“What?”
I shoot to my feet and spin on my heel. The sexy, brown-haired, green-eyed, great-shouldered vet is leaning against the wall.
Crap.
His cheeks are split into a wide, shit-eating smile that inflames me as quickly as it melts me.
Kill. Me. Now.
His smile is deep and wide. “Well, that was the nicest welcome I’ve ever had.”
I want to spit some witty comeback his way. I would, too, if I could unstick the words from my throat.
“Well, here’s a nice farewell—goodbye,” I say, walking around him in the widest berth I can manage. I head toward the kitchen and mentally kick myself. Repeatedly. Hard.
My face is on fire as my heart pushes blood through my veins at double speed.
I enter the kitchen and head directly to the sink. Gripping the edge, I let the cool air coming in through the open window wash over me.
I’m going to kill Liv for not warning me. Damn her.
Holden’s voice trails through the house. I’m slightly excited that he’s here, though I don’t want to be. Those feelings cost me a dose of mortification already.
Come to think of it . . . damn him too.
CHAPTER THREE
HOLDEN
She’s still a ball of fire, isn’t she?” I don’t realize I’ve asked this out loud until a voice behind me answers.
“Most of the time.”
As a clamor of pots and pans echoes down the hallway, I refocus my attention on Olivia. She’s watching me with amusement . . . and with a heavy dose of soot covering her face.
“I’m Liv,” she says. “In case you don’t remember me. But I’m sure you do, because I’m pretty unforgettable, right?”
“Absolutely.” I grin. “You’re the wiser Bates sister. And funnier.”
Her lips part. “It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. It’s good to see you, too, Liv.”
She nods in satisfaction. “So what are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to get a room.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask Sophie,” she says with a smug smile.
“Why? Aren’t you running this place?”
“Nope. Sophie is.”
I think back to what Dottie said as I left the clinic a little while ago. Her words are out of my grasp, but I swear she alluded to the fact that Liv was in charge here.
My stomach rumbles as if to remind me to get on with it.
“Do you know where she went, so I can ask her about staying here?” I ask. “If I have to drive back to Nashville tonight, I want to get started.”
Liv winks. “Answer this first: Are you married or otherwise significantly involved with someone on a level of not just friendship?”
“No . . . ,” I say carefully, not sure if that’s the right or wrong answer but fairly certain there is a right or wrong answer.
“Great!” She takes a string of tissues out of a box on Sophie’s desk and wipes her face. The soot streaks and smears even more. “Go down the hallway and take the last door on your left to the kitchen. Tell my sister that the soot was getting in my eyes and I had to go home and shower and I sent you back there before I went blind.” She pats me on the shoulder with her clean hand as she walks by. “Good luck, Holden.”
“Am I actually going to need luck for this?”
“Maybe.” She laughs as she slips out the door.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. My stomach rumbles again, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since a hurried breakfast at the hotel. Before I can get lost in the hunger, a clatter ricochets down the hallway, and Sophie’s voice is blended in with the pings and clanks. I think I hear my name garbled in there, and it makes me grin.
A large chandelier hangs overhead as I step into the foyer. I can imagine the romantic ambiance it creates at night as it glows above the staircase. And as I venture down the hallway, I take in the green-and-white wallpaper adorning the top halves of the walls. White paneling lines the bottoms.
By the time I get to the kitchen doorway, the racket has settled. A quiet comfort fills the bed-and-breakfast. With an anxious flutter in my stomach, I pause.
The room is bathed in sunlight and warmth from the early-evening sun. Wooden beams line the ceiling, and a rack hangs above the island with copper pots and pans dangling overhead. Sophie is standing at the island, a gold apron tied around her waist. Her hair is piled on top of her head as she slices vegetables and pretends not to notice me.
“Hey,” I say.
She doesn’t startle. “What?”
“Are you mad at me?” I tease.
“Did you bring me an antibiotic?”
“Nope. I did not break the law for you.”
She fights a smile. “Then yes, I’m mad at you.”
“Well, damn.”
She refuses to look up from her work. The knife moves smoothly through the vegetables, although it hits the cutting board with a harder thud than necessary. Still, she stays absorbed with the carrots and onion and pointedly ignores my presence.
“I promise that I won’t bat my extraordinary lashes if you look at me,” I joke.
Her hand wobbles on the knife. “Have I asked you to leave already? Because if I haven’t, I am now.”
“You haven’t seen me for ten years, and you’re kicking me out that fast?”
The knife slams through a pepper. “Yes.”
I mosey across the kitchen. She still doesn’t focus any direct attention my way. Swiping a piece of carrot, I pop it in my mouth.
That does it. Her eyes flip to mine. The browns melt with the golds, creating a caramellike hue that seems to be lit up from the inside.
“I need a place to stay,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I need my dignity back.”
“What? Are you talking about that ‘He’s so amazing’ thing back there? Because that was cute.”
She groans. “I’m not six. I don’t want to be cute.”
“Want me to say it was hot? I was trying not to make it awkward.”
She looks at me long enough to narrow her eyes. “I want to pretend like it didn’t happen.”
“Forgot about it already.”
She gathers the vegetables into a line down the center of the board. I swipe a couple more carrots. My stomach rumbles again, and I wonder what she’d do if I grabbed the board and ate everything she just prepared.
“So? Room?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s there to not know? You’re running a business to presumably make money, and I’m offering legal tender for a service you provide.”
“Yeah, but the beauty of being a business owner is that I get to make the decisions. There’s a sign over the door that says that I reserve the right to refuse service.”
I take a slice of pepper as she swipes at my hand. “There is no such sign.”
“Well, there should be.” She takes the cutting board and sets it by the stove. “What are you doing in town, anyway? Most people can’t just up and leave their jobs to come help their grandparents.”
My stomach rumbles again, but this time it’s not from hunger.
I slide a barstool out from beneath the island and sit across from her. She fires me a disapproving look before turning back toward the stove. A pan of meat simmers away. It smells delicious, and I’m tempted to go poke around and see what I can find to eat, but I don’t.