I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile on my face again. I’m not sure one dessert per good deed is the correct exchange rate, but if that’s what will make Hollis feel appreciated, that’s what he shall receive. Besides, I’m really not buying this “Oh, I’m just selfish” act of his. I bet he’s a secret cinnamon roll himself; he’s just hiding it underneath a thick layer of... burnt toast for some reason.
After making my purchase and getting the name of the artist who did the cashier’s extremely cool mermaid tattoo in case I ever get over my fear of needles, I return to Hollis with a massive stack of napkins and a Cinnabon box in each hand. He’s still sitting in front of the windows, his expression that of someone who would never sayharumphbut is constantly thinking it. “Here you go,” I say, holding out the containers. “Thanks again.”
But he only takes the fork and one cinnamon roll, leaving the other still in my possession.
“What about the—”
“I don’t like eating alone,” he says, lazily waving the fork toward the seat to his left. “Sit.”
“Um. Thank you.” I lower into the chair beside him, then spring back up. “Oh, but I only grabbed one—”
Hollis hands me the black plastic fork, stands, and places his container on his chair. A minute later he returns with another fork and settles back in beside me.
Again, I’m struck by the strange juxtaposition of his personality. He’s not very nice, and yet he’s sokind.
“I’m Millicent,” I say, realizing he probably doesn’t remember my name. “Most people call me Millie.”
“Millicent. Right.” He digs his fork into his cinnamon roll. “I’m Hollis. Hollis Hollenbeck.”
“I know.”
He raises his fork, topped with a giant bite that’s mostly icing. “Cheers,” he says, barely making eye contact before he shoves it into his mouth. For someone so grumpy, he’s awfully cute.
We’re quiet for a while as we eat. Well, quiet except for the occasional satisfied hum from Hollis. Then he asks me to hand him a napkin, and I figure it’s as good an opening as any to start a conversation.
“So you’re headed to Miami?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says around a mouthful of cinnamon roll.
“For business or pleasure?”
“Both.” I think that’s all I’m going to get, but after he finishes chewing, he continues, “I promised my agent a finished draft of my new project by the end of next month, but, uh, I can’t seem to get words on the page lately. So I’m hoping a week... relaxing with my, uh, friend will get me unstuck. She’s been... helpful in the past. With relaxation.”
I add up his “uh”s and pauses until they make sense. “You’re going to Miami for a sex appointment?”
“That’s not the expression I would use.” His eyes shift over to me for a moment before returning to the Cinnabon container. “But yes.”
“And you think that’ll cure your writer’s block?”
He puts down his fork and directs his full attention toward me for the first time since I sat down. I get a long and direct enough look at his eyes to notice that the cognac brown one isn’t actually all brown, just about 80 percent; there’s a bit of blue in the top right, like the sea meeting sand.
“It’s not a block,” Hollis says. “It’s a... minor clog. Nothing a week with a gorgeous woman in an oceanfront condo can’t knock loose.”
“Well, I hope it’s... satisfactory?”
“Thank you,” he says as he takes another bite. He pauses, eyes closed, savoring, finding way more enjoyment in it than anyone should be able to find in airport food. Then his eyes flit open behind his glasses, the moment of ecstasy apparently over. “What about you? What are you going to be doing in Miami?”
“Not much. I’m only staying one night, then driving to Key West first thing in the morning.”
“Vacation?”
“Not exactly. I’m going with a friend,” I say.
Hollis glances around the terminal as if trying to scope out the location of my traveling companion. “Meeting them there?”
“No, no, Mrs. Nash is dead and in my backpack.” The part of me that should have registered that this is a weird thing to say seems to be on a late lunch break. Well, it’s already out of my mouth, what can you do?
He almost chokes on his next bite. Maybe I should’ve bought him a bottle of water. “Um. I’m... sorry for your loss?”
