Page 27 of Tracing Holland

I offer a shy smile.“Fair enough.I’m sorry.”

She’s clearly not offended, just being gently honest, and grabs my hand as the elevator doors open back to the lobby.“Let’s walk.It’s not far.”

I like that idea as well, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t let go of my hand.Instead, she laces her fingers with mine and falls into a casual stride beside me, as if this is just another walk in our long history of walks.It’s almost surreal how effortlessly she fits into my universe.

I want to call her out on her recent behavior, which is completely at odds with her earlier warnings, but her hand feels so good in mine.I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense.I need it there at the moment and can’t risk losing my grip.

“I’m sorry about Wes,” she begins as we move out of the hotel complex and onto the sidewalk toward Highway 17.

“What about him?”

She shrugs.“He’s being difficult.He’s protective, you know?”

“I can see that.”

“It’s complicated,” she mumbles, and something about her tone unnerves me.There’s history there, deep history that is going to impact more than I can imagine I think.

I glance away.“It’s fine.I get it.I’m used to it,” I mutter.

She seems hurt by that for some reason.“You shouldn’t be.It’s not fair that you have to be.”

I try not to react.“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

She nods.“Yeah, among other things.Luke…” She pulls us to a stop and faces me.“I know I don’t really know you and you don’t know me, but I want to make sure you understand something.I don’t, Iwon’t, judge you for your past.I know all about the rumors and perceptions of how you were before, but I believe in the present.I want us to be friends.”She quiets and meets my eyes.“I respect you as an artist.I’m glad you’re back sharing your gift with the world.”

I just stare for a moment, not sure how to respond to any of that.I’m filled with so many conflicting emotions I don’t know where to start.So, as usual, I go with nothing.

“Thanks.You’re very talented too,” I manage finally, totally weak, but it’s all I’ve got.She grins and shakes her head.

“Am I now?”she muses, moving forward again, the brief cloud lifting.This time she takes my arm, which still feels completely natural for some reason.

“What?You’re not?”I challenge.

“Oh, I am!Incredibly talented, actually.”I love her playful expression.

“So what’s so funny?”I ask.

“Nothing, just us.”

I laugh.“Us?”

She returns my grin and leans against me a little as we walk.“Yeah.Our conversations.The open book talking to a piece of granite.I pour out my soul and get ‘thanks,’ ‘ok,’ ‘sure.’”

I laugh again and meet her gaze.“Oh, I’m sorry.Did I advertise myself any differently?”

She scoffs.“No, my friend.You are exactly as advertised.”

“Holy crap, you’re terrible!”Holland laughs as I hit the limit on yet another hole.Thankfully, the final one.

“I told you I never played before,” I return.

“Yeah, but the 7-stroke max was meant as a limit, not a goal!”

I give her a mock glare.“Oh, really.Then I suppose I should stick to fronting a highly successful rock band instead of smacking a ball through fake alligators.”

“Crocodiles.”

“Huh?”

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