Chapter Eleven

Holly

“ A nother one?” I laugh as Mark reaches for yet another one of my cookies. “I told you they were good. You’re never going to survive without them now.”

A puff of air leaves his nose as he shakes his head. “Yeah. I guess I was wrong.”

“How many times do I need to remind you, Mark?” I say, dropping onto the couch. Murray, his adorable dog, immediately hops up beside me. “I’m always right.”

He sinks into the couch next to me as I tuck my legs up, feeling comfortable in a way I only do when I’m around him. I came over to rant about my terrible date and how it was entirely his fault, but now I’m just happy to be here. There’s something about Mark’s place that feels so cozy, especially with Murray around.

“Feel like watching a movie?” I ask, glancing over at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re staying over?”

I hesitate, not wanting to overstep. “I mean, I wanted to hang out with you,” I admit, trying to keep my tone casual. “But I can leave if you need your space.” I hope he doesn’t want me to go. As much as I enjoy teasing Mark, I really like spending time with him.

“You can stay,” he replies almost too quickly, and I relax, slowly petting Murray as he curls up on my lap. “I have nothing else to do anyway. I was thinking of crashing early since I didn’t open the bar today.”

“You were going to sleep?” I ask with widened eyes. “It’s the middle of the day.”

He shrugs and lets out a tired grunt. “I’m just not feeling it today.”

My brows knit together as I watch him point the remote at the TV. “Why didn’t you open the bar today, anyway?”

He hesitates, his eyes closing for a moment. When he opens them again, I can see the effort it takes to speak. “My parents got divorced when I was young,” he begins.

I frown in confusion. “What does that have to do with—”

“I’m trying to open up here, woman,” he interrupts, shooting me a glare.

“Right, sorry,” I say with a nervous laugh, pulling the throw blanket over me and Murray, trying to settle in. “Keep going.”

He leans back against the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV. “It was hell. They fought about everything—who would do the dishes, who would take me to school, every little thing. When they finally split, I thought things might get better, but it just got worse.”

I stay quiet, sensing he needs to get this out.

“My dad moved to the city, and my mom stayed in our old house, so I bounced between them. It was painfully clear that neither of them wanted me around. And then, one day, my mom never came to pick me up. I haven’t seen her since,” he admits, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “My dad was furious. But not because he was furious for me. I think he hated that he never thought of leaving me behind like she did.”

He finally turns to face me, and my eyes dip to his thick Adam's apple as he swallows harshly. “When I was sixteen, I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand hearing how much of a burden I was anymore, so I just… ran away. I didn’t know where to go, but I knew anywhere was better than staying in a place where I wasn’t wanted. I wandered the streets for hours, and when it started to rain, I ran into a random bar nearby.”

He pauses as if remembering that moment. “I expected to get kicked out since I was a scrawny sixteen-year-old in a bar, but instead, the owner, Charles, just asked me if I was okay. And I broke down right there, in front of everyone. I couldn’t remember the last time someone asked me that or the last time someone cared .”

My heart clenches, knowing exactly what it feels like to be alone like that.

“His wife, Mia, made me a grilled cheese, gave me one of Charles’ coats, and told me to come back if I ever needed anything. And I did. Going home was the worst part of my day, so every day after school, I’d go straight to the bar. My dad didn’t even notice I was gone. That’s how little he gave a shit about me.”

He looks around his apartment, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Charles eventually closed off a section of his own house and made me this place. He gave me a home when I didn’t have one.”

Mark’s voice grows quieter. “He died five years ago today.”

My brows shoot up. No wonder he didn’t open the bar today.

“He left me this bar and this apartment in his will. He wrote me a letter saying I was the son he never had. I guess he wanted someone to carry on what he built all those years ago, and I was his first choice.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even remember the last time I heard my own dad say anything remotely close to that… I don’t even know if he’s alive .”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “Mia was devastated when Charles died. She had lost the love of her life and was all alone. She completely broke apart. And then, about a year later, she was diagnosed with dementia.”

My heart aches for him.

“She doesn’t even remember what day it is today,” he says, letting out a hard breath. “And maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t want her to feel the pain I’m feeling, but… I fucking hate seeing her like this. I hate having to lie to her and hear her questions about where Charles is and when he’s coming back because he’s not . He’s not coming back, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that.”

Hard, heavy breaths leave his lips as he squeezes his eyes closed, and there’s nothing I can do in this moment that will make this better. I know how much it hurt for me to lose my parents. I know how much he’s hurting .

I reach over and place my hand over his clenched fists, and Mark lifts his head, keeping his eyes on our joined hands.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice low as Mark turns his head to look at me.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes scanning my features. “You… you didn’t speak,” he points out, the tension slowly leaving his body.

I shrug. “You didn’t need me to. You just needed me to listen.”

He holds my gaze for a second, and a million different expressions cross his face before he dips his chin. “Thank you.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m your friend, Mark. I’m here for you.” I try to lighten the mood with a teasing grin. “Even if you are sick of hearing me talk.”

I expect him to agree with me with a grunt or a groan, but he just shakes his head instead, placing his other hand on top of mine. “I like hearing you talk.”

I blink, feeling warmth spread through me, and my heart skips a beat. I quickly pull my hand away and playfully shove his arm. “Stop flirting with me.”

The grump I know, and slowly am getting used, to rolls his eyes as he grabs the remote. “Are we going to watch a movie or what?”

“Absolutely,” I say, snatching the remote from him with a laugh. I start scrolling through the options until my eyes land on The Holiday . My face lights up as I turn to him with my best pleading look .

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna lose this argument, aren’t I?”

“You could always say no,” I remind him, though I’m hoping he won’t. “But it’s such a good movie.”

“I’ve never seen it,” he admits, rubbing his beard.

“Really?” I ask, genuinely surprised. I suppose I shouldn’t be, given how little joy Mark seems to indulge in.

“I don’t watch much TV,” he says with a shrug.

I tilt my head. “So, what do you do for fun? Do you have any hobbies?” I ask him.

“No.”

“No?” I repeat, blinking in surprise. “How is that possible? I have SO many. I love to bake and read, and shop and dance—”

“Dance?” he asks, cutting me off with an arched brow.

“Not well,” I add. “But I still love to do it. You need hobbies in life.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you, Bambi.”

My brows furrow. “Then what do you do?”

“I work,” he says simply.

I wait for more, but it never comes. “And when you’re off work?” I ask.

“Sleep.”

A heavy sigh escapes me. “You sad little man.”

He glances at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing little about me.”

The heat in my body floods to my cheeks and I glance at the TV, clicking play on the movie .

“Did I embarrass you?” I hear Mark say, his low voice sending shivers down my spine.

“No,” I lie, feeling my face burning hot as I pull the blanket up, tucking it under my chin. “Of course not.” The movie starts to play and all the warm memories come rushing back to me as the familiar music starts to play and I glance around the room, wishing there were some decorations. “You seriously need a Christmas tree in here,” I tell him.

“I’m good.”

I glance at him, letting out a laugh. “It’ll liven up the place.”

He meets my eyes and arches a brow. “And the other eleven months?” he asks. “It’s dead?”

My lips twitch. “Well…”

“Watch the damn movie, Bambi,” he says, with a glare before turning his attention back to the screen.

As the movie plays, a thought nags at me. “What if I end up like that?” I blurt out.

“Like what?” Mark asks, his eyes still on the screen.

“Single, depressed, alone at Christmas,” I say, my voice tinged with worry as I watch what could possibly be my future on the small screen.

“You won’t,” Mark says. “I made you a promise that I’d help you find the perfect guy for you, and I intend to keep it.”

“But what if you can’t?” I ask, turning my head to look at him, and he turns his head and meets my eyes. “What if I never find someone? I’ve been single for twenty-four years, Mark. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. ”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean it won’t happen. I won’t let you end up like that.”

I let out a sigh, not convinced he’ll be able to make that happen. “Can you promise me something?” I ask.

“Depends on what it is,” he says with a lift of his shoulder.

“If I end up alone, can I come celebrate Christmas with you?”

He watches me for a second. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Please?” I beg, my lips falling at the thought of being all alone during the happiest time of the year. “I’m going to need to move out at some point. Olivia and Henry are starting a family and I already feel like a huge burden on them,” I admit. “And I hate the thought of spending Christmas alone with no one to laugh with, or bake cookies with, or to open presents with.” I shake my head. “Please promise me you can be that person.”

He blinks. Blinks again. “Yes, Holly,” he finally says. “I promise if you’re alone, you can always come infest my house with your holiday cheer.” I smile a little, thankful to have found Mark. “But I have faith you won’t need to. You won’t be alone.”

I shake my head. “Don’t hold your breath there, Mark. Your dating coach skills aren’t exactly paying off.”

He narrows his eyes at me but then his face settles and he lets out a breath. “You just need to work on your flirting a little, and maybe stay away from assholes who check other women out,” he suggests .

I let out a laugh, too enraptured with Mark to even pay attention one of my favorite movies. “Are you saying my flirting is bad?” I ask him.

He gives me a dry look. “Sweetheart, I saw you that day in the café,” he says, the nickname making my cheeks burn with heat. “I know it’s bad.”

I let out a laugh. “I got you to fall for me, didn’t I?” I tease.

He shoots me a glare. “Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Okay, fine,” I say, straightening my shoulders. I did ask him for help, so I should start taking his suggestions into consideration. “What should I do?” I ask. “Flutter my eyelashes?” I blink, my lashes fluttering against my cheek.

“Dear God, stop that,” he says, making me snap my eyes open. “Forever.” I let out a laugh and he shakes his head, a low grunt leaving his throat. “Do that, and you’ll scare away every guy on the East Coast.”

“You’re still here,” I point out, a smile curving my lips.

“God, help me,” he groans. “I don’t know why.”

“Because you love me, Mark,” I tease, shooting him a wink.

His eyes slowly blink down at me before he lets out a sigh. “Pass me the damn cookies.”