Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) by Katy Regnery

Author:Katy Regnery
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Katharine Gilliam Regnery
Published: 2015-06-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Griselda plated the food, and they ate at the kitchen table—a feast of cold chicken and apple slices washed down with ice-cold well water—and all the while they traded shy, happy, knowing glances, staring at each other, then looking away, shaking their heads with low, bemused laughter, both quietly delighted and just a little overwhelmed by what had just happened between them, by the words they’d spoken and the promises they’d made.

Holden wore nothing but unbuttoned jeans, and she stared at his chest—his strong, beautiful, sculpted chest that memorialized her loss—as much as she liked, biting her lip when he caught her, then giggling when he threatened to take her on the kitchen floor if she didn’t stop.

His eyes were soft with love, but alive with wonder, and every moment she spent with him, he looked more and more like the boy she’d known so well and loved so much. She could have happily watched him forever. Heck, she thought as she rinsed the dishes, that was the plan, wasn’t it?

As she stood at the sink tidying up, Holden went outside to the truck. When he came back a few minutes later, Griselda placed the clean plates in the drying rack by the sink and turned to look at his sweet smile, and noticed both hands were hidden behind his back.

“What you got behind your back, Holden Croft?” she asked, her eyes teasing.

His cheeks reddened a little as he showed her a notebook and three pens, holding them out to her.

Her eyes flicked questioningly from the items in his hand back to his face.

“It’s a gift. Maybe a d-dumb gift, but I thought . . . well, I thought you could write out some of your stories while we’re here.”

The lump in her throat was so immediate and huge, she dropped his eyes, trying to swallow over it, but it made her own eyes burn with tears. He’d gotten her a gift.

With shaking hands, she reached for the notebook and pens, staring down at them as one fat tear rolled down to the tip of her nose and splashed onto the notebook cover.

“Gris?” he said, reaching out to tilt her chin up. “You okay?”

“I love them,” she whispered, clutching them to her chest and trying to get herself under control. “No one’s . . . I mean, I haven’t gotten a gift in . . .”

He flinched, leaning forward to kiss her tenderly before drawing her into his arms, the notebook and pens trapped between their hearts.

She felt foolish for crying. It was such a kind, thoughtful gesture, and she was ruining it with self-pity. But aside from the homemade birthday card that Prudence had made for her this year, and the extra fifty dollars in her paycheck at Christmas and on her birthday, Griselda didn’t receive gifts. Not now. Not ever. Not from her mother, not from her grandmother, not from any of her foster parents, not from Maya, and certainly not from Jonah. Not counting the extra money from the McClellans, she hadn’t received a gift since .

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