Page 22 of Holly's Grizzly

Irving huffs a soft laugh. “That would be an understatement. I… I used to think there was something wrong with me. I could never get over all the noise and the lights and the cars. Too much to process, maybe. Just more than I could ever really handle.”

He lapses into silence, brow furrowed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, Irving. I think we’re all just a little bit… different. And if a city’s not your thing, it’s not your thing.”

His eyes cut back to me, a tentative smile turning up the corners of his lips.

“Besides,” I tell him, catching that smile and answering it with one of my own, “cities are overrated anyway. Why do you think I’ve spent the last year running away from mine? There’s something to be said for the solitude.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He scrubs a hand over his beard, then looks down at me with an expression on his face I can’t quite read. “Not that it can’t be lonely sometimes, too. Especially around this time of year.”

The moment stretches out between us. Silent, weighted, but somehow not uncomfortable. Like we understand each other even though we barely know each other.

I probably shouldn’t read so much into it, and I probably shouldn’t be spilling so much of my heart out to a stranger.

But we’re still in this weird, yet somehow completely natural space of trust and intimacy, so the words tumble out without me giving them much thought.

“Yeah, I… I get that. And I wasn’t fully honest earlier. I did have… other plans. For the holiday, I mean.”

I tell him about Nora and Elias and their beautiful home on the coast. I tell him about Kenna and Blair and their whirlwind romance. I tell him how spending the holiday with them sounded like way too much warm, cozy happiness to handle.

“I feel awful about it, you know? Avoiding them probably makes me a terrible friend, but I just… couldn’t. Being alone sounded better.”

The shame of it all settles heavy on my shoulders, but Irving only makes a low, understanding noise in the back of his throat. When I meet his gaze, there’s no judgment there.

“Taking the time and space you need to heal is nothing to be ashamed of, Holly. I’m sure your friends would understand that.”

My throat tightens, but I nod slowly. “Yeah, I think they would.”

Iknowthey would. They’ve been patient as hell with me as I’ve processed my breakup and tried to keep a brave face. They’ve made it clear they’re here to talk about it, even if I’ve mostly kept it to myself. They’ve remembered to include me and made time for me even while both their lives have changed so drastically in the past year, while they’ve been off finding their happily ever afters with their mates.

Irving’s words also remind me I forgot to call them last night like I said I would, and I resolve to do that as soon as we get back into the house.

“Come on,” Irving says. “I’ll show you the rest of the place. I think I’ve got that old laptop I mentioned up in the guest apartment. If you want, I can bring it down to watch a movie or something later so you won’t lose your mind from boredom.”

I laugh as I follow him toward a set of back stairs. “I’m not bored. I like it up here. I like the solitude… and the company.”

Another weighted moment, a pause as Irving turns to face me, some unspoken thought hovering in his expression. He chooses to discard it, though, offering me another smile as he leads me up the stairs.

But in that pause, there are a hundred different ways I might read that stoic expression of his. Heat and wanting, hesitation, like he can’t quite bring himself to acknowledge… whatever this is between us.

And that’s fine.

I’ll just have to make it clearer.

I’ll have to try harder to make it obvious I don’t just like his company, I really, really like it. And I’d like it even better if we could both drop the polite little dance we’ve been doing.

I make that resolution, too, mind whirring with the ways I might help him shed all of his hesitation and give in to this wild, unexpected magick brewing between us.

“So, what you’re saying is that he’s probably not a backwoods ax murderer?”

“Kenna,” I hiss into my phone, looking over my shoulder to make sure Irving hasn’t come back inside the cabin. “No, he’s not.”

I don’t know how good his hearing is, but I definitely don’t want him to walk in and hear my friends speculating on whether he’s some kind of criminal.

“We have to ask, Hol,” Kenna says matter-of-factly. “I mean sure, we know where he lives and all that, but you could still be in danger.”

“I’m not in danger.”

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