Page 77 of Love Me Boldly

I climbed into my truck and headed to Britta’s. After, I’d head back home, take a couple of hours and pack, get some groceries, and I could still do all of it and be back before nightfall.

I’d give Holly the day to think, but then it was game on.

* * *

Britta’s Caféwas as easy to find as Billy said. Attached to other places like the bakery and an insurance office, the entire building had multiple dark wood peaks, making it seem perfectly at home in the mountain town.

There was nothing mountainy about the inside of the café, though. Done in all whites and hot pinks and lime greens, the small restaurant felt more like I’d walked into a bubble gum shop. It was bright and happy, and I caught a sight stapled to a beam in front of me just beyond the entrance that saidMake yourself at home. Seat yourself.

I did just that and slipped into a two-seater table at the front window. There were five older gentlemen at a small semi-circle table, sitting on chair-height stools, just off where a waitress was standing, pouring coffee. In front of the men were opened Bibles.

“Be right there,” she called to me as we made eye contact.

She slipped the coffees to the men at the semi-circle table, and I reached for the menu stacked on its side behind the salt and pepper and sugar packets at the table. The menu was only one page, front side only, but boasted of buttermilk fried chicken and waffles, eggs Benedict, and all the common breakfast options. There was a small section of sandwiches and soups, or combos of both, for lunch.

I was sold on the chicken and waffles as soon as I read buttermilk, and I slipped my menu back to where it belonged.

“Mornin’.” The same server came to me holding a tray with a glass of water and a coffee mug and had a carafe in her hand. “Need some coffee?”

“Please. Thanks.”

“No problem, sugar. You know what you want?”

“Buttermilk chicken and waffles, please.”

“Anything else?” She finished pouring the coffee and hugged the tray to her chest. “Eggs? Bacon?”

I shook my head. “Think the chicken will be plenty.”

“Sounds good. Be right out with that.”

After she walked away, my gaze went to the outside. My family had never gone skiing on Crystal Mountain. My dad took us to the beach and to bigger cities like New York and Chicago. Before my mom’s death, we did family trips like the Grand Canyon and Disney World. Once we went skiing in Breckenridge. Sophie’s family hadn’t been that much different either, and it’d been a last-minute weekend getaway with all their kids home from college and visiting for Christmas that had led them to Deer Creek the night she died.

Was killed.

Run off the road.

Like always when I thought of Sophie, my chest ached, and the familiar gut punch of pain returned. It’d been eight years, but the pain of missing someone never truly went away. While shocked to learn that Holly’s dad had been responsible, what Holly needed was to give me the chance to tell her that I didn’t blameher.She had nothing to do with that night, and it was obviously clear before that night she hadn’t grown up in a stable home.

It’d hurt to hear. It’d taken me a few days to think it through, but what Holly didn’t know was after that night, I’d called my dad and talked to him. I told him everything.

He’d left the choice to pursue her up to me. Said we only had one life, and I was grown enough to make my own choices.

Would it have been awkward and hard for them to meet? Definitely.

Would it have smoothed out eventually? I had wanted to think so.

But now, I had no idea how to convince Holly that it truly didn’t matter. I had no idea how to scale that wall she’d resurrected and reinforced over the years.

“Ice cream!”

The words were shouted so loudly from outside, it grabbed my attention. I turned to find the source and then laughed as Jonah ran across the parking lot, arms flailing in the air like one of those marketing blow-up tube guys.

Holly followed behind him. Her smile was wide and carefree, something so rarely seen from our history I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hair was down, shining from the bright sun. She was dressed so much like amomin cutoff denim shorts that went halfway to her knees and a fitted, simple pink T-shirt with a small backpack strapped over her shoulders. I still couldn’t believe she was a mom. It still struck me how poorly her mother had treated her. Who dropped off a baby andranlike that, and never once reached out to ensure they were okay after?

A woman riddled with drug abuse—that was who.

I leaned back in the booth, crossed my arms over my chest, and enjoyed the gift of watching Holly with her son, with her walls down like they wouldn’t be resurrected the moment she saw me.

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