There’s a hint of defiance in her eyes that causes my breath to stall in my chest. I have to force myself to look away from her and at the road so we don’t crash. Still, I can feel her beside me, contemplating her options.
Finally, she slinks back into her seat. “Damn you.”
Relief and disappointment wash over me in equal doses. I force a long, hard swallow and reach for the window switch.
The cool air fills the car as the glass is lowered. I twist my face to it in the hope that it will calm the heated blood roaring through my veins and bring some sense of rationality back to my brain.
Get a grip, McKenzie. Don’t make it weird.
I toss the candy bar on her lap. “Here. You can have it.”
“Really?” She eyes the PayDay suspiciously. “No. Forget that I said that. I don’t want you to rethink it.”
She swipes up the bar and begins to tear the wrapper. Her cheeks are flushed as she refuses to make eye contact with me.
“You might make a decent fake husband after all,” she says.
I snort. “You do realize this is going to be a real marriage, right?”
“Yeah. But you’ll just be my real legal husband. Still my fake real husband.”
“I like how you differentiate that, crazy lady.”
“It’s all about the justification.” She chomps off the end of the candy bar and shrugs. The color in her face begins to even back out. “So did you really want this PayDay? Or were you just screwing with me?”
“It’s actually my favorite. For real,” I tell her, rolling the window back up.
“Mine too. That’s weird.”
“I lived on them in vet school. Figured they couldn’t be that terrible for me since they’re loaded with peanuts.”
She furrows her brows like I’m out of my mind. “Keep telling yourself that. I just accept that I’ve trained my body to operate on sugar and caffeine.”
Shadows dance through the car as we go around a long, meandering bend. Sophie breaks the PayDay in half and hands me one chunk.
“Here,” she says as I take it. “I have a thing about people being hungry.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“Ugh . . .” She laughs softly to herself as she shoves the wrapper back in the bag. “Don’t tell anyone.”
She rests an arm on the console and gazes out the window.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye, sneaking in longer glances here and there. The light-yellow shirt that looks like silk brings out the gold in her eyes. A pair of belted black pants flaunts the dip of her waist and showcases the curve of her hips.
I didn’t give much thought as to what she, or I, would wear for our nuptials. There wasn’t time. But when I saw her with her hair flowing down her back in loose waves, like she woke up like that in the morning, I was stunned. She’d put time and energy into looking pretty—very fucking pretty—for this, and all I had with me was a pair of khakis and a polo shirt.
Not only that, but how do I tell her she looks gorgeous? Do I even tell her that to start with? If it were a date, I absolutely would, but it’s not. It’s a real-but-sham marriage, and I’m not sure what the protocol is for something of this . . . magnitude.
Shit.
I look at her again.
“I would’ve worn something nicer if I had more lead time for this,” I say. “I only brought stuff for work and screwing off.”
She whips her head my way. Her brows tug together, framing surprised yet assessing eyes.
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “You look great.”
I sigh. “I feel underdressed next to you, and I don’t want you to think I didn’t try.”
Her laugh flows through my ears. “Are you just fishing for compliments?”
“What? No.”
“You are, aren’t you?” She settles back in her seat again. “But since you gave me the PayDay, I’ll play along. You look great, Holden. Very handsome.”
“No—stop,” I say with a laugh. “I was just saying I wanted you to know that I did my best under the circumstances . . . especially since you look beautiful.”
She looks at me and tries to hide her smile. But the way her eyes light up makes my day, even without a full-blown grin.
“Well, thank you,” she says. Her head falls back against the headrest. “I don’t think this outfit compares with the dress I wore the last time I got married. But the veil and all that crap didn’t help then, so maybe just winging it will help this go-round.”
There’s something about her vulnerability that has me wanting to move my hand three inches to the right and touch hers. I want to reassure her that her first marriage didn’t fail because of her—there’s no damn way—and to promise her that ours will be as easy, and quick, as she hopes.
As we hope.
“Why are you bad husband material?” she asks.
The question catches me off guard. “Huh?”
“At Tank’s the other night, you said you weren’t husband material. Why not? Really. No bullshit.”
I regrip the steering wheel.
The conversation from what feels both like just yesterday and ten years ago trickles through my mind. I did say that. I know what I meant too. I just don’t know how to explain it to her.
I blow out a breath and let my mind try to sort it out. As we drive over a small creek, the car bouncing around on the rough concrete, I start.
“You know what it is?” I ask.
“No, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Smart-ass,” I say, taking in her animated face beside me. “It’s that . . . I don’t want people to need me. I mean, I could say it all sorts of different ways and try to make it sound less . . . asshole-ish, but that’s what it is in a nutshell. I know it sounds like bullshit, but people relying on you equates to disappointment to me.”
The way she twists her entire body my way lets me know that she’s not about to just let this go.
Unfortunately.
“I don’t really believe you,” she says.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“That can’t be true, Holden. You’re a vet. By choice. It’s a very need-driven career.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think your clients need you?”
“Yes, my clients need me. But they’re animals, not humans. I’m okay with that.”
“So you just don’t want humans to need you,” she states, waiting on my confirmation.
I nod.
“What happened to make you so . . .”
“Honest?” I offer.
“Not exactly the word I was going for.” She takes the bag off the floor and sorts through the candy again. “I was going to say scared, but whatever.”
“I’m not scared,” I protest. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
She opens a package of Nerds and pops a handful in her mouth. “Well, that’s what I heard.”
“You heard wrong.”
She swallows and then proceeds to fill her mouth with candy again. It’s only after a few minutes that I realize she’s waiting me out. Waiting for a reaction.
“I’ve had a lot of people need me. It’s a lot of pressure,” I say quietly.