Holly's Heart Collection Three (31 page)

“Uh-oh. This isn’t about a guy, is it?”

Paula blocked my view into the shop. “Come along,” she teased. “You won’t regret it.”

“I better not,” I said. Sean Hamilton came to my mind, and I wished he might be sitting in a booth waiting for me.

Now,
that
would be a fabulous surprise!

EIGHT IS ENOUGH

Chapter 8

But the boy waiting for me wasn’t Sean. It was Jared.

“What’s
he
doing here?” I whispered as we opened the door to the pastry shop.

Kayla said it first. “Just act happy.”

“Yes, please look as if you’re thrilled to see him,” Paula said softly, then led the way.

We hurried across the room to a table set near a window. Window boxes filled with fake red geraniums framed the sill inside. Why did Paula and Kayla think coming here and finding Jared waiting for us was such a great surprise? I played along, though, and pasted a smile on my face.

“Hey, Jared.” I slid into the booth across from him.

“Holly-Heart, I’m glad you came,” he said as Kayla and Paula divided up and sat on opposite sides of the table, Paula next to Jared.

Why is he here?
I wondered.

There was no flirting involved—surprise, surprise. Jared pulled no punches, either; he got right to the subject at hand, although I had no idea that what he had to say would turn out to be so incredibly fascinating.

“Have I ever told you about my uncle in Chicago?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

He ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “My uncle just bought a small press—a publishing company—and believe it or not, he’s looking for quality writing from young authors. I’m talking kids around our age.”

I sat up instantly. “Really?”

Jared’s eyes lit up. “Andie says you’re working on a short story or something.”

“Word gets around,” I muttered.

“Well, my uncle’s the publisher, like I said, and he’s putting together an anthology—compiling short stories by lots of different teen authors.”

I took a deep breath.
Can this be true?

“Holly, are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine. It’s just so . . . so . . .” I reached for the pastry list at the edge of the table and began to fan myself. “It’s just that I can hardly believe it. Are you sure about all this?”

Jared reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a letter. He handed it to me. “Here, read it yourself.” I could feel his gaze on me as I read silently. “I’m planning to submit a story— well, it’s a little longer than a short story,” he said. “Are
you
interested, too?”

Kayla and Paula smiled encouragingly, waiting for my reply.

I folded the letter. “Are you kidding? I’ve been living for this moment all my life. To be published in a book, a real book!”

Jared glanced at Paula. “Thanks for bringing Holly here.” His grin made his blue eyes twinkle.

I poked Kayla. “So you guys set this up with Jared? You knew about it?”

“Well, aren’t you glad?” she said.

“This is the best surprise I’ve had in years.” I opened my wallet. “Who wants a doughnut? I’m buying.”

Jared resisted my offer, but I managed to pull it off anyway. Kayla and Paula were nearly clucking with delight. They even opened their bookstore bags and showed Jared the new Marty Leigh book.

“Be careful, don’t get any chocolate on it,” Paula warned.

Jared listened as the three of us chattered about how wonderful we thought Ms. Leigh’s writing was. “Not better than some of the male authors I’ve read,” he scoffed.

“But if you’ve never read a Marty Leigh mystery, how could you possibly know?” I interjected. “She grabs you in the first paragraph. Here, let me give you an example.”

I wiped my sticky fingers, then licked the worst ones in anticipation of holding the brand-new book. “Oh, rats, wait here—I’ll be right back.” Quickly, I headed for the ladies’ room, where I washed the stickiness off my hands.

When I got back, Paula and Kayla were informing Jared in no uncertain terms that Marty Leigh was the contemporary queen of teen novels. “There’s no one better, trust me,” Kayla said. “And I’ve read tons of books.”

“Well, if she’s so great, let’s hear some of this wonderful writing,” Jared said, baiting me as I sat down. “Are your hands clean enough to touch the golden pages?”

I playfully slapped the book at him. “Okay, now you judge for yourself.” I began to read. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jared leaning forward, listening. After three paragraphs, I stopped.

“Whoa, don’t quit now,” he said, playacting. “Keep going! I think . . . I feel it . . . it’s happening . . . oh no, I’m being sucked into the story!”

Paula punched his arm. “Act your age.”

“No kidding,” I said, closing the book and studying Jared. “I suspect what is lacking here is a mature, female mentality. Obviously.”

Jared groaned. “It’s not that I don’t think the author is good— she is, but . . . I just tend to think that men have a better grasp of the English language.”

“Oh, puh-leeze,” I said.

We finished our doughnuts as we continued to talk. “I’ll let you know where to send your manuscript,” Jared said before we left.

“The entire manuscript?” I asked. “Your uncle wants the whole thing?”

“Don’t worry, mine’s not finished yet, either.”

I slung my purse over my shoulder. “So how long do I have?”

“The cutoff date is March something, and then they’ll make the decisions in April. I’ll have to check and let you know.”

“That should be perfect,” I said, thinking that if I hurried I’d have plenty of time to write and rewrite my novella before the Meredith-Patterson offspring arrived.

“April’s the birth month for Holly’s baby brother or sister,” Paula commented as we walked outside together.

“Yeah, Stan told me,” Jared said. “Big surprise, huh?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Whoop-de-do.”

“So you don’t approve?” he probed.

“At my mom’s age it seems very weird.”

The city bus was heading toward us. “Sounds like you’re not too thrilled,” he said.

“You can say that again.”

Paula took my side. “Think how you’d feel having to move out of your room to make space for a nursery.”

“You’ll have to do that?” Jared asked.

“Let’s put it this way: It’s been discussed as an option,” I said. “But I have a few options of my own.”

“Like what?” Kayla asked.

“I have to think things through first,” I replied rather secretively, although I hadn’t intended to encourage curiosity on their part.

“Hey, don’t get some wild idea about moving away to California or somewhere,” Jared said almost desperately. “Your friends need you here.”

His words thoroughly shocked me. Not the friends part, but what he’d said about California. How could he have possibly known what I was thinking?

I stared at him. Jared Wilkins had been my first crush, or whatever it was I’d suffered through back in my seventh-grade days. Anyway, here he was, somehow connecting with me. Almost pleading for me to stay.

The brakes screeched as the lumbering bus came to a crunching stop in the snow. We all scurried down the sidewalk in the frosty air and boarded it.

Jared scooted in beside me, behind the Miller twins. For a split second, the thought that they had set this up—this seating arrangement, this entire bus ride home—crossed my mind. Had they?

“You’re not really thinking of going to live with your dad, are you?” Jared asked softly.

I felt brave suddenly, so I tested the waters. “Why not? He’s my real father.”

“That’s true, but what about the rest of your family?”

“Mom has Uncle Jack, if that’s what you mean.”

Jared was silent, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“There isn’t room in the house for me anymore,” I surprised myself by blurting out.

Kayla and Paula turned around, aghast. Paula spoke up. “That can’t be true, Holly. What about that addition your uncle had built onto the back of the house over a year ago?”

“It only added two more bedrooms, and those are filled up with brousins—Stan, Phil, and Mark. Even if it’s a boy, there’s no way Mom will put a newborn that far away from her at night.”

“But maybe when the kid’s older,” Jared suggested. “Stan wouldn’t mind sharing his room with a little brother. I wouldn’t.”

“You?” I was shocked. “You’re not into little kids, are you?”

“Hey, what’s the big deal? Kids are kids.”

It was a male thing to say. Truth was, guys had no idea what they were talking about when it came to babies—or toddlers, for that matter. Sean was the exception, however.

He knew exactly what it took to make a little kid happy. I’d seen him in action, and I was convinced he’d be a good father someday. No way could Stan or Jared ever begin to match that kind of behavior.

“Hang in there, Holly,” Jared said as the bus turned toward my street. “No need to freak out and do something impulsive you might regret.”

“How do you know I’d regret moving to California?”

Again, the twins turned around wearing stunned expressions. “Relax,” I said to them. “Jared’s the one freaking out.”

“Guess again,” Paula said.

“All right,” I admitted. “But don’t you dare breathe a word of this. Not even to Andie. I have some phone calls to make before I decide anything.”

Jared’s body slumped down in the seat next to me. He was actually hurt at the thought of my leaving.

I stood up, ready to exit the bus, but Jared wouldn’t budge. “Don’t do anything today, Holly. In fact, why don’t you wait a few days before you call your dad?” He’d done it again. He’d said out loud what I was already planning.

“Jared, for pete’s sake, will you move your legs?” I stood there, waiting for him, blocked in my seat.

Reluctantly, he slid out of the seat, standing up to allow me to pass. “I’ll call you later, and don’t say not to.”

“We’ll call you, too,” the twins said together.

I smiled at the unison comment. “Bye!”

“Thanks for the doughnuts,” called Paula.

“Yeah, thanks, Holly soon-to-be-author,” shouted Kayla just before the door closed behind me.

I should’ve felt terrific as I crossed the street and began the brisk walk home. Only one block to go, with thick flakes of snow falling faster and faster. With the new Marty Leigh mystery snug in my purse, the sweet taste of doughnut in my mouth, and the prospect of being published, I attempted to cheer myself.

Surely a phone call to California would make me feel better. Hearing Daddy’s voice always did that. So did staying at his big, luxurious beach house.

Yep, my plan for joint custody was absolutely perfect. Now, what would my dad think of it?

EIGHT IS ENOUGH

Chapter 9

I waited till after lunch to call Daddy. Mom and Uncle Jack had gone downstairs to look at a department store catalog of baby furniture. All the kids were outside playing in the snow, even Stan.

Going to the kitchen, I picked up the portable phone and carried it to the living room. Quickly, I pressed the numbers, remembering to include the area code.

Busy signal.

Rats,
I thought. Just when I’d found a tranquil moment on my end, Daddy or Saundra, his wife, was tying up the phone.

I waited a few minutes, then tried again. Still busy. Frustrated, I got up to return the phone to the kitchen.

Just then the front picture window broke—
crash-crinkle-smash
—sending glass flying through the air. A snowball shot through the dining room and landed near the kitchen island, yards away.

Uncle Jack appeared in a flash. “What was that?”

“Someone broke the window,” I said. And suddenly I realized that if I hadn’t been trying to get through to California the second time, I might’ve been hit by the snowball or cut by the shattered glass.

By now, Stan and the boys were on the front deck, inspecting the damage. Carrie and Stephie crept up the front walk, looking worried.

“Man, you’re in for it now,” Mark said, poking Phil.

“I didn’t mean to hit the window,” Phil said, quickly apologizing.

“No one ever does,” little Stephie chimed in, her eyes big as saucers.

Uncle Jack took the incident in stride, not losing his cool. He was like that—calm and collected in the face of problems. “We’ll have to get a replacement for the window,” he said, instructing Phil to run inside and get a dustpan and broom.

“What about a heavy blanket with some duct tape?” Stan suggested. “Wouldn’t that help block out the cold?”

Mom appeared at the door, a baby catalog in her hands. “A blanket wouldn’t be secure enough,” she said. “Not these days.”

I figured she meant it wouldn’t be safe. Someone—a cat burglar or whatever—could easily pull a blanket down and come into the house while we were sleeping. Rob us blind.

Uncle Jack was a sensible man. After all, he had a wife with a baby on the way, not to mention six kids. He would protect us and make the house secure for the night.

“We’ll head downtown right now and see what can be done,” Uncle Jack said. “Stan, run and find my measuring tape in the tool cabinet.”

Stan scurried off to the garage. Phil returned with the broom and began sweeping the shards of glass off the redwood deck.

“Be very careful,” Mom warned as Phil swept. “I don’t want any of you ending up in the ER.”

Carrie pulled Stephie back, away from the glassy mess. “C’mon, let’s finish making our snowman,” she said.

“We weren’t the ones throwing snowballs,” Stephie assured Mom over her shoulder.

Mom smiled and nodded her head. “Go have fun.”

Stan returned with the retractable measuring tape, helping Uncle Jack with the measurements.

Mom’s expression showed concern as I shivered, watching. “Why don’t you come in and get warm, Holly?” she said.

I didn’t want to be inside with her alone—I didn’t trust myself. I might say something I’d regret later.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, not surprised when she left for a moment and came back holding my coat and a knit ski hat.

“Here.” She handed them out the door.

I had no choice but to obey. Uncle Jack wouldn’t stand for open rebellion at this juncture. Besides, he had his hands full at the moment.