Page 46 of When We Were Young

“So, you think you’re ready to come back upstairs yet? Face whatever the hell that was up there?” There’s a bit of sass to her tone, but the softness of her facial features betrays that it’s for show.

I hesitate. Am I ready to face my past?

“No. I’m not sure. I don’t know.” Gosh, I sound like a blubbering idiot. “Probably not yet. I’m... I’m embarrassed.”

An incredulous huff escapes Ruthie. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s the one who acted foolishly. One minute he’s spewing irritated words at you, the next he’s trying to run after you⁠—”

“He did?” I’m unable to mask the shock in my voice. “Holden tried to come after me?”

My stomach clenches. Why do I still react like this after a decade has passed?

“Uh, yeah. His brother stopped him. Then Georgie laid into him and jabbed her finger all up in that muscly chest. That’s when I stepped in and told them both I was coming down to see if you’re okay. Neither of them liked it, but they didn’t have a choice.”

I smile, imagining the man who was once the boy I loved and my spirited friend Georgie being put in their place by this woman. I’d never tell her this because I suspect it might offend her, but she kind of reminds me of my grandma. God, I loved her, and losing her sucked. But I’m grateful for this fireball of a woman who made her memory fresh in my mind, even if only for a few minutes.

After a few more moments of awkward quiet, I get up the gumption to peer at Ruthie. She’s already studying me, as if she knows I’m going to ask her something.

“Wh-what's he like? Now, I mean?” The subtle tremor in my voice gives away how vulnerable I’m feeling right now.

“Who, love? Holden?”

I nod. I shouldn’t have asked, but I feel this obsessive need to know.

“Well, let’s see. You can see the obvious: he’s hunky.”

I chuckle. Yes, that much is obvious.

“And he’s typically a bundle of energy, the one who keeps everyone laughing. He’s very... lighthearted. But he thinks nobody sees that he keeps a wall up with just about everyone. I see it. I think Lester might as well. You haven’t met him yet, but you will.”

That doesn’t sound like Holden. The Holden I met in the library years ago, we spent many late nights sitting on the library floor getting to know each other. Falling for each other. He was open and trusting. At least, that’s what I thought.

I’m afraid to ask my next question. “Does... does he have a wife? A girlfriend?”

I know I just moved here, but I’m not sure I’d be able to stay if I had to watch him with a partner. Maybe even with the children he had with another woman.

A laugh bursts out of her, and she throws her head back.

“Holden? Are we talking about the same man, sweetheart? That man is the furthest thing from being in a relationship. His rule of three pretty much makes sure things never get that far.”

I’m almost afraid to ask. Almost...

“What’s the rule of three?”

“Three dates, max. That’s all any woman gets, whether he likes her a lot or not, and he ends whatever it is they have going on.”

Chapter Eighteen

Holden

It nearly killed me to walk away from Lizette’s apartment a few days ago to give her space. If Hayden hadn’t escorted me home, I probably would’ve barged downstairs to the old bakery, where I assume she went, and tried to talk to her.

Not that I know if she’ll even talk to me. I handled everything wrong back in college. Horribly wrong.

Looking back, I found some temporary, warped sense of satisfaction knowing she had to repeatedly witness other women who would choose me. True, they chose a version of me they thought they were getting. The version they wanted for a good time, not really caring about the me on the inside. Which is probably for the best. They wanted a simple, uncomplicated version of me. By then, that’s all I had left to give.

Why do I feel bad? She’s the one who pretended. I’ve never been able to reconcile in my mind why she spent all those evenings with me. Why she shared things with me about her dad leaving and her worries about her mom. What sense did it make for her to open the door to her heart, only to slam it shut again in such a harsh way after I fell for her?

Maybe that’s why I’ve been sitting here on this bench in the town square staring at her storefront for over an hour. I need answers, and if I get them, surely I can move on with my life. I can forget the girl I fell in love with between the stacks of our school library.