Do Anything Read online

  I slide into a comfortable pair of olive green cargo-style pants and pull on a peasant tunic. Running a quick brush through my hair, I wipe away the black circles that have gathered under my eyes. I slip on a pair of mules over my sock-covered feet. While I want to look cleaned up, I also wouldn’t want Holden to think I’m trying too hard.

  I exit my room and bound down the stairs with my wet clothes tucked under my arm. I’m excited to give what I consider the Kenzie-approved strategy a go. Maybe there is still an adventure to be had.

  “Ms. Hart, over here.” I cringe every time he says my name that way. It makes me think of my mother.

  I place my clothes on the end barstool and cross the room to where Holden is sitting in one of the high-back chairs near the fireplace. He stands when I approach, and this strikes me as odd. What a sad state of affairs my life has become when I view common manners as surprising.

  “Holden, please, Ms. Hart is my mother. I wish you’d call me something else,” I remark, taking the empty seat across from him. He waits for me, and then he sits as well.

  “Very well. Should I call you Annabelle?” he asks.

  “Most people just call me Anna,” I add.

  “How about I call you Belle?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my answer. He shifts into the next topic. “So how bad is your insomnia?”

  “What?” The question catches me off guard. “Oh … I don’t know, I guess it bothers me most nights. I try to write in my journal until I eventually fall asleep.”

  “A journal, huh? So does it contain all your deepest, darkest secrets?” he inquires, leaning forward, a keen interest in my answer.

  “I write about my days as a CIA agent, but keep that between us, or I’ll have to kill you.”

  “See, and you said you had nothing interesting to write about.”

  I grin, and my stomach is twisting, but even so, I’m surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. “Does it bother you a lot?”

  “What?”

  “The sleeplessness,” I remind him.

  “Oh … yeah, same here. About every night. The doctor wants to give me something, but I’m just not a pill taker,” Holden reveals.

  “I know what you mean. I’m the same way.”

  “Well, good, maybe we can be night buddies.” He chuckles, and I just know I turn bright red. “That sounded bad, didn’t it?”

  “I know what you meant,” I add.

  “I’m not sure I knew what I meant.”

  I don’t know what to say in response to his statement. Is he flirting? Is he trying to tell me he wants to be the naughty kind of night buddy? What the hell? Am I offended, or do I want to know where to sign up? I need to change the subject. The silence between us is too long; we’re headed into awkward territory.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He flashes me that half-cocked grin. “Anything.”

  “How come you don’t have as much of an accent as most people I’ve met?” The question is weak, but it’s keeping the conversation flowing, and that’s all that matters at this stage of the game.

  “I grew up Stateside.”

  “Wait, what?” I gasp. “So you’re not British?”

  “Oh no, I was born in England, and I lived here with my parents until I was two. My mom was American, and she wanted to move back home to be near her parents."

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he insists. “Is it so hard to believe I’m half-American?”

  “No … I mean, well, sort of,” I joke.

  Holden takes a sip from a glass on the table next to him before continuing. “My dad, always wanting to make my mom happy, packed the three of us up and we headed for Indianapolis, Indiana.”

  “Are you serious? I grew up in Southern Illinois,” I interject.

  He laughs, then asks, “You do realize those are not all that close to each other, right?”

  I lean forward and slap his arm with the back of my hand. After I do, I think it was ridiculous rather than flirty. “I know, but they are a lot closer than Illinois and England.”

  “True, I can’t argue with your geography.”

  “You can kind of be an ass,” I joke.

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” When he talks, all I can think about is kissing those full lips. What has gotten into me? I never have these kinds of thoughts.

  “So what made you move back to England?”

  “My mom passed away—cancer—when I was twelve.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I feel terrible for asking the question.

  “No, it’s fine, it’s been a long time. My, umm, dad tried to stick it out for my grandparents’ sake, but he couldn’t stand being there without her. So my ten years in the States ended, and we flew back here to our home in England. My dad bought and restored this fine establishment, bringing it back to its former glory days, and here we are.”

  “Wow, your dad did this. I’d love to meet him sometime,” I say, looking around at the amazing detail of the place.

  “Unfortunately …” Holden pauses, lowering his head and swallowing hard. “He passed away last year, which is why I’m now the owner of The Three Horseshoes.”

  I feel like a complete jerk and wish more than anything I knew when to keep my mouth shut. “Jesus, I’m on a roll, aren’t I?”

  “It’s okay. I miss him, but I like to think he’s all around me.”

  “That’s a great way to look at it.” The somber shift in the conversation has me wanting to hug him rather than kiss him.

  “So what about you?” he asks, peering over at me. “You seem to know all about me, and I know nothing about you.”

  “Well …” I begin, trying to think if there was anything interesting enough to share. “I grew up in Illinois. My parents and I have never been super close. God, that sounds horrible.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I know I got lucky in the family pool. I’m sorry you didn’t.”

  “They aren’t bad or anything, it isn’t like that. I think we just never related to each other. So, after college I moved to Chicago, landed my dream job, and here we are.”

  “Oh no …” Holden huffs, shaking his head. “I think you must have left about a dozen details out. You land your dream job, and you risk it to pack up and go on a trip halfway around the world. I know there’s more to that story.”

  My eyes widen; he’s far too insightful, and I wish we weren’t playing this silly game of getting to know one another. What would Kenzie do, I ask myself. She would change the subject, perhaps suggest we head back to my room and take off our clothes. Yeah, saying that is never going to happen.

  “I had a bad breakup.”

  “Oh wow, I’m sorry.” Holden is suddenly the one stumbling on his words. “I was just teasing, I didn’t mean for you to … what I mean is, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

  “Hell, why not,” I say, throwing my arms up into the air. I decide I can’t look any more pathetic than I already do. “I had a fiancé. It was a guy I dated in college. Well, the wedding was a little over a month away, and I caught him cheating on me with the neighbor from across the hall.”

  “Ouch.” He winces as I recall my tragic story. But I wasn’t crying like the million other times I had told my tale. Perhaps everyone is right and a little distance and time does make things easier. Or perhaps staring at a man who I want to lick whip cream off makes it a little less sad.

  “Yup, I know I’m pathetic. Who breaks up a month before their wedding?”

  He closes one eye and pulls up his lip in an expression of shame, lifting his hand slowly in the air, as if to plead guilty.

  “What? No!”

  His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he tells his tragic history with love. “I was stood up at the altar with a Dear John letter.”

  “Shut up!” I shout, slapping him across the arm again and then collapsing back into my chair.

  “No, I swear it’s the truth. My girlfriend and I were set t
o marry. Had I listened to her, I probably would have realized she had no desire to stay in this small town for the rest of her life. She decided I wasn’t worth convincing, so she wrote it in a letter and that was the end.”

  “Did you ever see her again?” I know it’s rude to press such a hurtful subject matter, but I can’t help myself. To meet someone else whose love life is more pathetic than my own is … impressive.

  “I did … when she came back a few weeks later to get some of her stuff. It didn’t go well, I guess you could say. I was still pretty pissed, and my ego was bruised. Then about six months ago we talked on the phone. She met someone in London, and she’s happy. I told her I met someone, even though I haven’t, and we all pretend we’re okay with it now.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you didn’t?”

  “Hell yeah I did!” he exclaims. “That girl ripped out my heart, so no way am I going to let her think I haven’t moved on. You know the only reason you think it’s funny is because you would do the same thing in my situation.”

  I gasp for breath between laughs. “You’re so right.”

  It was like in those crazy romance books where they say you lose all track of time. Holden and I sit there sharing stories of our childhoods, lost loves, our dreams. Heck, we even discuss our favorite things to eat. Occasionally I’m distracted by his smile or the way the fire makes his eyes glow, but overall, it’s a fun time. So fun, that when we realize what time it is, we have both missed lunch, and Holden has to start working the afternoon bar shift.

  “Wow, I had such a good time with you today,” he says, following me as I walk over to the stairs.

  “I did, too.”

  “Umm …” It’s obvious neither of us want our conversation to end. “Do you want me to have Bea make you a sandwich?”

  “That would be great,” I answer with a smile.

  The entire day I sit at the bar and interact with Holden. I watch how the people who come into the inn love him. It’s obvious a lot of the locals view him as a part of their family. I admire that, and in a way I envy him. My guess is if I dropped off the face of the Earth tomorrow, only Kenzie would miss me.

  I’d spent the entire day near him, and I’m beginning to worry how it makes me look. I wonder if he thinks I’m desperate.

  “Well, it’s late, so I’m going to head up to my room,” I announce, standing and moving over to the stairwell. When I turn around to see if Holden heard me, I’m startled to find he’s nearly right on top of me.

  “Are you sure?” he asks. “We could talk more after I close up in a few hours.”

  This doesn’t seem to compute for me. I wonder if he wants a fresh face around him for the evening, or if it’s me he actually wants. I tell myself to play it cool.

  He is so close now I can feel his breath on my cheek. I wonder if the other patrons in the bar are watching. “No, I should head up. I want to get a shower in.”

  I watch for a shift in his expression as I mention the shower. His eyebrows lift, and I can tell the idea is intriguing to him. “Well, maybe we’ll pass in the night.”

  “What?” the word slips from my lips in shock.

  “You know, two insomniacs?” He narrows his brow at my assumption, and I feel my cheeks flush.

  “Yeah, right. Goodnight, Holden.”

  “’Night, Belle.” When he calls me by his own special nickname for me, I feel a shiver rush over me. I keep it together, making my way up the stairs, using the wall to steady myself. I don’t know what this day was, but I know for sure it was fantastic.

  I shove open my door, closing it behind me once I’m in the room, and spin around, falling back onto the bed. My head is swirling, bits and pieces of the conversation floating around inside. I want to call Kenzie and tell her every detail, but I also know my stories won’t be juicy enough to satisfy her.

  My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I realize I’d left it in the room all day. Pushing myself up, I extend my arm and grab for it. I see I have six missed calls from Jack but no voicemails. In the past month I’d noticed a pattern of this with Jack. He would go quiet for days, and then all of the sudden start calling and texting me again. I assumed it was perhaps when he was unable to track down a successful booty call to fill his time.

  I swipe my phone to read my text messages; there is one from Jack, received only five minutes ago,

  Where are you?

  I stand, tossing the phone onto the bed and strip out of my clothes, slipping on the satin robe I’d brought with me. I hear the phone buzz again. I pick it up and look at it.

  You can’t just ignore me.

  Oh, but I can, I think, turning off the power to the phone and sliding it into the drawer of my nightstand. I retrieve the towel from the chair in the far corner of the room and make my way to the bath at the end of the hall.

  I was going to take a shower, but since it’s the middle of the evening and nobody else is around, I decide on a nice, long, hot bubble bath. I secure the door, run the water, slip into the tub, and allow the ecstasy of the warmth to bring an end to a perfect day.

  A sliver of light from the moon settles on my pillow. I peer at the shadows dancing out in front of me, sleep far from my grasp, and Holden heavily on my mind. Men like Holden don’t actually exist. That’s what I keep telling myself. And also, maybe he’s not who I think he is; after all, how well can I know this guy? He seemed to open up to me, but don’t people only share enough to keep their facade intact? Perhaps there’s more to his fiancée story. For all I know it wasn’t about escaping the small town for his mystery woman. What if Holden is just like Jack? Maybe the real reason she fled was because Holden was unfaithful.

  Of course, why does it matter? When this trip is over, I’ll return to my life on the other side of the world. Does it matter if Holden is a scoundrel? I’m here to explore and learn things about myself; maybe he’s exactly what I need to start these adventures. A no-strings-attached fling that can’t possibly lead anywhere. I’ve never done that in my life. Somewhere in me, I just want to know what it would feel like to have sex with someone for the pure pleasure of it.

  I punch the pillow next to me and sit up. One thing is for certain: I’m never going to get any sleep if I keep thinking about Holden all night. I stand up, and over my tank top and night shorts, I slip on my robe. I assume everyone in the house must be asleep by now, so I creep quietly out of my room and down the cool stairs in my bare feet. My last hope to put these thoughts of Holden to rest and get some sleep is a warm cup of milk, a trick my mother taught me as a kid.

  The bar looks completely different in the dark. No chattering voices, no glasses clanging, and everything draped in shadows. The place takes on a cave-like atmosphere in the night. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to go into the kitchen, and the thought of doing something against the rules quickens my heartbeat. Pushing open the swinging door that separates the kitchen and bar, I realize how silly I am. Going into the kitchen is enough to get my adrenaline going … seriously, I can’t help but giggle.

  “You really are always cracking yourself up, aren’t you?” The voice in the darkness startles me, and I let out a scream. “Whoa, calm down. It’s just me, Holden.”

  “Jesus,” I exclaim. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you.”

  “Well …” He laughs as my eyes are adjusting to the dark room. “It is my kitchen.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t want to wake anyone,” I explain, moving toward the long prep table where he’s seated. In front of him is a cup, as well as a plate with a sandwich.

  “Can’t sleep, huh?”

  How can I, I think to myself. I can’t get the idea of jumping on top of you out of my head. I keep these thoughts to myself and instead nod in response. He kicks out the stool next to him, motioning for me to have a seat. As I move in closer, I catch his scent and feel my knees buckle.

  “Hungry?” he inquires.

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I was hoping for a warm glass of milk,” I
answer.

  He furrows his brow, giving me a half-cocked smile.

  “What?” I gasp in defense.

  “Are you twelve or something?” He laughs.

  “Hey, shut up! It helps when I can’t sleep.”

  Standing up, he turns and walks over to the commercial fridge against the far wall. “Who knows, maybe I should try that.” I watch him as he retrieves the milk and pours it into a pan, placing it over a burner. The cooktop makes a clicking noise until the gas ignites. He leans against the counter, waiting patiently, and I realize he’s staring at me.

  As the silence between us mounts, I start to panic. I need to say something, but what? Do something! I catch sight of a shelf containing several mugs. I stand and walk over to grab two, then crossing the room, I move in close to Holden. I lean around him to place the mugs behind where he’s standing, next to the stove. He doesn’t budge, and our bodies brush against one another’s.

  I’m wondering if he meant for this to happen, but at the same time backing away slowly, hesitant to look up at him. We are so close now I can hear his breathing. From the corner of my eye I see he’s watching me. Then, without even thinking, I do it. I look up into those eyes, and I’m stuck.

  I stand up straight, but I’m now captivated by his stare. He isn’t looking away, so how can I? There is a foot between us, but he pushes off the counter, and begins to move forward, closing the gap, never looking away.

  My heart starts racing, and my stomach is doing flips. He’s going to kiss me if I don’t move. My mind is having trouble focusing. I can’t decide if this is what I want to happen. Don’t move. Let him do it. You’re just scared. You’re always scared. Stop being scared.

  He lingers, our lips now mere inches away from one another’s. He looks into my eyes as if asking for permission without words. I give a long blink, acknowledging him, hoping it’s enough to convey that I want him to take me in whatever way he desires.

  “Please,” I whisper. For a second I wonder who said the word, and then I realize I was the one pleading for his lips.