But then again, if it all works out the way it’s supposed to, I won’t be here long enough to get used to it.
I sigh.
Stay focused, McKenzie. Because this might work if you don’t screw it up.
I head toward the doorway and catch the sweet scent of her perfume lingering in the air. I smile.
“Good luck to me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOPHIE
The floorboards above me creak. Footsteps shuffle around like they have on and off all night. There’s a satisfaction in knowing that Holden can’t sleep either. If I thought he was sleeping like a baby after that out-of-nowhere marriage proposal earlier, I’d probably go upstairs and bang around until he woke up.
The clock on my bedside table glows the time in a bright green. Another minute passes as I watch, and I wonder how many I’ve seen it tick by since I came to bed hours ago. It’s been a lot. Many. I’ve likely watched every one since I laid my head on the pillow, because how is someone supposed to sleep after they’ve just agreed to marriage in such an off-the-wall way?
Did that really even happen?
The late-night fog in my brain has me considering that I misread the entire situation. That there was no way a man I just got reacquainted with asked me to be his wife. That doesn’t happen. Not in real life. Not in my real life. And definitely not by a man who looks like Holden McKenzie.
But it did. It really must have happened. There’s no other way to explain the butterflies in my stomach. Wine wouldn’t even cause this kind of craziness.
I roll over onto my side.
“It’s the only way not to lose the bed-and-breakfast without getting a loan,” I say into the night. “And it’ll save me eighty-six million dollars in interest and a whole lot of dignity.”
I chew on my bottom lip as I consider my situation. It’s not that big of a deal, really. It’s not like Holden would be taking my marriage virginity. And there’s no way to get hurt emotionally because I know from the onset that he doesn’t even really want to be married to me . . . unlike Chad, who convinced me he did.
I toss to my other side and look out the window. Liv’s house is dark. I wish a light would come on so I could justify going over there and talking to her.
As I snuggle down into my pillows again and try to get comfortable, I listen for Holden. It just takes a couple of minutes until the footsteps start pattering across the ceiling again. The bed above me squeaks. I curl up in my blankets and try to stop listening for every single sound.
I close my eyes.
Pull my pillow over my head.
Tuck my feet inside the blankets so they are definitely not hanging over the edge and putting themselves at risk for being grabbed by a nonexistent monster.
I lie still. Focus on my breathing. Yet I still jump when an owl hoots outside my window.
“This is ridiculous,” I hiss, ripping the covers off me.
Slipping my feet into a pair of sneakers, I glance at the clock again. Two past two in the morning.
“Good thing I’ve woken Liv up this early . . . late . . . whatever before,” I mumble.
I grab a robe off the bedpost and tie it loosely around me. Then I creep quietly into the hall. The kitchen is dark as I pass it. Only the light above the stove is on.
My steps fall softly as I make my way to the door and step outside.
The night air welcomes me with a cold kiss. I pull my robe tighter and hurry my way down the walkway and across the road. I scurry up Liv’s driveway and the porch stairs.
The key is cool and damp as I pluck it off the window ledge and stick it in the door lock.
The entryway smells like cinnamon and apples as I step inside. A light glows faintly in the kitchen at the other end of the house. Everything is still and quiet. I sneak through the living room, careful not to trip over the vacuum she’s left in the middle of the floor for the last month, and find my way to her bedroom door.
“Liv?” I whisper as I peek inside her room. “You awake?”
She rustles in the darkness. “What? Sophie?” Her voice is heavy with sleep as she gets her bearings.
“You up?”
“No, I’m not up. It’s . . . two in the morning?” Panic clears the sleep from her tone. “Are you okay? Is Jobe all right?”
I pad across the carpet and find the edge of her bed. “We’re fine. I just want to talk.”
“Now?”
I slip off my shoes and climb in beside her. I nestle down in the blankets.
Liv rolls over to face me. The night-light from a wax burner on her dresser provides enough illumination for me to see the outline of her face.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell her.
“Well, thanks for waking me up too.”
“No problem.”
She grins. “What’s keeping you up?”
Taking a deep breath in the hope that it’ll calm my internal systems a little bit and let me communicate things clearly, I try to come up with the best way to deliver this information.
“Soph?”
“It’s been a weird night.”
“Weird like how?”
“Well . . .” I pull the blankets tight against my chest. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
She blinks. “That is weird.”
“Told you.”
She pulls the covers away from her face as if doing so will help her see me, and this situation, more clearly. “You aren’t serious.”
“I’m as serious as a heart attack. I think.” I touch my bottom lip with my finger. “No, I am. I’m getting married.”
“Sophie.” She lifts her head off the pillow. “What’s going on?”
Forcing a swallow, I wonder if I should just say Holden’s name or describe my recollection of the night. The latter would be more fun, but I think she might start shaking me if I take too long to get to the good part.
But as I prepare to say his name, an energy shoots through my body. I squirm under the blankets.
“I’m going to kill you if you don’t start talking,” she warns.
“Okay. Fine.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “To make a very long and complicated story short, Holden and I are getting married. Tomorrow. In Dogwood Lane.”
“What?” she yelps.
She sits up and scrambles to find the light. I lie perfectly still and await her interrogation.
The lamp switches on and I squint. My sister hovers over me, her eyes narrowed, too, as she tries to figure out whether I’m just screwing with her.
“Will you lie back down?” I ask. “You’re letting cool air into the bed, and I’m already cold.”
“Shut up. What do you mean you’re marrying Holden?”
I shrug. “I mean he asked me to be his wife, and I said yes.”
She rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. “I feel like I just missed a chunk of your life. This doesn’t make any sense.” She drops her hands. “Have I been in a coma or something?”
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s really not as complicated as you’re thinking it is. He needs a wife to get a job, and I’m available and willing. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
The words sound so matter-of-fact. It’s so cut-and-dried, so impersonal, when I say it out loud. Like he just asked me to house-sit or something.