Finding Holly Read online

  Finding Holly

  B. E. Baker

  Copyright © 2019 by Bridget E. Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Donald Stuckey

  * * *

  Thank you for being the best dad in the whole entire world and providing me with a pattern so I could find the best husband in the whole entire world. You may not be leaving me gobs of money, but you sure have given me gobs of love.

  * * *

  You also taught me that love is what lasts.

  Contents

  1. Paisley

  2. James

  3. Paisley

  4. James

  5. Paisley

  6. James

  7. Paisley

  8. James

  9. Paisley

  10. James

  11. Paisley

  12. James

  13. Paisley

  14. James

  15. Paisley

  16. James

  17. Paisley

  18. James

  19. Paisley

  20. James

  21. Paisley

  22. James

  23. Finding Home Bonus Chapter

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by B. E. Baker

  1

  Paisley

  I enjoy simple things.

  A hot cup of coffee. A fluffy cat curled up on my lap. A perfectly shaved snow cone. Disappearing into a good book. So when someone walks by my window holding a bag marked “Pleasant Pie,” my eyes widen. The new pie place around the corner I have been stalking is open. I slide into my ridiculously comfortable Brooks sneakers, still so new the shoelaces are crisp, and jog right over.

  The cold wind rushes around me as I close the door, clearly as excited as I am about all the gorgeous pies behind the glass counter. “If I ran all the way here from Holden Street, I probably burned enough calories to eat a slice of pie, right?” I ask.

  The cashier’s creepy perma-smile wavers. “Uh, isn’t Holden Street like right there?” She leans forward to look out the window at the street signs. How does she not know the location where she works? I mean, really.

  “Right,” I say, “that’s true. But I forgot to mention that I live on the third floor.” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s two flights of stairs, just to get down here.”

  The cashier, who I’m beginning to think is kind of dopey, tucks her black hair behind her ear. “I’m not, like, a nutritionist, or whatever, but—” She points at the glass cabinet. “The calories are listed on a little plaque near each slice, and I doubt you burned more than ten calories getting here.”

  Hmm. “I don’t actually care whether I burned enough. Your job is to give me a somewhat convincing laugh and then not point out that your pie has exactly—” I squint. “Nineteen bazillion calories per slice. Because you want me to buy it. All of it.”

  “If you buy all of it, what will I do for the rest of the day?”

  Oh for the love. “You want me to buy some of it though, right?”

  “Of course.” She nods her head. “Did you want a slice?”

  “I ran all the way here, so yeah, I do.” Ran might be a stretch, but my legs moved up and down, propelling my body forward. I’m not one to quibble over variances in speed. “Actually, since I’ve never tried any of your pies, I might need two.”

  Her name tag says Judy, but I’m going to call her Judgy McJudgerson, because her eyebrows shoot up like jumping beans and her mouth drops.

  “Coconut Cream and Muddy Bottom Pecan.” I want to try the cherry too, but. . . you know what? She’s not my boss. Mary is actually much nicer than this lady. “I’ll take a slice of cherry, too.”

  “To go?” she chirps.

  “No.” I stick out my bottom lip. “I’ll be eating them all here. Alone.” And I’m totally going to stuff my face in front of her until my stomach pops. Serve her right—she should have to clean up my busted innards.

  “Can I get a name?” she asks flatly.

  “Paisley,” I say.

  I sit down at the table near the window so I can watch as people pass outside.

  March in Atlanta is a strange time. Some days are sunny and close to seventy degrees. Other days, like today, are in the forties. And today, to add insult to injury, it’s drizzling. I shiver a little thinking about it and hunker down into my fluffy, hooded jacket. They say you burn more calories when it’s cold, so I probably totally burned at least one slice off already.

  I have no idea why it’s taking her so long to cut three slices and plonk them down on a plate, but at least I’m amply entertained. Some of the people walking by have absolutely no idea it’s cold today. One woman jogging past, who doesn’t even slow down to ogle the pie shop, is wearing shorts that barely cover her rear, a tank top, and ear muffs. No lie. Because without cute pink puffs to cover the side of her head, her ears might be cold.

  The cashier brings me a plate just as Miss Earmuffs turns the corner. “Thanks, Judgey.”

  “Oh, no, it’s Judy,” she says.

  “Right,” I say. “My mistake.”

  I wish Mary was here to make me feel guilty for teasing the pie lady and less guilty about stuffing my face. But Mary has fallen into a tax and wedding-planning hole. Trudy would have made a hilarious joke about Miss Earmuffs that would have left my side hurting from laugher, but she’s too busy studying and job hunting. Plus, even if she had time, Troy shouldn’t really be gobbling down buckets of pie. And if Geo were here, she’d order three pieces of pie and the waitress would guffaw at her looks and gush about how she could stay so svelte and gorgeous while eating whatever she wants. To make matters worse, Geo would eat it, and stay exactly every speck as gorgeous and skinny as she always is.

  I poke at my pie, wondering exactly how much more my thighs will jiggle if I eat every last bite. I take my first bite of the Muddy Bottom Pecan and decide it’s worth it. No matter how much cellulite this turns into after it’s processed, it’s worth it. As I’m stuffing my first bite of cherry into my mouth, a tall, handsome, dark haired guy walks by the window.

  He stops dead, and my mouth drops open.

  I’m not mooning over his looks, although they are almost as striking as my friend Geo’s, and that’s uncommon. You don’t often see men with hair as black as pitch and eyes as green as plastic Easter grass. His irises are the exact shade of that stuff that comes in big bags to fill the bottom of little kids’ baskets. I know, because when Geo taught me about Easter egg baskets and I saw the stuff for the first time, I thought, I’ve seen that before. Which is why the eyes aren’t throwing me right now. No, it’s the man’s presence in Atlanta at all that shocks me.

  Cole is definitely not supposed to be here.

  His ridiculously green eyes widen and his mouth shapes into a perfect ‘O’ in front of me. He looks absolutely nothing like me. Which would be uncommon if we were full siblings, but we only share a mother. And he looks exactly like his father, judging from the photos.

  My brother Cole wastes no time ducking into the pie shop and practically sprinting over to my table. “What are you doing here?”

  I don’t laugh at the absurdity of his question. Trust him to spring that on me, as though I’m the one who’s out of place. “Here?” I point at the table on which my three pieces of pie rest. “As in, inside a shop that sells delicious, scrumptious, calorie-laden pie?”

  Cole opens his mouth, but before he can answer, I continue. “Or do you mean, what am I doing in Atlanta? Because that�
��s what I wanted to ask you, since you didn’t bother to tell me you had any plans of crossing the ocean that usually separates us.”

  Cole rolls his stupidly-beautiful eyes. “If I had warned you that I was coming, you’d have made up some excuse.”

  “Excuse?” I pretend I don’t understand what he’s saying.

  He sits down next to me and picks up my fork.

  I swat at his hand. “Hey, that’s mine.”

  “You’re going to eat three pieces of pie all by yourself?” He’s even judgier than Judge Judy.

  Ooh, that’s better than Judgey McJudgerson, not that Cole would get it. “Look, I can do whatever I want. You aren’t the prince of Atlanta.”

  “I kind of expected a hug, maybe, or a little cooing. After all, I haven’t seen you in almost two years.”

  I stand up and pull him close for a hug. Before I let go, I whisper in his ear, “I’m happy to see you, but get your own dang pie, or I might send you back home today.”

  Cole laughs as he walks over to the counter. I notice Judge Judy doesn’t hassle him for ordering two slices. In fact, she practically trips over her feet carrying his pie over. It reaches the table seconds after he returns, but she doesn’t make much effort to head back to the cash register.

  “Umm, did my brother forget to pay for that?” I glance up at her. “Maybe you’re waiting here to make sure he doesn’t cheat the restaurant?”

  “Oh.” Judge Judy giggles. “No, he paid.” She still doesn’t leave.

  Ohmygosh, I forgot how obnoxious it is to hang out with Cole. “Well.” I lift my eyebrows.

  “He’s your brother?” she asks.

  “My much older brother who doesn’t live here and already has a wife, a girlfriend and an ex-wife,” I lie. “Now scram.”

  Cole’s dreamy eyes dance when she leaves.

  “I should punch you,” I say.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  “A black eye might ugly you up a little.”

  He lifts one dark eyebrow. “I don’t follow. And I thought my English was pretty solid. Ugly me, as a verb?”

  I sigh. “I have this friend, Geo. She’s like, slap-your-mom beautiful.”

  “I wouldn’t slap our mom—”

  “She’s the female version of you, okay?”

  His brow furrows.

  “Only since she’s a girl, she brings droves of guys around, or she did before she got all doe-eyed for some billionaire. After all, she can’t keep everyone for herself, can she?”

  He opens his mouth, but I dive right back in. “No, she can not. But you, your looks are terrible for me. They draw catty women with their claws out, right up until they realize I’m your sister.” Actually, I have a newfound appreciation for Rob’s patience. To hang out with Geo as long as he did, he must have the forbearance of a saint.

  “Tell me more about this Geo,” Cole says.

  I roll my eyes. “She’s engaged. Look, focus. Why are you here?” I ask.

  Cole has just stuffed a very impolitely sized bite of chocolate silk pie into his mouth. He points at the bulge in his cheek and cocks his head sideways.

  I suppress a laugh while he chews.

  “Don’t you mean, ‘How long can you stay? I miss you so very very much, darling Cole’?”

  “Right,” I say. “What I meant to say was, oh beloved Cole, how long can you stay with me on this trip on which you came to visit me, uninvited and at a bad time?” I clap my hands together and paste a slightly pained smile on my face. “I do hope it’s a terribly long time.”

  Cole frowns. “I know you’re kidding, but it’s starting to sting anyway. Are you really upset I’m here?”

  I sigh. “You know I’m happy to see you. I’m sorry if I’m crabby. Lady friend over there just called me a pig.”

  “Three pieces of pie.” Cole looks at my plate pointedly.

  “I only ordered two at first,” I say. “And her job is to sell me pie.”

  “Three slices.”

  “I meant to take them to go,” I say, “but I wanted to try one right away, and when she judged me for it, I don’t know. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Typical.” Cole smiles. “I’ve called you a dozen times in the past few weeks, and you’ve returned my calls twice. And even then, you could only talk for a few minutes. You can’t be that busy.”

  “What’s going on, Cole? It’s tax season in America, so believe it or not, I’m actually pretty busy.”

  “And you still don’t want to come home to visit. It’s been almost a decade.”

  I blow air out of my mouth in frustration. “It hasn’t been that long, and you know I don’t want to go home. Mom and Dad will just guilt trip me.”

  “You can’t walk out on your family and stay away forever.”

  “Why not?” I ask softly. “Noel did.”

  Cole flinches. “It’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not.” I shove my plate away, still laden with way too much partially eaten pie. I can’t eat a bite more, not now. “But it turns out, I don’t even need to go home to take a guilt trip.”

  “Mom and Dad miss you.” Cole taps a fork on his plate and stares at the lemon chiffon pie like it might try to walk away. His words are so quiet I can barely hear them. “I miss you too.”

  My heart trembles a little, but I tell it to shut up. Missing someone is hard, but you survive. In fact, with time it becomes easier and easier. “Then it’s good you’re here,” I say. “I’m slammed at work, but Mary won’t mind if I leave a little bit early each day to see you.”

  I eat another bite of pie so that I can say I’m full, but I have no idea which pie I’m even eating. Then I stand up. “Well, I think I might have over-ordered. I’m heading home. You ready?”

  Cole wipes his mouth on a napkin, folds it in half and sets it next to his plate. Then he stands up, pushes his chair back under the table, and nods. “Now I am.”

  “Where’s your suitcase?” I ask.

  “Lost on the flight. I gave them your address, and they insist they’ll deliver it shortly.”

  “Stupid airlines,” I say. “You may never see that bag again.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not like I brought the crown jewels or anything.”

  I laugh. “More like your dumb plaid pajamas and that ratty old lamb.”

  Cole’s nostrils flare. “I did not bring Lamby.”

  I can’t help making fun of a grown man who still loves a stuffed animal. “Too big of a risk.” I nod slowly. “I totally understand.”

  The walk back home takes less than two minutes. “So how many calories do you think we just burned?” I ask, wheezing a little when we reach the third floor.

  “Doing what?” Cole asks.

  “On the trip from the pie shop to my apartment,” I say. “Duh.”

  Cole frowns.

  “Seriously. You think it was two hundred? Three?”

  He laughs. “You’re crazy.”

  “And we’re related, so what does that say about you?” I bump the door open with my hip.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “Oh, nothing, a sticky door, that’s all.”

  Cole follows me through the front door and into my living room. He sighs heavily. “Oh Pais, this place is an even bigger dump than your last apartment.”

  I drop my purse on the floor. “Well excuse me if my house is not spotless. I had no idea you were coming, so it’s not like I can be faulted for not picking up.” I glance around at the throw pillows on the floor, the pizza box by the edge of the sofa, the empty, almost empty, and nearly full water cups strewn across every surface haphazardly, like zits on a teenager. “I’ll pick up, okay? It’ll take me fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m not talking about it being messy.”

  Of course he isn’t. He’s talking about my plaid sofa that doesn’t even almost compliment my orange arm chair. He’s disparaging the wonky-legged kitchen table with five chairs, none of which match. “It’s eclectic. That’s a thing in Ameri
ca. They call it shabby-chic.”

  “A little heavy on the shabby. You’re not poor,” he says. “Your trust—”

  “What’s wrong, Cole?” I plop down on my comfortable sofa and scoop up a few pillows to block the part where the cushioning on the arm has shifted, exposing the frame. “You wouldn’t have surprised me like this if everything was fine.”

  He sits on the edge of my oversized armchair. “Dad’s sick.”

  “You couldn’t have told me that on the phone?”

  “It’s time to come home, Paisley.” Cole’s eyes bore into mine. “It’s time to stop hiding here and come back. We need you.”

  Oh please. “Now they’re sending you here to make heartfelt pleas?” I shake my head. “Tell Mom and Dad that I’m not hiding, and if they want to see me, they can big fat get on a plane and fly here themselves.”

  “Big fat?”

  “It’s an American expression. It means to suck it up and do it.”

  “Suck it up?” Cole asks.

  Oh, come on. “Look, Dad’s not really sick. Mom would have called if he was.”

  “Dad has macular degeneration and can barely see his hand in front of his face.”

  “That hardly sounds life threatening.” I try to ignore the pangs of guilt, but they’re a little more insistent.

  “He didn’t want me to tell you this, but he’s also suffering from heart failure. The doctors aren’t sure how much longer he’ll be around. I’m not trying to alarm you. It could be years, it could be months.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t think of a thing to say. Dad’s big, and strong, and larger than life. He’s getting close to seventy, sure, but that’s nothing. That’s not so old anymore.