Pap loves it here so much, but I get why Mom wanted to leave too. It’s a great place to visit, but I need . . . I don’t know what I need,” he says, his voice drifting away.
We exchange a smile as we find the sidewalk that starts in front of the old deli. Slowly, we make our way into town. Holden doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, so I just walk alongside him.
We pass the gas station with two pumps—one unleaded and one diesel—and the butcher shop. Finally, the little red metal building comes into view.
“My grandma used to bring me here for breakfast,” he says.
“It used to be more of a breakfast place, but we never went there until Tank took it over because my gramma thought that the woman that ran it before stole her crepe recipe, and Gramma refused to set foot near that place.”
He chuckles as he picks up the pace toward the restaurant.
The church bells from a few streets over ring a new hour as I make it to the front of Tank’s. Holden stands next to a muddy Jeep with a bumper sticker outlining what will happen to the person who mistakenly rear-ends them.
He turns quickly, extending an arm to point toward something. Instead, his arm collides with my side and knocks me sideways.
My foot catches on the curb, and I topple toward the ground.
“Ah!” I squeal as panic flashes through my veins. I turn to the side to try to catch the ground with my hands when I’m snatched upright . . . and into Holden’s arms.
My stomach wiggles around as his grin grows warmer . . . and more mischievous.
Our breathing is ragged as we stare into each other’s eyes. My heart pounds in my chest so loud that I think Holden can hear it.
Holden’s fingers press into my side, his cologne washing over me and drowning out the fear that just surrounded my senses.
He forces a swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
My lips part as my gaze lands on his mouth. His tongue swipes along the bottom ridge and makes it appear even more kissable.
Damn it.
I drag in a lungful of air.
He releases me from his grip, but not completely. It’s as if he wants to hold on to me as much as I want him to.
“What do you say we get our food to go?” he asks, his voice rough.