Dare Me(56)

I’m rinsing the dishes, stacking them in the other side of the sink. I smile at her and answer honestly. “We work together.”

She looks up at me with curious eyes. “What exactly do you do there? I always think of aviation as being such a male-centric field.”

I laugh. “It kind of is, but you’d be surprised how many women there are these days. Aeronautical engineers building planes and even pilots. But my degree is in interior design. I was hired to sell and build all the custom design elements for Jackson-Hamilton’s clients.”

“Interior design,” she says, her eyes widening. “I never would’ve thought that could apply to airplanes before. That’s really interesting.”

“It is,” I respond. “I noticed all the amazing work done in your house. You have an eye for design yourself.”

“Oh, this old house.” She brushes it off. “There were a few things that I really wanted to keep, but for the most part, it was a complete overhaul.”

“Well, you kept the important things,” I tell her. “The doors, the crown molding, and the wood floors. Everything was restored beautifully.”

She smiles at me, appreciative. “Thank you. Not many notice that. So are you from Chicago?”

“I lived there for a few years as a little girl but moved back to North Dakota, where I was raised and went to college.

She looks at me curiously out of the corner of her eye and sets the final dish in the sink. “I’m not sure Holt told me what your last name was.”

I smile. “He knew I was nervous about coming, and he promised to keep tonight casual, so he probably didn’t mention it. It’s Phillips.”

I notice what I think is the smile falling from her face as she turns quickly and pulls a cheesecake from the fridge. “Well, I’m not sure anyone will be hungry for dessert, but I have this amazing New York Cheesecake.” She smiles stiffly. Pulling a knife out of the knife block, she begins slicing pieces. “Dear, would you mind serving this? I need to run to the restroom.” She drops the knife on the counter and she quickly leaves the room.

I take over, plating four pieces of the thickest, creamiest cheesecake I’ve ever seen. Dan joins me in the kitchen and begins a pot of coffee while talking my ear off about the ins and outs and intricacies of my job. I really like how at ease he makes me feel.

As he pours cups of coffee, Holt joins us in the kitchen. He puts his hands on my shoulders and stands behind me. “I think we’re going to have to call it a night. Mom isn’t feeling great and has gone to lie down.” He looks at Dan, who nods and places the coffee pot back on the warmer.

“Did you want me to pack some dessert to go?” Dan asks. “Your mom will be disappointed you didn’t get some. She knows it’s your favorite.”

Holt shakes his head and purses his lips. “No thank you,” he answers Dan.

“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose and pinching his eyes closed.

“This happens,” Dan cuts in. “She overworks herself, then she suddenly needs rest.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I know she loved seeing you, Holt, and meeting you, young lady.” He smiles at me genuinely. “And that goes for me as well. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you.”

As we head out, I say goodbye to Winston and Dan gives me a brief hug. Holt’s driver is waiting for us and Holt helps me in the car before turning back and walking over to Dan. Through the window, I watch them exchange words, and Dan grips the top of Holt’s shoulder, a concerned look across his face as they speak. Quickly regaining his composure, Dan looks over to the car and offers me a tight smile and a small wave. Holt shakes his hand and quickly walks back to the car, where I wait for him.

“What happened?” I ask as soon as Holt joins me in the back seat.

He sighs deeply. “Nothing. We were just talking about my mom. I wanted to make sure she was okay.” He stares out the window, his hand resting on top of mine in the space between us. He’s lost in thought and I can tell something is bothering him, but I don’t press for details.

The rest of the ride is silent as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge and head back into Manhattan. A million questions swirl through my mind, I can tell something is bothering him and he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m usually one to push, to insist he share what’s on his mind, but something tells me not to press this issue.

I take my time getting ready for bed, giving Holt some space. I wash my face, moisturize, brush my teeth, and put my hair up before I find Holt fast asleep in bed. I crawl in next to him, careful to not wake him. Whatever he isn’t telling me is eating him up. I’ve never seen him so distant. He is always the comforter, the protector, the strong one, but tonight I feel the urge to pull him close to me, wrapping my arms around him in an attempt to comfort him.



Between my nightmares and Holt being restless, neither of us really sleeps. I watch the minutes tick by on the alarm clock situated on the bedside table. It’s three fifty-seven in the morning when I finally break the silence. We’ve both been restless for hours.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you,” I say lightly, my voice cracking from not speaking for so long.

Instead of answering, he rolls from his back to his side, facing away from me.