Eight
T
hey ate dinner at a local restaurant that night, one of those small, homey places where the menu selections were almost limitless and everybody knew everybody else.
Colin and Holly were stopped no less than five times on the way to their table, and each time Holly had to introduce him to friends of her parents, friends of her siblings, former high school classmates.
It was like old home week, except that Holly, althoug
h polite, didn’t seem to be over
joyed to introduce him—especially to Melissa Harbrook, who kept eyeing him like he was a juicy slice of prime rib, and she liked her men rare. Hey, he wasn’t blind. He noticed this stuff.
“There was a place a lot like this near my off-campus rooms at Princeton,” Colin said once they were seated, looking around the No-Smoking section of the restaurant, at the owner’s collection of ceramic cows lining
shelves high on all four walls. “Not the cows, though. That’s pretty original.”
“I never liked Melissa Harbrook,” Holly said, opening the menu. “Or should I say Melissa Johnson Whittier Harbrook. The woman goes through men like a hot knife through butter.” Her gaze left the mimeographed page of Specials and she glared at him. “You want her number? I’m surprised she just doesn’t have it tattooed on her forehead, right next to that flashing Open All Night sign.”
“Yes, she was sort of giving me the eye, wasn’t
s
he?" Colin asked, helpfully adding fuel to the fire of Holly’
s
temper. She hadn’t returned to the apartment until nearly five and, as far as he could remember, this was only the second time she’d spoken to him since then. The first time had been when she’d stood just inside the front door, her car keys in her hand, and grumbled, “You hungry or what? I’m going to dinner.” That was his Holly, gracious to the max.
“How long do they go on?” he asked her after a moment. “Your bad moods, that is.”
“Bad moods?” Holly looked around at the other tables, then lowered her voice, repeated herself. “Bad moods? You think this is a bad mood? You don’t think I have just the tiniest bit of
justification
here? I’ve got a conspiracy working against me. You, Julia, Max, my own
mother,
for crying out loud. And maybe you don’t know about the telephone call I got at work this afternoon. Oh, yes. Helen called. Big sister, out to give advice* so that little sis doesn’t screw this one up because Mom says Colin Rafferty is a real keeper. Bad mood? You’re all lucky I’m not homicidal! And does anyone
stop to think that maybe you’re
stalking
me? Huh? No, they don’t. They think this is cute. Well, let me tell you something, Colin Rafferty,
I
don’t think this is cute anymore.”
“Stalking you?” Colin closed his menu, looked at her closely. “Is that what you really think, Holly? That I’m
stalking
you?”
She avoided his eyes.
“
No, I don’t think you’re stalking me. I ran away, you followed, and I let you sleep on my sofa bed. If you’re stalking, I’m aiding and abetting. I just
…
I just think we’re going too fast here. I’m
…
I’m scared, much as I hate to admit it.”
“It’s that crush thing,” Colin said, nodding his head.
“
That sort of instant
knowing
that there was something special between us. But while I’m enjoying the hell out of it, the whole idea is scaring you silly. I understand. I’ll go back to New York tomorrow, give you some space, some time. Some room.”
“No!”
Now heads did turn, and Holly’s cheeks flushed bright red as she lowered her head, motioned for him to lean closer across the table. “I don’t want you to go back to New York,” she said, nearly whispered.
He was so tempted to lean forward, cup a hand behind one ear and ask her to repeat that, because he hadn’t heard it. But he decided not to push his luck. “Good,” he said instead, unfolding his paper napkin and putting it on his lap. “Because your mom’s making rump roast tomorrow, for dinner. So maybe you’ll want chicken tonight, instead of beef?”
Holly pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Sunday dinner. Oh my God, I completely forgot. All the
H’s,
all
their kiddies, Grandma Hollis. And the neighbor ladies who will just stop in, unexpectedly, to borrow a cup of sugar, drop off tickets to some show at the local playhouse, be introduced to Holly’s
beau.
I can’t stand it.”
Colin bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. “I think your mother is a lovely woman.”
Holly nodded. “Oh, she’s great, really.”
“Arid your family? They’re all great, too?”
“Great family,” Holly
agreed, playing with the milk-
glass vase on the table, the one with the pink silk flowers in it, some of the petals rather singed because they drooped over the blue glass jars with a burning candle inside, and had “wilted” from the heat. “Really great family.”
“I spoke to Juba this afternoon when she called to check up on us. She suggested you take next week off, don’t go to the office.”
Holly kept her head down, but raised her eyes to look at him. Dear Lord but those green eyes of hers were potent; full of every emotion she felt, and some she refused to acknowledge. A man could spend a lifetime, quite happily, just watching her face, that wonderful little pixie face.
“Julia
…
Julia said that? But we’re swamped at work. Irene will be ba
ck in the office on Monday, but—
”
“Julia’s coming into town tomorrow, to visit her folks, and to spend a week at the office. She says she thinks she can handle your job while you’re gone.”
And there went the eyes! Narrowed, intense. “You’re ganging up on me, aren’t you? All of you.”
Co
li
n didn’t answer, as the waitress appeared t
o
take their orders. Holly selected grilled boneless chicken and
fried filling, with a side of cold pickled cabbage. “Same for me, thank you,” he told the waitress, then handed her his menu.
Once the woman had moved away, he leaned forward and asked, “What the hell is fried filling?”
Holly grinned, momentarily sidetracked. “Well, you won’t get it in Paris, that’s for sure,” she told him. “It’s potato filling—mashed potatoes, bread cubes, celery, onions, some raw egg mixed in, I think, all baked in the oven. You know, filling, stuffing, whatever you want to call it. Except that the night of Helen’s rehearsal dinner for her wedding, we were all held up at the church, and the owner—that would be Bob—had to put all the filling on the grill because it was drying out too much in the oven. Good idea, except we were really,
really
late, and by the time we got here—fried filling. All soft and wonderful on the inside, crisp and brown on the outside. I’ve been ordering it that way ever since, and Bob makes it up special for me. More than you needed to know, huh?”
Co
li
n rubbed his hands together. “Not really. So I’m having, essentially, fried mashed potatoes?”
“Essentially, yes. And you’ll love it, I promise. So don’t be picky, okay? Bob gets upset when people don’t like his food.”
Co
li
n grinned. “Can I put ketchup on it?”
Holly rolled her eyes, then grinned back at him. Did he know how to make her smile, or what? And how he loved to make her smile.
“
No-o-o,
you can’t put catsup on it. I’ll bet you ate snails in Paris.”
“I’ll bet I didn’t,” he told her, making a face. “I told
you, I really missed American food. Fried filling possibly being the exception.”
Mention of Paris seemed to take Holly off in yet another direction. “Is Paris the only Majestic Enterprises office you’ve ever worked in for Max?’.’
“No. I cut my teeth in his Pittsburgh office, then moved to New York fo
r a while. But, since I was rel
atively young, and definitely unattached, Paris seemed a good option when the opening came up.”
She played with her fork, turning it over and over on the tabletop. “And you can’t wait to get back there?” Now she was fishing, and he loved it. “I
have
to get back there. Unfinished business, and all of that. I told you, I won’t be back in the States until Christmas. After that? Who knows. Majestic Enterprises is just about everywhere, so I’ll probably pretty much have my pick of exotic locations. England. Brussels.” He hesitated, then ended, “New Jersey.”
“New—
”
Holly sort of coughed, reached for her water glass, while Colin waited, smiling. “New Jersey, huh? I’d forgotten that Julia told me Max had just bought a property there. Some huge office complex?”
“Two-year-old building, and the company that built it just merged with another telecommunications giant, so that their headquarters have moved south, to Atlanta, I think. Max thought it was the perfect opportunity to consolidate our own main offices, all in one place. Forty-five minutes from New York, only about an hour from Allentown. It’s another reason he and Julia are going to build a home here. Julia can be nearer her own business and her parents, Jim and Margaret can see plenty of Max Deuce, and everybody’s happy.”
“I really have to pay more attention,” Holly grumbled almost under her breath. “I’ve been so caught up with this new bridal wear line that half of anything somebody tells me goes—
p
f
fftt
!—straight over my head.”
“But you did hear that I want to marry you? I’d really be depressed to think that one went—
p
ff
ftt!—
straight over your head.”
And there went the eyes—going from a soft confused green, straight to emerald ice.
“Will you
please
cut that out,” Holly asked him, just about begged him. “You’ve got Julia going, you’ve got Max going—and my mother is probably already tying up sugared almonds in little net bags, for favors for the guests at the wedding. My only consolation at this point is that all of the Hollis family is going to descend on you like a ton of bricks tomorrow
. And I won’t even feel sorry fo
r you.”
“If we’re here,” Colin said as the waitress placed plates in front of them,
then added small bowls of pickl
ed cabbage, a basket of bread, and told them to enjoy their dinner. She didn’t ask them to enjoy their dinner, she told them.
“
Enjoy your dinner.
”
He liked that
.
He’d really missed places like this homey restaurant He picked up his fork, tentatively poked at the brown thing sitting beside the chicken breast
.
“Smells good,” he said, then took a bite, smiled. Homey-gourmet
,
a whole new dining experience.
Then he looked at Holly, who still hadn’t picked up knife or fork. “What?
”
he asked, motioning toward her plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She ignored his question for one of her own. “What
did you mean,
if we’re here?
Where else would we be?”
“Interesting question, Holly. Where else could we be? I don’t go back to Paris until the end of next week. You have the week off, if you take Julia up on her offer. It’s September, still warm, but the schools are open, so Ocean City should be fairly quiet. The beach, the boardwalk, maybe a trip north to visit a casino? Time to talk, time to get to know each other better, a clear field for carrying out our immersion-aversion plan?”
Holly sat back in her chair, blinking at him.
“But
…
but my mother
…
”
“Oh, yes. Rump roast. I forgot.”
“And everyone else? My brothers, my sister? My dad playing twenty questions with you over how well you could take care of his baby?”
“Sounds wonderful,” Colin said, his grin wicked. “Maybe you’re right, Holly. Maybe we should stay here. And then, when Julia gets to town on Monday, well, I imagine we’ll be invited to dinner at Margaret and Jim’s house. Not that Julia would play twenty questions with me. She’d probably pretty much reserve that for you.”
Holly still hadn’t touched her dinner. “My family’s really very nice.”
“Your mother is a wonderful woman,” Co
li
n agreed, taking another bite of fried filling. “I’m sure the rest of your family is just as wonderful.”
“And Julia,” Holly persisted. “She’s my very best friend in the whole world.”
“Julia’s also wonderful,” Colin said, just trying to be cooperative.
“Of course, we wouldn’t have much time alone together, not if you’re going back to Paris next weekend.”
“There is that,” Colin put in, shoveling a forkful of pickled cabbage into his mouth, hoping its tartness would keep him from grinning. Holly was being very helpful.
“But, if we did this, it would be strictly platonic. Separate rooms.”