Page 52 of Pros Don't

“Relax, Mallory. I’m not going to hold this against you. I want to help.”

I close my eyes. I’m so tired, and my head is so heavy. I’m finding it harder and harder to argue with him, even though I have Aunt Jo’s voice in my head, telling me to be careful about letting Holland get too close. He’s the source of my income. If things get messy, he could fire me, and then where would I be? If I show any weakness, I’m terrified someone is going to swoop in and call into question how well I can do my job—or worse, replace me.

It happened before. Brevan didn’t want to deal with the mess I brought to his doorstep—even though it wasn’t my fault—and I paid the price. I got fired. I got dumped.

I remember it all too well. But right now, I’m a little delirious, and Holland smells good, and the thought of chicken noodle soup doesn’t sound so awful. In my current state, it might be worth risking my job.

That’s the fever talking—or the drugs. Whichever one, it’s got a really loud voice.

“Fine,” I grumble, keeping my eyes closed. “But just this once.” I sneeze and groan. “I’ll let you help me just this once.”

He chuckles softly. “Just this once.”

18

Let Your Hair Down

Mallory

Holland parks behind the Getaway Café—at least, I think that’s where we are. I may have dozed on the short drive from the golf course to Main Street…I can’t be sure. The next thing I know, the door is opening, and Holland has his head directly in front of me.

“Come on, Mal. Up we go.”

I groan. I swear my head feels heavier by the second. “Can’t I stay here?”

“No. You’d be stiff and cold. Come on. There’s a warm bed upstairs with your name on it.

I sigh and use all my effort to wiggle my way out of the car.

Holland closes the door behind me and wraps his arm around my waist. I’m too tired to protest, and I’m ignoring how much I’m leaning in to his side as he steers me in the direction of the staircase on the outside of the building.

As we’re nearing it, a door opens to its right, and Inez steps outside, carrying a garbage bag. “Oh! I didn’t know you were out here. Hey, you two. Aren’t you cute!”

Even in my sick stupor, I can tell by the wide smile on her face that she’s delighted to see Holland and me together—me slumped against him, looking like I can’t get close enough.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I mumble—or at least I try to mumble. It comes out sounding like,thissislike.

Holland’s chuckle rumbles through his chest. I feel it against my cheek.

Shoot. Why is my cheek on Holland’s chest? I make an active effort to stand up straighter, but he’s got me clamped to his side.

“Mallory’s feeling a little under the weather. She’s heading upstairs to rest.” Holland tugs me toward the staircase.

Inez’s face transforms into a look of concern. “You poor thing. Holland, swing back down, and I’ll have some cinnamon rolls ready for you both when she’s feeling up for them. She’ll need her sustenance to get back on her feet.”

As if on cue, I stumble on the bottom step. I whimper, like a pathetic dog left outside in the rain. What is my life right now?

Holland pauses and releases his grip on my waist. For a moment, I teeter, and I think I may crumple to the ground, but then I’m being lifted.

“Will do. Thanks, Inez. I’m going to get this one into bed.”

Inez laughs lightly, and the words Holland said register in my brain five seconds later.

“Not together!” I call out weakly.

“She’s already inside.” Holland’s breath is cool against my cheek.

That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Breath is supposed to be warm. So why does his feel like the cool breeze off the lake on a hot summer day? I’m transported to the scene, Holland and I lying out on two beach towels, the sun warming my skin as the wind flutters my hair. I swear I can hear the birds cawing overhead. But Holland hates birds.

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