I’m definitely a sucker for Holden McKenzie’s smile.
I grin at the thought.
“What?” Liv asks.
“Nothing.”
Needing some space and a change of scenery before my older sister starts poking around, I make my way into the hallway that runs down the center of the home. The hardwood floors let me know that she follows me down the corridor, past the staircase, and into the room beside the powder room.
My calendar is open on my desk. Doodles of hearts and flowers cover the white area around the edges. Giant Xs mark through every day that has already passed. What’s not there is the countdown running in my head—the countdown to the day next month when I have to come up with almost $5,000 or lose everything that’s precious to me.
“I was brainstorming today,” Liv says. “And don’t even look at me like that. This idea is pure gold.”
I sit in my chair. Peering up at her, I try not to roll my eyes. “Your last idea included square dancing.”
“Which I still stand behind. It’s a lost art that I think, no, I believe, people would love to revisit. But we’ll come back to that. We need to focus on the fall tourist season right now. We need those northerners staying here when they come down to fish or pick persimmons or whatever it is they do.”
“We absolutely do need them staying here.” I tap a pen against the desk. “I know what will help. I’ve been thinking about it. We need a gazebo in the back and to repaint the upstairs bedrooms too. I have plans, Liv. Big ones. And I’m getting my feet under me again. I just . . .”
I tap the pen harder and ignore my sister’s cocked brow.
Liv knows the Honey House is in financial crisis—mostly because she was here when my ex-husband, Chad, cleaned out more than his half of our savings as he left. She’s also aware of the fact that the Honey House needs sprucing up. It needed it before the Sweet Tea, Rockery’s newest establishment, opened three towns over. As soon as that fancy-schmancy bed-and-breakfast set up shop, it dipped into my bottom line. But all that beautifying will have to wait until I can save the Honey House from the tax auction next month.
Ugh.
“I just need a fairy godmother,” I lament.
“Ew. No. Those are creepy. What you need is a knight in shining armor with five thousand dollars handy.”
I laugh. “That’s the only way I’d get married again.”
Liv takes an embroidered pillow off the chair across from me. After setting it aside, she plops down and grins. “You need to ease up on your anti-maleness.”
“I’m not anti-male. I’m just anti-dating.” I lean back in my chair and sigh. “I have no need for sweaty palms and compulsory smiles and fake interest in why one of you wore a particular gray sweater. Dating is forced experiences ruined by pressure, expectations, and having to wear real pants in public. Not my jam.”
“Well, it’s not mine, either, when you put it like that.”
“See?”
She rolls her eyes. “So what did you do today?”
Just like that, a surge of energy roars through my veins. It’s a crazy mix of currents—a dose of excitement from seeing Holden again, a sprinkle of annoyance at his confidence, and, if I’m being honest, a smidgen of dizziness from his smile.
The little boy I used to play with every summer is now most definitely all grown up.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand.
“Ooh,” Liv singsongs. “What’s that look all about?”
“What’s what look all about?”
“That smile.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I ran by Dr. Fred’s, actually.”
Liv leans back, gripping the arms of her chair as she anticipates my next words.
The problem is, I don’t know what to say. I haven’t had a lot of time to mull it over and boil down my thoughts about Holden. Sure, his angled jaw and brilliant green eyes that remind me of clover in springtime have muscled their way into my brain throughout the afternoon. And maybe the way his shirt clings to his biceps and shoulders did too. Maybe.
But if I tell my sister all that, she’ll flip out. It’ll be taken the wrong way. She’ll be trying to marry us off like she did when we were teenagers. There’s no doubt she’ll be planning our wedding at the nonexistent gazebo in the backyard instead of figuring out how to help me build the wedding prop in the first place.
“I’m going to need you to speak,” she prompts, waving a hand through the air. “I need more, Sophie—especially with you sitting there like that.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Fred’s . . . new sidekick is a stickler for rules and”—hot—“a little difficult.”
“And . . .”
I roll my eyes in case she can somehow see my stomach fluttering. My brain shouts at my mouth to stop there. To cease dialogue. But my lips part, and before I know it, I’m going there.
“And he has the straightest, whitest teeth and a smile that probably distracts people, because he kept flashing it my way. But I refused to break. I don’t break for a great smile.”
Liv moves, her arm hitting a stack of books on the corner of my desk. They hit the chair before dropping to the floor with a boom. She scoots to pick them up.
“Oh my gosh, Sophie. Do I know him?” she asks with a giddiness that inches up the same feeling in me.
“You did. Um, it’s Holden. Do you remember him?”
Her head whips to me. “Of course I do.”
Liv places the books back on the desk’s corner. They aren’t squared, and the messiness of it makes me crazy, but I can’t worry about that when my brain is misfiring at thoughts of the vet.
Liv smiles as she gets to her feet. “So he’s cute?”
“Yes, he’s cute,” I admit. There’s no sense in lying. As soon as she runs into him in town, she’ll see for herself and then wonder why I downplayed it. “He’s cute . . . but not in an everyday kind of way. He’s gone from ‘boy next door’ to ‘man of your dreams.’ Does that make sense?”
“So he’s hot? That’s what you mean?”
I flush. “Well, yeah. I mean, he has the most symmetrical features and a delicious jawline. And his eyelashes are extraordinary. That overpriced tube of crap I put on mine every night to make them grow wouldn’t give me ones equal his, even if I used it, and it actually worked, for ten years.”
My sister watches me, her eyes dancing with humor. “I can totally envision this. So . . . dark-brown hair?”
“Yes.”
“And . . . green eyes? And great shoulders. Like they have that slope from his neck down in a thick, muscled band.” She mimics the slope in the air with her hands.
“Wow. You’re good at this. Or maybe I’m really good at setting the stage.” I think about it. “You know what—it’s actually probably me. All these years of writing marketing material for the Honey House are paying off.”
Liv grins. Hard. The kind of smile so deep, so mysterious, that my stomach flip-flops.
“What?” I ask.
“It could be all that marketing,” she says. “Or it could be that Holden McKenzie is standing right behind you.”