Page 24 of Anchored

I whoosh out a deep breath of air when I recognize that deep tone. “Holt! Where are we?”

The lights flicker on, and I blink to let my eyes adjust. I look around, realizing I’m in a supply closet, not a bathroom. Then my gaze snags on Holt. I forget to breathe. The man looks like a lighter-haired Clark Kent in his thick black glasses. Suddenly, there’s not a lot of space in here. If I move at all, I’ll brush up against him, which suddenly sounds like a fine idea.

“I, uh, was, uh…” Great. I’ve forgotten how to speak.

Holt’s lips hitch up on one side. “Thought you’d see if we have enough blankets and bandages?”

I nod. “Yeah, you know, you can never be too on it with inventory. You know what they say: fail to prepare, prepare to fail. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout.” I give him the salute, complete with four fingers.

He full-on smiles now, which makes my insides turn over. His light eyes appear more blue today, matching his scrubs. “Do we pass muster? Or is it pass the mustard? That phrase always confuses me.”

“Pretty sure there’s no mustard in here. I was actually looking for the bathroom.”

Holt hooks his arm around my waist, his huge hand warming my lower back as he shifts. I inhale sharply, getting that scent of his I love so much. We awkwardly switch places in the closet and he goes to twist the door handle behind me. His face transforms into a frown.

“Shit.”

“What?” That came out a little too breathy. It’s just he’s leaning over me and I can smell his soap and cologne and I like it a little too much.

“The door’s locked.”

My eyes go wide. Panic replaces the sexual need in an instant. “What?”

Holt’s gaze comes back to me. He plants both hands on my hips and drills his gorgeous eyes into me as he leans down the slightest bit. “Don’t panic. Debbie will come looking for me in a matter of minutes.”

The air starts feeling like it’s being sucked out of the room. Even my head feels a little dizzy. Holt must see the panic because he peels his hands off my hips and cups my face instead, making me focus on him.

“Hey, did you ever ask Gracie about Hank?”

He’s distracting me. I know it, and yet it still works. “Yeah. I did. But she just said he was a sweet boy and then mentioned dogwoods. And then she was confused who I was talking about. I didn’t get much.”

Holt nods, his thumb stroking across my cheek like a metronome. “There are more old-timers around town. We can start visiting them and asking the same question. Certainly he couldn’t have vanished into thin air, right?”

That flutter in my belly has more to do with Holt and his sweet gesture than panic now. “Maybe he got locked in a supply closet somewhere, never to be seen again.”

Holt smiles and it’s blinding. I find myself smiling back.

And that’s when the door swings open and I almost go tumbling backward. Holt’s hands fly off my face and the head nurse stands in the bright hallway with her hands on her hips.

“You’re supposed to be with Jimmy,” she says testily, eyeing us both.

My cheeks have flamed bright red, which isn’t helping us look innocent. Holt takes the lead, thankfully, his hand landing on my back again. “We got locked in here, Debbie. Can you ask maintenance to take a look?”

Debbie’s eyebrows wing up like she doesn’t believe a word he just said. But she nods, her pen flying over the stack of papers and patient records she holds in her arms. When she looks up again, she looks back and forth between us.

"What’s this I hear about you two being engaged?” Her question is loud enough I wonder if there’s an invisible microphone in front of her mouth.

A pretty redheaded nurse, pushing another retiree to the lunchroom in a wheelchair, nearly breaks her neck, craning her head to get a look at us. I do not miss the way she looks longingly at Holt before turning her murderous gaze to me.

“My grandma. She’s confused. She thought Holt was my fiancé. The doctor said not to rile her up, so we just went with it.” I rush to get the words out, wanting to set the record straight before either Debbie or the pretty redhead rough me up in the parking lot.

Holt, however, does not feel the need to set the record straight. “This is Maple Thatcher, and for the next few months—or until Gracie’s deemed stable—she’s my fiancée.” He says it so sternly my nipples tingle.

Debbie studies us both, then shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat. Jimmy’s waiting.”

Holt insists on helping me into the Jeep and closing my door for me when we leave Sunny Shores. While Dexter wasn’t much for gentlemanly gestures, I’m just now realizing how much I love them.

“How about we work off the day with a quick hike on the east side of the lake before I make you dinner?” Holt suggests, starting the engine and heading for home.

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