Page 32 of The Road Back Home

Hand wrapping around mine, Holden leads me to the front door—at the top of two concrete steps, a heavy wooden thing surrounding dimpled glass—then inside.

The sunlight doesn’t extend here. Instead, it’s dim but cheerful, candles on every table illuminating the space with wicks holding merry flames.

The walls are the same dark-washed brick as outside and decorated with metal artwork.

Strands of tiny delicate lights line the tops of the walls, wrap around the banister of the wide stairwell, twinkle in the darkness at the top of the stairs.

Holden gives his name to a man dressed in all black, a man who nods and grabs two menus before leading us upstairs.

The sturdy door looks identical to its downstairs counterpart, and it swings outwards to expose a terrace dotted with tables.

Each is made of the same heavy wood stained black and surrounded by wrought iron chairs.

Pastel umbrellas stand tall, ready to cast shade over the midday diners, but it’s evening, so the umbrellas are purely decorative.

The man gestures toward a table closest to the balustrade, another wrought iron thing that swirls and collects in raindrop-shaped petals of metal.

Holden pulls out my seat, waits until I sit, then helps me scoot the chair closer to the table.

Once Holden has taken his seat, the host sets the menus on the table and bows slightly before disappearing.

I turn my attention to the world around us.

The historic downtown surrounds them in its proud glory, brick facades blending from one building to the next.

A soft breeze smooths across my skin, and I close my eyes at the tranquility of this moment.

Someone clears their throat from off to the side; I turn my head, open my eyes, to see a black-clad woman with wild blonde hair.

The woman jots down our drink order—a white wine for Holden, a red for me—then heads back inside.

Holden is smiling softly, a tender thing, when I focus on him.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” he says, and I feel my cheeks begin to burn. “I…”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence. I am afraid of what he might have wanted to say. Instead, he coughs quietly and fidgets with the edge of his cloth napkin. A moment later, he gives me a crooked smile.

“So what were you like in school?”

I let out a low chuckle and shake my head. “Really quiet, mostly. Kept to myself, though I was in an art club and student council. Treasurer. Managed to set the curve for my History exams every year without studying.”

“Nerd.”

“Absolutely,” I reply with a laugh. “If you can believe it, I was also a cheerleader.”

Holden pauses, a laugh barking from his chest. “No way.”

“Yep! There wasn’t a gymnastics team, and I completely sucked at band. So I went out for cheer.”

“I can actually kinda see it,” he says after a short pause in which his gaze tracks over my body. “You’ve kept in good shape since then.”

“Are you saying you like my body, Mister Lynch?”

“Among other things, yes. I do. And I’m not ashamed to admit that.”

Giggling, I accept the glass of wine the server hands me, apologizing for not having looked at the menu. The woman smiles brightly and tells us she’ll give us a minute. Silence descends upon the table as both Holden and I examine the restaurant’s offerings.

Over the course of the meal, the sun lowers, bathes him in a gorgeous gold as it heralds in a twilight that twinkles and shimmers with the stars that appear in the sky.

I tell Holden stories of my childhood and my family.

The time I accidentally started a fire in Home Ec while trying to bake a cake.

He shakes his head when my voice cracks on the tales about Katie.

The familiar anger and disappointment well up inside, and I accept his silent reassurance that I don’t have to talk about it.

I don’t have to spill a single detail if I don’t want to.

I don’t want to, so I no longer do. I ask about his own life.

There’s something peaceful about being here, drinking wine and enjoying a nice meal, soaking in Holden’s presence as night settles in, that I don’t want to let go of.

I can’t remember ever being so relaxed with someone else that wasn’t Tristan or Luci.

Holden’s easygoing nature and quick-to-come slow smiles are enough to ease any nerves I had.

After dinner comes lying on a blanket in the park under the stars.

I hold Holden’s hand as we stare at the sky, my giggles breaking the silence more with each ridiculous name he gives clusters of stars.

The temperature has dropped, bringing with it a cooler wind that leaves goosebumps on my skin, but—

“I kinda don’t wanna leave,” I admit softly without looking at Holden. I couldn’t bear any judgment.

“I don’t want to, either,” he replies; I let out a slow breath, tension bleeding away. He continues, “But we have a child who needs us.”

We have a child . I swallow, a harsh thing that tears at my throat, but don’t say anything.

I instead let him help me to my feet, and we work together to fold the blanket.

Holden tucks it under his arm, and we walk hand-in-hand back to the car.

As I buckle my seatbelt, I wonder when we can do this again.

Phil answers the door, takes one look at us, then shuts the door in our faces. I frown and knock again. This time, Phil says something.

“No. Go away.”

“You—you can’t just keep Ashton from us,” I protest.

“Yes, I can. Now shoo, go. I’m kidnapping the kid until tomorrow, so go enjoy a night of, uh, ‘adult activities’ without risk of interruption.”

Phil winks before closing the door. The scrape of the lock sounds so final. My jaw hangs open, my hand rising to knock once more, but Holden’s chuckle stops me. I turn to him.

“He’s—”

“Giving us a chance to spend a night doing whatever we want. And, sweetheart?” His voice drops to a low murmur, sending a shiver up my spine, and his lips brush against my ear when he speaks: “I have so many things I want to do to you.”

And who am I to argue with that ?