Page 8 of Reece & Holden (Gomillion High Reunion #6)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Holden

I’m glad for the first flurry of customers this morning.

It helps distract me and stops me from thinking about how much my head hurts and how sore my throat is after retching yesterday.

It also doesn’t allow me to dwell on the deep embarrassment that threatens to overwhelm me.

If anyone had told me twenty-four hours ago that my life could have gotten worse, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I’d be wrong.

I haven’t seen Reece for twenty years and the first thing I do is throw up in front of him.

I wanted to act calm and cool, like I didn’t care, and all I did was manage to look pathetic and lose the contents of my stomach.

It’s embarrassing, and the only way it could’ve gone worse would have been if I’d actually thrown up all over him. Though that was a close call.

At least he wasn’t awful about it, in fact he helped me, and his hand on my back was soothing.

But still, that doesn’t stop him from being an asshole.

I vaguely remember him saying something about being sorry.

I think that’s what he said, I don’t remember a lot about it, except of course that I’ll never be able to look him in the face again.

I can’t bear him thinking of me as weak Holden who can’t even hold his drink.

It’s just another one of my failings for him to pick on.

I take a few deep breaths to calm the rising anxiety.

It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me.

It doesn’t, I repeat to myself as a mantra under my breath and in my head while I serve customers.

I’ve finally started to believe it when I glance towards the door and see Reece just outside.

It’s too late to flip the closed sign over, and I briefly contemplate locking myself in the stockroom until he’s gone, but there’s a customer in the store.

Mrs. Goodman, a regular who looks like she’s almost ready for me to ring up her purchases.

I could duck behind the counter but he’s already through the door and he’s seen me.

He comes straight over, a paper bag in his hand.

“Hi, Holden. How are you feeling?”

Embarrassed, sore, and groggy. I’d like the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Fine,” is what I reply.

“That’s good, you didn’t look great last night.”

Oh, way to remind me exactly how I looked in front of him last night. I revise my earlier thought; I want the ground to swallow him up instead. I don’t answer. I know he helped me but I’m not thanking him, he doesn’t deserve that.

He lifts the paper bag. “I brought cinnamon rolls. I remember that coffee shop which makes the best in the county.” He places the bag on the counter.

The smell wafts towards me—warm, sweet cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg.

He’s right, their cinnamon rolls are award-winning.

My stomach grumbles reminding me I haven’t eaten anything for a long time.

Mrs. Goodman reaches the counter, and Reece moves away and starts browsing the store while I ring up her order.

Once the door has closed behind her he makes his way back over.

He looks just as handsome as he did last night, dressed today in jeans and a black tee.

It’s classic and understated, and it makes me feel gawky in my sweater.

Another knitted creation, more muted today as that’s how I’m feeling.

Now we’re alone, a cold prickle of nerves crawls up my skin. I don’t allow it to develop any further and I blurt out, “W-what is it you want?”

It would’ve sounded better without the stammer, but that’s not something I can help. I see a flash of surprise cross his face. Good, he wasn’t expecting that, and a small tingle of triumph fizzes through me making me feel a bit better.

“Like I said last night, I want to apologize.”

He pauses. Is he expecting a response?

“Okay,” I give him flatly.

"I’m sorry, truly sorry for how I treated you in those last few months of high school. It was very wrong of me.”

The door opens and a group of customers enter the store and start looking at the yarns. This is not the place to start this conversation.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh.

“Fine? That’s it? Just fine?” His voice is incredulous laced with a hint of hurt. Good.

“No, Reece.” I lower my voice to almost a hiss but I’m emboldened by other people around. “It’s not fine. You can’t come here after twenty years and expect me to forgive you in two sentences.”

His face creases slightly and I’m glad, but I’m also disappointed that he thought this would work. The customers move closer to us.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.” It’s more polite than he deserves and he stands there for a few seconds. I think he’s going to say something else but he presses his lips together like he thinks better of it. Instead he gives me a slight nod and turns to go.

“You forgot your cinnamon rolls,” I call out as he reaches the door. He looks back at me with an almost sad expression on his face.

“I bought them for you.”

When he’s gone I allow the deep breath I’d been holding to escape and grip the counter for support as my knees feel like jelly. But I did it. I stood up to him, and that revelation makes me feel a whole lot better.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” Clara exclaims excitedly as she bursts through the door thirty minutes later. I know I don’t need to answer her, she’ll tell me anyway. She flings her bag down onto one of the easy chairs.

“I just saw the most awkward promposal ever. In the hotel foyer, there were flowers and balloons and there was this guy—well, two guys, and a woman. And I thought the first guy was going to ask the other one to the prom, but in the end the woman did, and it looked super awkward.”

“That does sound weird.” I agree with her. I’m used to her gossip by now so it probably wasn’t as dramatic as she makes it sound. “You can point them out to me later.”

“Are you still planning on going tonight, then?” she asks, a concerned frown creasing her brow. “How are you feeling?”

Now I’ve stood up to Reece once, and it worked, I know I can do it again. I’m not going to let him ruin my weekend, and it will truly be the opportunity to show him he hasn’t won, which was the point of going in the first place.

“I’ll be alright as long as I don’t drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says.

“I said no alcohol,” I retort and earn myself an eye-roll. I’m good at bad dad jokes.

“What are these?” Clara asks, poking the bag of cinnamon rolls that are still on the counter as I’ve been too busy to move them.

“Reece brought them,” I drop in as casually as I can.

“Reece was here?” Her voice is sharp and I’m glad the store’s currently empty. “What did he want? Tell me all about it.”

“He was here to apologize.”

“For being an asshole.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle.

“Wait, you didn’t forgive him, did you?” Her voice is suspicious.

“No, of course not,” I protest and turn to look at her. “In fact, I told him to go away.”

I watch as her jaw actually drops for three full seconds and then her mouth spreads into a wide smile and she whoops.

“Way to go. I knew you could do it, you got rid of that creep.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I’d call him a creep, but I do feel good about it.”

She looks at the bag. “He did bring cinnamon rolls.”

“Yes he did.”

“Hmmm,” she muses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As a peace offering it’s a good start.” She pulls the bag toward us and I laugh.

“I’ll make the coffee, shall I?” I go into the small kitchen area at the side of the stockroom and start the coffee machine.

The cinnamon rolls are delicious and Clara’s words echo around in my head.

Were they meant as a peace offering? Did I dismiss him too abruptly?

Well, no point dwelling on that now. If he truly does want to apologize, he’ll try again.

“You’d better get going,” Clara says, licking her fingers to remove the last of the stickiness from the roll. I glance at the clock.

“Hells yes.”

Clara arranged to finish her shift early at the hotel so she can manage the store for me this afternoon while I go to the reunion event. She’s good in the store, almost as good as me, and I hope to be able to offer her a permanent position one day if my plans to open a second store work out.

“Are you going like that?” she asks, and I look down at myself and the sweater I have on.

It’s not bad, and it suited my mood this morning, but we’ve been told they’ll be taking photographs today.

I peel off the sweater and replace it with a blue sweater vest that matches the soft-blue plaid button down I have on.

“Better?” I enquire.

“Perfect,” she declares. “Now go, and I’ll see you later.” She shoos me towards the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I laugh. That doesn’t leave a lot of scope so I think I’ll be safe, but the laughter does release some tension and I head toward the high school, determined to enjoy myself.