Page 62 of Five Minute Man
Chapter 29
Adam was absolutelymiserable. Winter had taken hold with a vengeance, which meant that many of his outside jobs had to be postponed. There was always inside work to be done, but in general, that kind of stuff required a lighter touch and a skilled hand. These last few months, Adam preferred the jobs that required less finesse and more brute force. He wanted to come home at the end of the day physically exhausted. The sooner he could fall asleep at night, the less time he had to think.
To regret.
Christmas was only two days away, and he just couldn’t summon the urge to care. He hadn’t even bothered to get a tree. There was no point. He would be spending the holiday alone this year, having declined his brother’s repeated invitations.
Brandon had left three days earlier, so for the first time in months, Adam didn’t have to worry about putting up a front. For the next ten days, he could justbe.
He poured out the chunky contents of the can of soup into a bowl, then popped it in the microwave to heat up. While he waited, he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, as well as a package of rolls he had picked up at the mini-mart when he had gassed up on the way home.
When the microwave dinged, he took his dinner into the dark living room, not bothering to turn on the light. Pointing the remote at the flat-screen, he turned on the hockey game and settled in on the couch. With his feet planted on the coffee table, he raised the spoon to his lips, cursing when it burned his tongue.
He grabbed the cold beer and took a drink, swishing it around to relieve some of the pain. He had barely swallowed when the doorbell rang.
Adam cursed again. Who would be visiting him? Nobody he wanted to see, that was for sure.
He ignored it, expecting it to ring again. It didn’t. A few moments later, he saw the brief swipe of headlights through the slight gap in the drapes.
Adam got up and went to the window, but he only caught the flash of taillights fading quickly as the vehicle drove away.
Odd.
Adam shrugged to himself and sat back down. He ate the rest of his meal without tasting it and watched the game without really seeing it.
Who had come to the door? Why had they only rung once? And why had they driven away like a bat out of hell only seconds after doing so?
Curiosity finally got the better of him. Adam set his empty bowl on the coffee table then went to the door. A blast of cold wind went right through his clothes, chilling him. Of course there was no one there; he didn’t know why he had even bothered. Then his eyes landed on the package that had been left on the porch.
It was relatively small, wrapped in shiny white paper with glittering snowflakes and sporting a red satin bow. In crimson, calligraphic letters, a small tag bore his name.
He reached down and picked it up. It was heavy, like a book. Looking once more up and down the street and seeing no one, Adam took his package and went back inside.
He sat back down on the couch with the package in his lap, afraid to open it. In his heart, he knew what it was—a present from Holly. He ran his fingers over the paper for a while, thinking about how, only a short while ago, her fingers had probably touched this paper, too.
Adam then took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He carefully pulled at the tape along the folded seam until he could extract the plain white box within. Lifting the cover, he saw a manuscript. He drew in a breath when he saw the title:Five Minute Man.
With shaking fingers, Adam removed the stack of paper from the box, turned to the first page, and began to read.
He read throughout the night, unable to put it down. He had never read anything Holly had written before, but was drawn in from the first page. She had a true gift, able to bring the characters to life, to paint a scene so clearly and thoroughly that he could picture it perfectly.
Of course, part of that might have been because he had lived it.
Hours later, eyes blurry, back aching from sitting for so long, Adam finally reached the last chapter and froze. It consisted of one page, blank, except for three handwritten words scrawled in Holly’s flowing script:
To be determined...
* * *
THE STONE COTTAGE WASa vision. It looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkaid painting. Dusted with glittering snow, carriage lights glowed along the cobblestone pathway leading to the porch. Electric candle lights burned in every window; each sill was draped with boughs of evergreen tied together with big, red bows. In the large living room window, he could make out a Christmas tree, decorated with twinkling white lights and cascading white ribbons. Over the scent of fresh snow and wood smoke, he smelled the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked cookies. Tollhouse, if he wasn’t mistaken.
Adam fingered the small lump in his pocket and took a deep breath. Then he walked up to the door and knocked, careful not to dislodge the wreath of freshly cut pine that hung there.
As if she had been waiting for him, Holly opened the door almost instantly, wearing an oversized holiday-themed sweatshirt and slim fitting leggings that showcased the lovely curves of her legs. She looked smaller than he remembered, more fragile, but so much more beautiful. The light from within created a glowing nimbus around her head, making her look like an angel. The image took his breath away.
She tilted her head up, those big green eyes looking right into his with so much guarded hope he thought his heart might explode.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Holly,” he said, his voice thick.
