He was also the kid who stuck by Holly through every humiliating moment of her high school life. And if it wasn't for Thatcher, Holly would not have got her big break in modelling.
“Thank you everyone,” he said with a clap: his signal to his team to pack up. Holly relaxed and stopped sucking in her stomach.
“Hey, did you hear about the mixer tonight?” Thatcher asked Holly, as his team disassembled the lighting.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Are you going?” Holly asked. The idea of having a friendly face at the function lifted her spirits exponentially. Thatcher shrugged.
“Estelle invited me, would be rude not to go,” he said, flashing his veneers. Holly smirked.
“That’s right, I forgot you two were bosom pals,” she joked, giving him a nudge. A flush of color rose to Thatcher’s round cheeks, almost matching the shade of red in his hair.
“Well, do you want to come? I’ll introduce you to Estelle. I hear she’s looking for the next cover girl for the magazine.”
Holly’s breath caught in her chest as she did her best to conceal a squeal. Being the cover girl at Estelle magazine was a career-making opportunity. Something every model in New York dreamed of.
Then she remembered her promise to Josie and her heart sank.
“Can’t. I’m helping the caterers.”
Thatcher gave her a frank look.
“And?” he said, wagging his brows like two red, wriggling caterpillars. “Who cares if you’re one of the servers? You’ll be there and that’s perfect. I’ll come find you and introduce you to Estelle.”
Holly gawped at him. The thought of being dressed as a server during her first meeting with Estelle sent her stomach into knots. And what if Estelle remembered Holly from the event that ended in disaster? She shook her head and waved her hands dramatically to cement her answer.
“No, I’m okay. Not this time.”
She resolved that one day the stars would align, and she’d be at a mixer wearing a devastatingly gorgeous cocktail dress and dazzling the whole room. Then, Estelle would beg Thatcher to be introduced. A small smile crept across Holly’s face at the thought.
“Disappointing. Don’t you think it’s about time you do something to put yourself out there?”
Holly glanced at the material draped over her shoulder and pinned at the back to resemble some sort of dress and looked pointedly at Thatcher.
“What do you think this is?” she asked, holding up her hands. Thatcher shook his head.
“Ah, but this here is your comfort zone. You’re with me. My team. Nobody is going to reject you.”
“Hey,” Holly interjected. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Thatcher avoided her gaze and puffed out his cheeks.
“Nothing, nothing.” He waved a hand and fiddled with the dials on his camera.
“No, tell me. What do you mean about rejection?” Holly nudged him and Thatcher huffed. Finally, he looked at her.
“I know I promised I’d never bring it up. But… prom night.”
Holly’s cheeks burned and her throat clammed up. He needn’t say anymore.
Fifteen years had passed since prom night, but the memory was branded on her mind. Holly could easily recall every tiny detail of the night. From the mermaid sequin dress that scratched her arms. To the smell of the fog machine up on the stage. Just thinking about it, she could feel the music thumping against her eardrums and the vibrations underfoot.
It should have been a dream night. Arlo Brown, the most popular boy in school, was her date. And against all odds, she was voted prom queen.
When it was announced, she couldn’t even believe it. Arlo swished his chocolate brown hair, flashed her a grin and stuck his arm out for her. Holly picked up her dress and glided across the dancefloor feeling like a million dollars. There was a hush and a sea of wide eyes as they made their way to the stage.
After Mrs. Bell placed the crown on her head and turned to pick up a bunch of red roses, Arlo grabbed the microphone and pointed unceremoniously at Holly.
“Here’s to the prom queen,” he shouted. The whole room erupted into laughter. Confused, Holly waved. Doing her best impression of a winner of a beauty pageant.
“Look at her. She thinks she’s really prom queen,” someone shouted. More laughter.
Holly looked at Arlo who had his phone out, facing her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her stomach in knots.
“You think I’d really want to take you to prom? I got everyone to vote for you so I could take you up here and show you what a loser you really are! Smile for the camera, baby. This is going in the yearbook.”
Holly tried to make a run for it, but her heel got caught in the hem of her dress and she went hurtling down the stage steps and landed face first on the floor.
“Loser! Loser! Loser!”
Holly closed her eyes and shuddered as the chant echoed in her head.
“Why are you bringing this up?” she said in a deathly whisper. Thatcher touched her arm; Holly opened her eyes to see the apologetic look on his face.
“Holly, you know I love you. I’ll always have your back. But one of these days you’ve got to fly the nest. I can’t always work with you. What are you going to do then?”
The warmth in his voice settled Holly’s nerves and she sighed.
“Live in a cardboard box on the side of the street?” she offered with a crooked smile.
“I’d hate to see you end up sad and alone,” Thatcher said. Holly chuckled.
“I won’t. We’ve got that pact, remember? If neither of us find love by the time we’re thirty-five, we’ll get married.”
Suddenly, Holly realized that was just a couple of years away. The sickly feeling returned.
“About that. I’m moving to Paris,” Thatcher said frankly.
Holly’s mouth flew open as she blinked at him, unable to speak. Thatcher had become a permanent fixture in her life. After high school, they went to the same college. Then Thatcher’s rich uncle got him working for a couple of agencies, and Thatcher was able to bring Holly
