Page 44 of Holiday at Home
She flares her hands, a wistful smile softening her face. “I’d like to.”
I bob my head, eyes locked on hers, unable to deny what’s unsaid between us.
“What else?” she says, clearing her throat. “Tell me more. Tell me everything.”
I tell her about the first time I met Gavin. About New York—the chaos, the business plans, the noise. I consider telling her about the contract I brought home for her to sign, but that would tarnish the evening.
Besides, I’m more and more sure I won’t be asking her to sign the thing.
“And you love it?” Violet asks, studying me carefully. “The cold and chaos of New York?”
I hesitate, swirling the wine in my glass. “I thought I did.”
Her eyes soften, her head cocked, lips parted, like she’s concerned to hear this bit of news. “But you don’t?”
I meet Violet’s gaze, something hot and unsteady rolling through my chest. “Not when I’m here.”
The silence stretches, charged. Her hand rests on the table, fingers curled loosely. Mine slides closer, almost of its own accord, until my fingertips brush hers.
“Not when I’m with you.”
After dinner, we step outside into the cool night air. The sound of waves crashing against rocks fills the quiet. The Palm Grove glitters nearby, every trunk wrapped in lights, branches draped with ornaments that sway gently in the breeze.
Violet lets out a soft gasp. “It looks like something out of a fairy tale.”
“Walk with me?” I ask, offering my hand.
She slips her fingers into mine, warm and sure. We move slowly beneath the canopy of lights. The air smells of salt and faint citrus, the crunch of sand and shell beneath our shoes grounding us in this impossibly dreamlike moment.
“You know,” she murmurs, glancing up at me, “I had no idea how… off… I was until you showed up. I didn’t realize how heavy everything had gotten until you started lightening it.”
Her steps falter. She looks up at me, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. The lights paint her hair in copper and gold, and for a second I almost forget to breathe.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Violet…”
Her voice is a whisper. “Yeah?”
I lean in, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, the tremor in the air between us. I don’t close the distance—not yet. I let the moment linger, heavy and sweet, like the anticipation of unwrapping a present you’ve wanted all year.
Because this? This isn’t just nostalgia. This is something new, something alive.
And I want it to last.
I search for something, anything to say and come up empty handed. Because it’s too soon to tell her I want to stay. And inappropriate to make a joke. So I pull her close, slipping my fingers into that silky hair, then press my lips to hers, hoping my kiss can say everything I can’t.
18
Violet
Something’s different. I can’t put my finger on it, but whatever this is between Simon and me has changed.
He’s more tender tonight.
More deliberate.
More intentional.
Before, it felt like he was constantly joking around. Like he was here because he was worried about me and doing everything he could to make sure I was okay. Tonight, he feels more serious. Like he’s here because he wants to be. Like he wants something…
