Claiming Holly (Holiday Cove 1)

Especially when my alarm was permanently set to five AM.

While most of my friends and fellow pilots were looking ahead, one night at a time, I was preoccupied with the rest of my life and had reached a point where I was no longer able to ignore the desire to meet someone special, settle down—at least, as much as a military life would allow—and have a family of my own. Adopting Princess had been the first step in that discovery process.

I just hadn’t found anyone that hit me like lighting and made me see the potential of a lifelong love that my parents had shared for forty years.

I sighed and absently pat Princess’s back. “You don’t think I’m boring, do you?”

Princess blinked and used my distracted state against me, by reaching over into my lap and snagging a scrap of chicken off my plate. I sighed and leaned forward to put the plate on the coffee table, out of her reach. “Yeah, yeah. I know, you’re just here for the food.” Princess wagged her tail, and I laughed at her guilty expression. “All right, let’s call it a night.”

On my way back to the kitchen to put my plate in the dishwasher, I caught sight of the clock. It was barely nine o’clock.

“God, I am boring.”

2

Holly

The date that had been circled, drawn over with highlighter pens half a dozen times, and underlined in my planner for months, had finally arrived: April 17th. Two days post tax day, and while my desk was still buried in paperwork that would need to be dealt with, it could finally all be put on hold. The phone was quiet, my email box was cleared, and as I left my office, I let out a deep sigh of relief.

Time to relax.

“Have a good vacation, Holly!” I turned at the voice and spotted Paula, the woman who leased the office next door to mine. She ran a thriving online fashion boutique and used the space as part photography studio for her collection of goods going on sale, and part office for paperwork and hosting meetings with buyers. She’d been leasing the office for years and had been incredibly warm and welcoming to me since I’d moved into my compact office on the other side of hers. She was a decade older than me, married, with two school aged kids at home, but we’d bonded over our mutual love of small label fashion and anything that had a bohemian chic flair.

“Thanks Paula. It feels so good to get out of there. I swear, it was beginning to feel like the walls were caving in on me!”

Paula laughed. “I bet! I can’t imagine the amount of pressure on you this time of year. I get frazzled enough just trying to round up my own documents for taxes. I would definitely lose my mind if I was the one actually responsible for doing the taxes. God bless ya, honey!”

I locked the deadbolt on my door and smiled at Paula. “Are you taking off for the night?” I asked, unsure if she was coming or going from her office. She had two large paper shopping bags dangling from her right arm.

“Not just yet. I just picked up some new goodies from a new supplier and want to get the photos done and edited before I call it a night.”

I nodded. It was nearing seven o’clock, but over the past few weeks, leading up to tax day, I’d put in some ridiculously late hours of my own, and knew that Paula was a non-stop machine for her business. “Sounds fun! I wish I could stay and play, but I have to get home and get packed.”

“We’ll catch up when you get back, girl, no worries!” Paula opened her door. “Have the best time!”

“Thanks Paula. See you in two weeks.” I smiled and she disappeared inside her office, the door softly falling closed behind her.

Two weeks. All to myself.

I ducked my chin as I waited for the elevator and fought back the flood of memories from my last real vacation.

My honeymoon.

“Get it together, Parker,” I whispered to myself. I stepped onto the elevator and shook my head and shoulders, tossing my long, freshly colored, blonde hair back with a sweep of confidence I didn’t thoroughly feel. “That’s ancient history.”

The next two weeks were all I wanted to think about, not things that should have been forgotten three years ago.

“Sorry, I’m late!” I called out when I pushed through the front door of my condo.

My best friend, Rachel, was curled up on the cream suede couch. She glanced over and smiled. “No worries. Little man here kept me company,” she replied, scratching the ears of my six-month old chocolate lab puppy, Hunter—also known as, the mini hell hound.

“Oh, I’ll bet he did.” I couldn’t help but smile at him snuggled up against Rachel’s chest, his back legs kicking as he was apparently mid puppy dream. I veered left and dropped off a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “What’s the damage? Was he into shoes or furniture today?”