Page 22 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
I wouldn’t let this go so easily. But why? Why did I care so much if Holly saw this movie or not? A big part of me said it was because Holly needed a friend. Another part said I needed one. Which was crazy because I had plenty of friends. I truly did notneedmore. But I never shied away from one either. Feelings and reasoning aside, we would have a movie night together. “I’d tell you just go home and watch the movies on your own, but I don’t trust you.”
“Excuse me?” she snipped.
I backpedaled. “I trust you. I just meant, you’ll tell me you’ll go home and watch them, but you’ll push it off, and weeks will go by and you still won’t have seen them. I think you’ll enjoy the movies.” And hopefully learn to let others (or me) in. Though I really should walk away. But Holly was like made-from-scratch cookie dough. Too hard to resist.
“I’ll watch them and report back to you,” she stated.
“Or…” I hedged. “I’ll provide popcorn, treats, and beverages. You choose the place, and we can make it an outing.”
Her perfectly shaped brows pulled together. “Why are you pushing this so much? And what if someone found out and reported us to your uncle?”
Yeah, why was I? I’d be gone in two months. We would be in huge trouble if Anthony thought our platonic outing was a date. I shouldn’t bother with Holly. But…I cared about making her happy and wanted to be her friend. Good idea or not. “Because I think it would be good for us. Consider it a bonding experience to strengthen our co-management of the restaurant.” That was absolute rubbish, but I was going with it. It also gave me a valid excuse if someone did find out we hung out outside of work—but I wasn’t going to tell anyone, and if Holly didn’t say anything, I wasn’t sure how Uncle Anthony would ever know anyway.
She flung her hand out to the side. “You can’t just say that about everything, you know.”
“Say what?”
“That it’s for the restaurant, or management, or whatever. Every idea is ‘to help increase revenue.’ Explain to mein detailhow watching a cartoon helps profits?”
I sat in the chair across from her. “First of all, I quite enjoy our time together, so that’s reason number one. Number two, any time we come to understand one another better, our employees benefit. Number three, there are a few elements that I won’t go into detail about because I don’t want to ruin the movie for you, but I believe they are good lessons for anyone to learn.”Especially you. “Number four, you may never admit this, but I think you might actually enjoy this homework assignment. Popcorn, licorice, soda? What’s not to love? Number five, you get to spend more time with me, and when is that ever a bad thing?” I shot her a cocky grin.
She placed her palms on her desk and leaned forward. “Are you bored, Mr. Ivy, or lack friends? I mean, you seem so friendly and nice that it’s hard to believe you need friends. But why do you care so much about me, the employees, and this restaurant when you’re leaving in a few months?”
Ouch. “I have plenty of friends, but is there a limit on how many one person can have?” I shook my head. “There is not. And I care about doing my job to the best of my abilities because any job worth doing is worth doing well. I love what I do, and it doesn’t matter how much time I spend at any given restaurant. When I commit, I hold nothing back. Why are you so adamant we do nothing but work all the time?”
“Have you ever spent time with any of the other chefs or employees at the other restaurants where you’ve worked, outside of office hours, that didn’t include official business?”
A glint entered her eye, one that said she’d proven her point.
Too bad I was a friendly guy who enjoyed getting to know new people. “Yes, I have. Multiple times. The last chef I worked with became a good friend. I still keep in contact with him. I get together every so often with the assistant manager, now the manager, at the first restaurant I ever worked at. This may seem crazy to you, Chef Dewhurst, but not for me.”
“If I do this”—she held up a finger for emphasis—“if, then I don’t want to hear another word about how I’m not a team player.”
I smirked. “I never said you weren’t a team player. A grumpy player, yes. But notnota team player.”
“Grumpy?” she said, offended.
I winced. “I’m sorry. Was that new information to you?”
Her jaw went slack, and she exhaled a tiny scoff, letting me know I had gone too far.
“I apologize. I was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Consider it ignored.” She sighed. “Let’s watch a cartoon together and braid each other’s hair.”
I grinned. “I do a really good French braid.”
She blurted out a laugh. “I’m sure all your girlfriends helped with that.”
Rude. Presumptuous. And quite judgmental. “My grandma taught me. Every summer, my cousin Lola’s long, flowy hair got so tangled playing at the beach that Grandma made all of us learn how to do Lola’s hair so she wouldn’t have to cut it all off to rake a comb through it.” I smiled at the memory of my cousin so caught up in building sand castles that she’d never bothered with brushing her hair in the mornings. Sometimes I missed the summers of my youth when Mom’s side of the family would gather in Nantucket for three months.
“Oh. Well.” Her lips pulled up into the slightest smile. “That’s actually sweet.”
“It is. But because of your comment, I’m passing on the braiding. What kind of snacks do you prefer?”
“Cream soda, Red Vines, and Junior Mints, please.”
I wasn’t one for junk food, but on road trips and movie nights, I made an exception. “All excellent choices. Now, your place or mine?”
