Love in the Details (8 page)

“Yes.”

Ben clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell her the truth. About all of it.”

“I can't. I don't want to get involved with her.”

Ben's expression turned pitying. “You've got it bad, dude. Seriously bad.”

“This is delicious.” Holly pointed her fork at a plate containing
melt-in-your-mouth spare ribs. Oh, how she adored spare ribs. Maybe today hadn't been the best day to wear a snug belt with her jeans.

Josh finished chewing. “I agree.”

Five days had passed since their discussion at Das Lokal, two since their first visit to the caterer.

Josh had picked her up in his Range Rover an hour ago (She'd blown off Zumba class again, but really, who could think about exercise at a time like this?) and driven them thirty minutes to his caterer's shop in the nearby town of Hollis. Compared to a big city, Hollis was a pipsqueak. Compared to Martinsburg,
a
flashy metropolis. Just like at their first visit, the caterer had seated them at her one table, which was framed by a deep bow window. On the far side of the square-paned glass, the afternoon crouched gray and chilly. Inside, the shop brimmed with bright and cheery
warmth. It didn't hurt that the dear lady who owned the place kept bringing them plate after sampling plate of wonderful food.

Josh leaned back in the white iron filigree chair he'd been given, a chair so girly that it made him look extra-manly in comparison. He wore a chocolate-colored sweater that had a very slight V at the neck. The sweater's austerity, and the way it fit close to his body, suited him. “I'm not much of a party planner,” he said.

“I imagine you're pretty busy, what with being a technology mogul and all.”

“True.” The wry humor in his eyes made her mouth go dry. “I'm very important.”

“Very. And armed, lest we forget, with an assistant who seems skillful at everything, including party planning.”
Holy smoke, these ribs should come with a warning label.

“I have a party planning question.”

“You could speed-dial your assistant.”

“I'd rather ask you.”

Her lips quirked. “All right.”

“Amanda told me she's having a sit-down dinner at her reception. Should I avoid having a sit-down dinner at the rehearsal dinner?”

Holly considered his question while setting aside her fork. “Your rehearsal dinner is going to be
very
nice, Josh. I'd counsel you to avoid doing anything similar to what Amanda's doing at the reception. It'd be a shame to show up the bride.”

“Point taken.” He speared a bite of buttermilk fried chicken. “How would you recommend I serve the meal?”

“Food stations? They're classier than a buffet, and in keeping with the rustic, Texas feel of the evening.”

“I'm listening.”

“I'm guessing you'll want to begin with appetizers and drinks on the patio at sunset. Weather permitting, of course. It's Texas. It could be freezing or it might be perfect.”

“Did you try this chicken?”

“Yes. It's amazing.”

He indicated the brisket. “What about this?”

“Outstanding,” she said.

“You were saying? About the appetizers . . .”

“Right. I'd serve them on the patio. Then, you can have food stations set up inside the barn with the main course dishes, salads, cheeses, fruit, bread. I'm guessing Amanda and Ben will want to say a few words to their guests at some point during the evening?”

“Yes.”

“So maybe dessert could be served to everyone individually, at their tables, during that portion of the evening.”

The caterer, a woman in her early forties wearing a floral apron, bustled in. The kitchen heat had flushed her face but done nothing to stifle her proud smile. “What do you think?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“I think you should apply for Master Chef,” Holly said. “You'd win.”

She beamed. “Have you decided which dishes you like best?” She directed the question to Josh, knowing full well he was the one in possession of a Visa Black Card.

“Whatever the lady decides.”

“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
?

No, no, no. He hadn't given her any indication of that.

She smiled breezily and adjusted her position to put more space between them. “I've been helping you because I'm friendly and also because I wanted to spend time with you.” Through dint of will, she kept her voice sunny. “It's been nice to catch up with you. I always hoped you were doing well, Josh. Ben told me you were but it's been really nice to have the chance to see that for myself.” She'd used the word
nice
two times and in so doing, damned their current relationship with faint praise.

He concealed his thoughts expertly. She could see no change in him outwardly. None. He was an astute businessman, after all. The owner of a company. He hadn't gotten to where he was in the world by having the transparent feelings of a girl scout.

And yet . . . she could sense the shadow of sadness that lived in him deepening. Which made her regret her smokescreen approach. She should have replied to his honest question with an honest answer. He'd given her an opening and hadn't she been half-hoping, maybe three-quarters-hoping, for just this kind of an opportunity to talk to him about the past?

She should be brave—right now at this very moment—and
tell him the things she'd been yearning to tell him for eight years. She spoke before she could lose her nerve. “Josh, I . . .”

“Yes?”

She had a hard time getting the rest out. “I want you to know that I'm sorry for any hurt I may have caused you when we broke up.”

He gazed at her, his features guarded and grave.

Why wasn't he replying? Doubt assailed her. “It could be, of course, that I didn't cause you any hurt. In which case, you can ignore what I just said.”

“You did hurt me, Holly.”

His bluntness came as a relief. It bolstered her courage. “Okay. I thought so. Are you still angry with me?”

She could hear a distant dog barking and the quiet conversation of the caterer and her employee, cleaning up together in the kitchen.

“There's a part of me that is,” he admitted.

Her stomach dropped. She didn't want him to be angry with her, and yet, if she put herself in his shoes she could understand why he was. She fought to order her spiraling thoughts into words. “Here's the thing. I didn't tell you the truth back then about my reason for breaking up with you.”

Several taut seconds dragged past. “You told me something about how your feelings had changed and that you wanted to be free to date other people,” he said.

“Yes, that's exactly what I told you, but neither of those things were true.”

He frowned, his eyebrows drawing down in the center.

“Should . . .” The concerns that had kept her silent on
this topic until now rose to the fore of her mind. “Should we just let bygones be bygones? Or do you think there's value in revisiting what happened at this point?”

“There's value in it for me, Holly. Even now.”

She slowly inhaled. “Do you remember, back when you first started MIT, that there was a time when you considered returning to Texas?”

“Yes.”

“Your mom . . .” She swallowed. Was this really a good idea? Maybe the bygones thing was better.

“What about my mom?”

“She was upset about the possibility of your leaving MIT. She couldn't afford to send you anywhere else. But more than that, I mean,
MIT
, Josh. It was the best possible school for you and she and I both knew it. You were brilliant. You deserved a chance there.”

“And?” he asked grimly.

“Your mom came to see me at UTSA and asked me to break up with you. I—”

“What?” He spoke the word quietly, almost whispering it. Nonetheless, it vibrated with menace.

“She asked me to break up with you so that you'd stay at MIT and focus on your studies.”