Me: Yes.
Jobe: Good. Do your thing. Just take into consideration that I will be less patient to castrate him than I have been in the past with men you and Livvie date. Make sure he’s clear on that too.
Me: Noted.
Jobe: Good. Then I’m going to go back to what I was doing. Love you.
Me: Love you.
I blow out a breath and look at my sister. She’s watching me with a dose of curiosity. Walking around the foot of the bed, she pulls me into a hug. I rest my cheek against her shoulder as we embrace.
“I know it sounds weird to be excited for you, but I am,” she says as she lets me go. “The world works in mysterious ways. If you aren’t willing to take some shots in the dark, you may never hit your target. And Jobe seems okay with it. The threats were his brotherly duty.”
“You’re so wise in the middle of the night,” I tease.
“That I am. Now get out of here, or get in bed and be quiet, because I’m tired.”
I head to the door. “I’m going home. Love ya, Liv.”
“Love you, Sophie McKenzie.”
“Shut up,” I say as the light goes off.
I make my way back through her house feeling a little lighter than when I came in earlier. I step outside and lock the door behind me. After I hide the key, I turn to face the Honey House.
My home.
The place where my fiancé is probably sleeping.
I think back to the night I left Liv’s after Chad moved out. In a way, I felt . . . relief. Just in a completely different way.
“It’s time to live a little,” I say softly. “It’s time to do myself a favor for once.”
With a smile, I head back across the street.
CHAPTER NINE
HOLDEN
That will be seventeen eighty-two.” The cashier looks at me expectantly. The red apron covering her body matches the tobacco sign hanging behind her and almost disguises the pizza stain on her chest. “Would you like to donate a dollar to help with research for Phelan-McDermid Syndrome?”
“Absolutely.”
I hand her a twenty, and she doles out my change. Not bothering with my wallet, I stuff the bill and coins into my pocket and take the plastic bag from the counter.
The door whines as I push it open. I step outside, and my eyes immediately flick to the rental car.
My lips tug toward the sky.
Sophie is sitting in the passenger’s seat. One leg is bent and her elbow rests on top of it. She gazes out the windshield toward the row of evergreen trees on the edge of the gas station parking lot. She looks calm and collected as she waits for me to return—like she has not a care in the world.
Not at all like we’re on our way to get married.
I wait for my stomach to flip, to sour—for my chest to tighten as my brain flashes a red light and screeches, “Abort!”
But none of that happens. Each step I take toward my newly minted fiancée feels like the same ones I took yesterday and every day before that.
Normal.
Routine.
Familiar.
It’s from all the summers together as kids. I’m comfortable with her. That’s all it is.
I blow out a breath. The sound whooshes from my body, but I still don’t feel jittery. And that absolutely worries me.
Shouldn’t I be a little anxious about this?
I thought she’d tell me this morning that she’d changed her mind, that the wine got to her last night. Instead, she let me know that Haley was expecting us by four o’clock, so I needed to be out of the office by noon, sharp.
My brain is fuzzy as I walk back to the car. Part of it is from the pace of everything. The other part is from the lack of sleep last night.
Sophie turns her head as I climb in next to her.
“Took you long enough. I thought you just had to pee?” she asks.
“There was a line.”
“There’s like two people in there.” She eyes the bag. “What the heck is all that?”
I toss the bag onto the dashboard. The mountain of chocolate bars and hard candies rustle together.
It took far too long to make my selections. I don’t know what Sophie likes, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, it felt absolutely critical that I get something she’d enjoy. The longer I looked, the more pressure piled onto my shoulders and the more desperate I was to get it right.
So I did what any reasonable person would: I bought one of almost everything. Except the orange slices and peach rings. Nobody ever likes those.
My face flushes as Sophie tugs the bag onto her lap. Before she can say a word, I start the car and pull onto the highway.
“Holy crap. Did you leave anything for anyone else?” she asks with a laugh.
“If you have negative opinions about junk food on road trips, then you can keep them—and your hands—to yourself.”
She narrows her eyes playfully. “I didn’t say I have negative opinions about it. I was just sort of passive-aggressively implying that you might have a problem.”
I narrow my eyes back. “We aren’t married yet. I don’t have to justify anything to you.”
She holds the bag in the air. The candy nests at the bottom, stretching the plastic into an egg shape.
“This must weigh ten pounds,” she says.
I roll my eyes, trying not to notice how cute her nose looks all wrinkled up.
“I didn’t know what you liked, okay? So I got a lot of options.”
“Aw,” she says, the bag hitting her lap again with a thud. She places a hand on her heart. “You got all this for me? Without me asking? Why, Doc. How sweet.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her cheeks are pink from holding back a laugh as she dramatizes my thoughtfulness.
“It was a goodwill gesture,” I tell her. “Keep making fun of me, and you’ll get an apple on the way home.”
Her hand falls on top of the bag. “No one eats apples on road trips.”
“Except you if you keep making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you . . .” Her voice falls away as she peers into the bag. She pulls out a candy bar. “Especially since you got me a PayDay.”
“That one’s for me,” I say, swiping it out of her hand.
“Hey!”
She stares at me in disbelief for a long second. Her eyes sparkle at my actions, and before I know it, she reaches for the candy.
I switch it quickly into my left hand and hold it near the window.
“Gotta be quicker than that,” I tease.
“Or more forceful, maybe.”
She places the bag on the floor. Her seatbelt is unbuckled. She plants one of her hands on the middle console, her legs drawing up toward her body in the seat.
I squeeze the candy. The plastic wrap crinkles in my hand.
Sophie starts toward me. I lean away, keeping the loot as far away from her as possible and ignoring the zap of energy from her shoulder bumping mine. Our eyes meet each other’s just as she’s about to reach for the candy, and we come to the same quiet realization: she’ll have to literally climb onto my lap to get the PayDay.
My brain starts the “Abort!” procedure I was waiting for earlier, and I know I should keep my mouth shut.
But I can’t help it. Because I’m a man.
“How bad do you want it?” I ask, lifting a brow.