CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HOLLY

“Good golly, Miss Holly! What happened to you?” Bill asked, spotting me walking through the door. He was busy putting together a Halloween display in the window of the store, and in his hands was a Jack-o-Lantern cut out from a piece of plywood. The smile was lopsided and the eyes were different sizes—and it looked as though it were going to be the centerpiece.

Oh boy.

“Oh, I thought I’d get a jump start on my Halloween costume. I’m going as Rocky.”

He stared blankly, the joke clearly lost on him, and I told him Anna had decided to use my face for target practice with her noggin, and he winced his sympathy. “Have you had that checked out?”

I had in fact. Mom did me the favor of driving down to the ER, where we enjoyed five hours in the waiting room before a doctor would see me. Among the puking drunks and occasional accident, I felt honored to be the only one there with a battered eye caused by the head of a toddler.

The doctor who eventually did see me got a good chuckle out of my misfortune. He gave me a smile as he poked and prodded at my injury, and proceeded to tell me about the time his now-grown kid jumped on his groin with so much force, he ruptured a testicle. Worst thing he had ever felt in his entire life, he insisted, and you know what? I was pretty damn sure he wasn’t exaggerating.

The eye socket was indeed broken, but it was such a minor blow-out fracture, he sent me on my way with strict instructions to use icepacks and a prescription dose of ibuprofen every six hours while the pain lasted. He insisted it was a no-big-deal injury and that I wouldn’t have any lasting issues—once the swelling had gone down and the healing began, that is.

For such a “no big deal,” it felt pretty horrible.

It looked like absolute hell too. There wasn’t any amount of makeup to cover that thing up, so I didn’t bother. Instead, I hoped the book I brought would shield my face sufficiently enough to keep anybody from wondering if they needed to call the police.

Thanks to the efficient pain meds, Story Time resumed as usual. Being just days before Halloween, Jessie had selected a few appropriately themed books to entertain the kids while Anna played quietly with Giraffe until she fell asleep.

When Jessie had finished reading, I remained seated with my nose glued into the book I had brought—a steamy romance between a blacksmith named Maxwell and a saloon girl, Heidi. I had just gotten to a particularly saucy scene, when I heard the footsteps that I instantly knew to be Brandon’s. Forgetting entirely about the bruise that consumed my face, despite the pain that continued to radiate from the spot, I looked up at him from the pages.

“Are they getting it on yet?” Brandon asked absentmindedly, as he sat down next to me, not yet taking the chance to look at me.

I rolled my eyes defensively. I had begun to say something about how it wasn’t all about sex, that it was actually a very educational novel about living as a bar maid in the 18th century—and then, I saw the look of horror on his face.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked with concern, speaking slowly to enunciate the words.

I was glad then that he had showed up late and couldn’t cause a scene in front of the other parents and kids. His hand flew to my cheek, turning my face to get a better look. I tried swatting him away, but he was relentless, tilting my head back-and-forth and side-to-side.

“Come on, you’re not helping,” I whined, wincing and pushing his hands away.

“Did someone do this?” he asked. His eyes stormed over with murderous intent.

“Yes, someone jumped me to try and steal my millions, and now the police are on the prowl looking for the bastard,” I said, and laughed at my own poorly made joke.

He didn’t. “I’m serious. If someone hit you, I want to know.” His hands balled into fists and dropped to his lap. He suddenly looked helpless—and angry, I noted, as his jaw set tightly in place.

I sighed. “No, nobody hit me. Anna bashed me in the face with her head,” I said, suddenly wishing I had a better story to go along with an injury that looked so horrendously epic.

He shook his head and grumbled something about being right back, and he went to get something from the café. I saw him talking to Scott, who glanced over in my direction and it wasn’t long before his face contorted into a look of shock. He disappeared beneath the counter, then reappeared, handing something to Brandon. He walked back over to me with an icepack in hand, and knelt beside me, holding it to my cheek.

“You’re cute when you’re protective,” I said, teasing. “Thanks, by the way. I’m supposed to keep these things on my face pretty much constantly and I don’t have one with me.”

“Cute? I promise you, there’d be nothing cute about me beating the crap out of someone who laid their hands on you,” he replied with a touch of agitation, and I thought maybe he was angry with me—but the gentle hand against the side of my face said otherwise. His eyes locked with mine. I wanted to look away to anywhere, just to keep myself from drowning, but he held me in place. “And … you’re welcome.”

Anna began to stir, and I pulled myself from his grasp, welcoming the distraction.

Saved by the kid.

“You’re very lucky you’re not a big bad man, Anna,” I said jokingly, reaching to smooth the stray hairs out of her eyes. Brandon sniffed a laugh, but the smile was missing from his face. I assured him that I was only kidding. “I know you’re just looking out for me,” I said with sincerity.

“Is it broken?” He still held the pack against my face, and I nodded with as much of an eye roll as I could muster. “Holy crap. What is her head made of?”

“My theory is that she has a metal plate back there that we don’t know about, but the jury’s still out on whether it’s true.”

“Hmm, you might want to look into that before she does more damage,” he said before standing.

He handed the pack to me and shook his hair out, letting it fall freely around his perfectly structured face, and I stared like a horny guy watching a wet t-shirt contest. I wondered if this was some sort of mating dance, because if it was, I could see how it could be very effective.

With his hands held to the back of his head, he caught my gaze and—there was that smile. The charming little half-smile that never failed to tug at my heart. “What?”

I sat there, stunned at the sight of him, and feeling as though I had never really looked at him before that moment. He stood with his long legs hip-width apart, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Under his jacket, the white t-shirt he wore was just fitted enough to show off the definition of his chest, and I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t curious about how his stomach was fairing under there.

Without any care of how he would take the compliment, I finally replied, “I have no idea how you’re single.”

His jaw dropped with mock insult. “I am more than a pretty face, thank you very much.”

“Exactly,” I muttered, giving him a sidelong glance. I took another look at him and added, “You should give up writing and get into modeling before you lose your hair.”

His eyes dropped to the floor as a crimson flush took over his cheeks. “Actually, I do model on occasion.”

Jesus, take the wheel.          

He rubbed a hand along his jaw, divulging the information without question. “Before I got settled into my job, I modeled a lot more often than I do now—mostly artsy stuff at FIT. It was another way to make extra money while I was bartending.” Then with a shrug, he added, “I still do some from time to time, but not as much.”

“Oh, of course,” I laughed, floating somewhere in a dream world. “You’re that unlikely guy the girl becomes best friends with in a chick flick.”

“Doesn’t she usually end up with him in the end?”

“Yes, but this isn’t a movie,” I pointed out, dropping my eyes to Anna as she climbed into my lap, reminding me again that she was there.

“This is true,” he said with a unreadable twitch of his lips, shuffling his feet. “But, uh, best friend, huh?”

“Well, obviously,” I said, suddenly shy as I adjusted the pigtails in Anna’s hair.

Brandon crouched next to me. “Well, as far as ladies go, you are hands-down the best friend I’ve ever had, and coming here to do absolutely nothing with you is the highlight of my life.” He took one of my hands and kissed my knuckles, bringing the fluttering of butterfly wings to life in my stomach.

God, I need to get laid.

“You lead a boring life.” I giggled like a nervous little girl as he stood back up.

“If this is boring, then I’m not sure I ever want things to pick up again,” he said, turning to walk away. “See you Thursday.”

Shamelessly watching his ass in those beautifully fitted jeans, I made a mental note to let Liz know I wanted Mark to set me up with that buddy of his.