Page 51 of Anchored

“I was stunned by your beauty, Maple.”

I grin at him. “Don’t worry, Harold. That happens a lot around me. I’m used to it.”

“Quit flirting with my girl, Grandpa,” Holt teases. “We actually came to ask you about Anchor Lake. As you know, I live there now. Maple’s visiting her grandma for the summer.” Holt turns to me to carry on, which I do.

“My grandma is Gracie Thatcher. Well, she used to be Gracie Graham.”

I let the words hang there as Harold’s face goes slack. Holt reaches over and takes his liver-spotted hand in his. His voice is gentle. Tentative. “We found a diary. If it’s okay with you, we’d like to find out if you’re the Hank Gracie was in love with.”

Harold still doesn’t say anything. He’s breathing, something I actually check by looking at his chest rising and falling. Then his eyes fill with tears as he stares at me.

“You do look just like her,” he croaks.

That makes me smile. Nothing could be a better compliment. “Thank you.”

I thought I’d feel elation at solving this mystery, but now I’ve realized there’s so much more to this story than finding who Hank is. There are two hearts, two families, and an unsolved crime. I don’t want to hurt anyone by bringing up the past. I swear to myself that if Harold doesn’t want to get involved in this, I’ll let it go. Completely.

“Grandma Gracie is starting to have some signs of dementia. I came for the summer to assess her condition and spend time with her. I found an old yearbook that you must have signed. It got me asking questions, trying to figure out who you were. Then we found a diary Gracie kept during that time and read your love story. Found the gold ring.”

Harold inhales sharply and my mouth snaps shut.

Holt darts me a look and then focuses on Harold. “We won’t say a word about knowing who you are if you prefer that. We just wanted to see if you had any interest in coming to see Gracie.”

Harold pulls his hand from Holt’s and sits back. His gaze fixes across the room, and as the time ticks away, I fear we’ve lost him to the memories. Or maybe this is his own dementia kicking in and leaving us out of the equation. Desperation has me opening my mouth again.

“Gracie might not have a lot of time. She gets a scan done soon and we’ll know the extent of the dementia, but if you want to see her or talk to her…you need to act fast.”

Harold’s gaze finally comes back to mine, filled with tears. “Better to leave well enough alone, I think.” I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his hand, cutting me off. “I promise to think about it.”

I roll my lips inward and force myself to accept his answer. I hate it when my family pressures me, making me think their opinion about my life supersedes my own. I won’t do the same to Harold.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Holding his gaze, I nod, wanting him to know I respect his answer.

“Can we come see you for breakfast tomorrow, Grandpa? We’ll hit the road after.” Holt climbs to his feet and reaches back for me.

“I’d like that,” Harold answers.

Holt and I give him hugs and then head out. Back in the Jeep, Holt quickly starts the directions to the hotel he reserved for us. There’s a quiet tension between us and I fear I’ve overstepped.

“I’m sorry if I was too forceful.”

Holt reaches over and holds my hand, his thumb sweeping back and forth across my knuckles. “It’s fine. He handled it well. The decision is his though.”

I nod. “I know. I promise I won’t push anymore.”

Holt pulls our joined hands up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of my hand. “Thank you, Maple.”

The hotel is nice, but standard. Nothing charming like the cabins that surround Anchor Lake. Mookie does her business outside on a narrow strip of grass, and then Holt carries our bags up to our room while I carry Mookie in my arms. She settles quickly in her carrier and I slip into pajamas. I can feel Holt’s molten gaze on me as I change. I’m relieved that I haven’t pissed him off. Dexter would have given me the silent treatment for days if I did something he didn’t care for. It’s almost too much to hope that Holt’s already accepted my simple apology in the car.

“Whatcha looking at, hunky monkey?” I ask as I tug the cami over my head and smooth it over my breasts.

Holt snorts. “That nickname is…”

“Amazing? Best you’ve ever had?”

His grin intensifies. God, he’s beautiful in drawstring shorts and nothing else. His chest is impossibly wide, yet his waist shows his care with his diet and exercise. The stacks of muscles in his upper torso give my eyeballs plenty of landscape to cover. He’s already tanner than he was at the start of summer, whereas I’m the same pale shade.

“Exactly.” He throws the covers back and slides into bed, motioning for me to join him. I do, melting into his side as his arms come around me. Our feet tangle together, and he doesn’t even mind when mine are like ice blocks against his skin.

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