Page 35 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nova

I t’s only been forty-eight hours–not that I’m counting–since our kiss, but not seeing Holt has me completely twisted up in knots. I haven’t had the guts to text or call him.

Between that and the father-daughter bonding lunch and dinner, most of my day was tied up with him with the exception of my time working on the mural. After a lifetime of having a poor relationship with him, I want to soak in every moment I can with Dad.

The second my head hit the pillow last night, I was out.

My dreams were filled with Holt, and by five a.m., I couldn’t take any more.

So I was up before the sun and decided to face the inevitable—going back to the inn and potentially having the talk with Holt.

Yesterday he was again MIA, but I heard bikes through town just before sunset.

I figured he needed more time to process too.

Each stroke of the brush brings me closer to completing one of the most stunning scenes I’ve ever seen. But it only partially distracts me from playing that night on repeat .

I thought that kiss at Brokedown Tavern meant something, but I apparently dreamed up the whole idea that he wanted me for more than just a kiss. Apparently, Reese saw more than what was there too.

It’s just hard to accept that those emotions etched on his face were somehow a figment of my imagination, or worse…faked for the sake of the ruse.

Carefully, I guide my brush with the final stroke, and my heart leaps at the end product.

The mural is a stunning depiction of Walden’s Pond from Henry David Thoreau’s book Walden .

I originally found it ironic due to the charm of the Storybook Inn’s original construction since there is nothing simple about its design.

But from her journals, Ella Mae appeared to appreciate all the nature surrounding the house and often spent time walking with her husband through the woods and exploring the landscape.

She found solace in God’s creation, and even though she enjoyed the conveniences of being wealthy, she always gave glory to God for all she and Frederick had.

As I stare at the completed piece and reflect on Ella Mae’s way of thinking, I’m reminded of all that God has blessed me with—Aunt Birdie, Holt, Christian, and now a sister-in-law and adopted nephew to spend time with and enjoy.

Despite the many mistakes I’ve made—and will continue to make—God has found it in His goodness for me to have a second chance at a healthy relationship with my parents.

Being a part of this restoration process at the Storybook Inn has been a tangible parallel to the changes in my own life.

There’s a pile of new bedding, pillows, and curtains waiting for me to change out with the old. I’m so close to completing this final room I can taste it, so instead of taking a break like I originally planned, I move forward with my interior design experiments.

I change the dark green comforter and pillows for a light blue that matches the color of the pond in the mural.

Then I switch out the dark green curtains with white ones and set up a cushion on the window seat.

I’m pleased to see how the lighter curtains allow the perfect amount of light to spill in as I close them.

“Nova,” Aunt Birdie calls as she comes up the steps.

“In the master bedroom!” I shout, peeking my head out the door for good measure.

She practically skips her way over and hands me a stack of journals with various colored tabs marking the pages. “I found another journal. Look at this.”

I carefully open it to the first tabbed page.

Scanning through the slanted cursive, I can’t help but smile as Aunt Birdie’s vision—and our new design—is noted in Ella Mae’s script.

They had some similar ideas before, but these show how in line they really are with each other.

Almost like they are two halves of a whole separated by a hundred or so years.

“See? It’s like you were born to run this place,” I say. Aunt Birdie has been so down on herself since the accident, and this is the perfect way to show her how good for the Storybook Inn she actually is.

She beams at me. “Thank you, Nova. You’ve been an encouragement in every sense of the word since arriving.”

I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat.

My entire life has been spent trying to make other people happy, only to fall short.

But my attempts were always superficial.

Looking and acting a certain way for my dad’s employees, then running away at nineteen, only to be caught up in the same shallow world with Beau. Never feeling like enough.

Now my days are spent in work clothes, my hair in a messy bun, with paint and dirt under my nails, but I’ve never felt more appreciated—more alive—than I do now.

A tear rolls down my cheeks at the turn my thoughts take. “Well, that’s good to hear. Thank you for giving me a chance. This whole experience has been heart cleansing.”

She gives me a soft smile. “I’m glad. This is just another example of how God works in ways beyond what we ever imagine. Not necessarily mysterious, as the saying goes, but…He fulfills His promises in unexpected ways.”

I nod. “He does.”

Heavy footsteps thud up the stairs, and my heart does a somersault. I’d know those footsteps anywhere. Holt pokes his head around the corner, and hope blossoms inside my chest.

“Can we talk?” he asks, looking directly at me.

“Sure.” My voice cracks.

Aunt Birdie gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” She holds the journal tightly to her chest before leaving Holt and me alone.

Holt tucks his hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe, his large form commanding the space.

He’s wearing one of those flannels again with a T-shirt underneath.

He’s wearing his plain black ball cap that shadows his face, giving an air of mystery.

How’s a girl supposed to focus with all that raw masculine energy sucking up all the air in the room?

And now I’m remembering how amazing it felt having those masculine lips pressed against mine .

“What’s up?” I ask, shaking out of my thoughts and bracing myself for whatever he has to say.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much to help today. But it looks like you’ve made a lot of progress.” He looks around the room, his gaze landing on the mural. “Everything looks amazing.”

I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “There’s already so much beauty in the room. I’m just trying to enhance what’s already here.”

“Either way, you’ve done a great job.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks warm at his praise.

We stand in awkward silence for a few moments before he speaks again. “About the other night at Brokedown?—”

“Don’t worry about it. We were just caught up in?—”

Holt untucks his hands and takes a step forward. “That’s the thing. I wasn’t just caught up then. I’ve been caught up for a while now. Since you came back, actually. Maybe even before then.”

I rub my sweaty palms against my thighs. “Wh-what are you saying?”

He takes a step closer, flipping his ball cap backward so his eyes are no longer shadowed by the brim.

“I’m saying I want you to give me a chance.” He motions between us.

“A chance for?”

He reaches forward but drops his hand to his side as if fighting the desire to touch me. “Give me a chance to prove to you that we’d be good together.”

“We are good together.”

Holt’s voice drops down an octave. “Nova.”

I can’t help the smile that curls my lips. “What exactly are you saying?” I repeat my question, needing full clarification.

He closes the distance between us and takes both my hands in his. “I’m saying I want you. To be mine. To do more than just date. I want to court you or whatever I need to do to make you mine permanently.” His good eye searches mine, the glass one making me ache for all he’s been through.

“You want me?”

“All of you. If you’ll have me.”

Without hesitation, I trace the scar that runs down his face with the pad of my finger. He shivers. I pull my hand back and hold it to my chest.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says in a gruff voice before grabbing my hand and resting it against his scar, his rough palm a reminder of the hard labor he does regularly. “Unless you’re sorry for not responding to my question. Will you have me? Can I have you?”

I bite my lip. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

“So would I.” He kisses my palm, and I practically melt on the spot. “These hands and the woman they belong to make me feel a little less broken. You don’t look at me, my scar, or my glass eye with disgust or pity.”

“How do I look at it?”

“You look at it almost in wonder.”

“It’s a humbling reminder of what you’ve been through. How you’ve sacrificed so much for your country.” I stroke his cheek with my thumb.

The rapid rise and fall of his chest makes me brave. I raise to my tiptoes and place a kiss on the left side of his jaw where the scar ends .

I come off my toes and place both feet firmly on the ground. “Thank you.”

“It was my honor.”

“Always so humble,” I tease.

We stare at each other for a long stretch of seconds. Holt breaks the silence when he asks, “So where do we start?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.” Licking my lips, I add, “I’ve never been courted before. Just flaunted.”

He shakes his head. “To be completely honest with you, I can’t promise that I won’t flaunt you.”

My face crumples as my heart falls.

He quickly recovers. “Not because I want to look a certain way, but because I want people to see how lucky I am. How blessed I am that God gave me you.”

I can’t help but smile at that.

My hand falls from his face.“I’m okay with you flaunting me because I want to flaunt you too.”

The moment the words are out of my mouth, his arms go around me and he pulls me against his firm chest. His heart hammers beneath my hand that’s splayed there.

First, he kisses my forehead, then my temple, before landing on my lips. He moves his right hand to cup the side of my face, his thumb gently tilting my head up for better access to my mouth. His lips are a heady mixture of sweet tea and mints, the pressure making my knees weak and my head spin.

His lips work in perfect sync with mine, as if he can anticipate my next move, and he flawlessly tilts his head, firms the pressure, and splays his hand across my back as his hand slides down to cup the side of my neck.

Our first and second kisses were incredible.

But this one. This kiss. This purposeful kiss has thrown every kiss I’ve shared with any other man out the window.

Beau? Beau who? It’s Holt. Everything is Holt.

This kiss is life. I don’t want to kiss any other man for the rest of my days. Holt wants me for me. Not because of how I can make him look in public, to uphold an image, but because he wants me.

I curl my hands around his flannel and press my body fully against his until I hear a low rumble from deep in his chest. Slowly, he pulls back until he rests his forehead against mine. Both of us are out of breath.

“You are even more beautiful freshly kissed.” He stares down at me, tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, and slowly runs his finger down my face until it traces the lines of my mouth.

“These lips...” He finishes his sentence by working his own lips over mine again until I’m melted on the spot and whimpering at the emotions flooding my entire being.

As he pulls back, both eyes closed, a smile on his face, my chest constricts. He opens his eyes and gazes at me with a stare that isn’t full of lust, as I’d usually expect, but adoration. A lifetime of friendship that’s blossomed into something beautiful.

I shyly reach up and stroke down the side of his face, loving the way his scruff feels against my skin.

Holt slides his hand across my jaw, his thumb strokes my cheek, and his expression shifts to one of concern.

“What’s wrong?” He lifts his other hand so he’s cupping the sides of my face, brushing his thumbs across both of my cheekbones.

“Absolutely nothing. I don’t remember having my heart feel so full, free, and safe.”

“Then why are you crying?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink, noticing for the first time the wetness in my eyes. Shaking my head, I answer, “I don’t know. These aren’t sad tears though. I promise. These must be tears of joy.”

He gently tightens his grip on my face and leans down while I rise up to kiss him again and again.

We move across the room until my back hits the window seat.

Holt lifts me up so I’m sitting on the cushion I just put there.

We kiss for endless minutes, exploring the depths of this new relationship that feels as natural as breathing.

It’s as if we’re making up for lost time.

Holt kisses me as though he’s weeding out the superficial kisses of my past. And I kiss him back with purpose, showing him how wanted—no, needed—he is by me.

That what I feel for him isn’t puppy love or some superficial experience but something I want to fall into day after day. For the rest of my life.

The thought takes my breath away, and I pull back.

He looks down at me. “What’s wrong?”

I place my hands on his chest, loving the feel of his strength beneath my fingertips and how his pulse thuds against my palms.

“I-I think.” I shake my head. “I think I’m?—”

Holt kisses me again and pulls back just enough to mutter, “I’m in love with you too. I’ve known for a while now.”

My arms slide up his chest to circle around his neck. “You’ve known you were in love with me for a while?”

“Since the moment I saw you sitting on your couch with a cookie hanging out of your mouth as you painted your toenails.”

“Squatting slobs do it for you, huh?”

My words are meant to be playful, but instead of laughing, his eyes darken and his entire demeanor takes on a whole new intensity. “You, Nova Price, do it for me. ”

I cover my face with both hands but he gently peels them away. “Don’t hide from me and don’t be embarrassed in front of me. I love all of you. Everything about you. You are what I want. What I need in this life, and Lord willing, the next.”

My eyes fill with more tears, and I thank God that these tears aren’t of sadness or from feeling inadequate, but instead are ones of unadulterated joy and gratefulness. Then I thank Him for Holt and giving him to me even though I don’t deserve his love.