A dose of warmth spreads across my body.
I tug the tie around my waist a little harder as I make my way through the house to the front door. The lock is engaged. I flip it free before stepping onto the porch.
Pieces of decorations litter the lawn. Tire tracks mar the grass near the road where cars pulled off to join the party last night. If I try hard enough, I can still hear the clapping and celebration.
It’s . . . surreal.
Pulling the robe tighter against the cool morning air, I head across the road to Liv’s. The house is quiet as I step inside.
“Liv?” I ask, closing the door behind me.
“In the kitchen.”
I walk around the vacuum still in the middle of the living room and find her at the kitchen table. She looks up from the newspaper with a cheesy grin on her face.
“How’s the bride this morning?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Will you stop it?”
The paper rattles as she sets it on the table. “No, I won’t stop it. I saw that kiss. And I heard a little somethin’-somethin’ while we were cleaning up.”
My face feels like I’ve been walking in the desert. I sit across from my sister. “What you heard was your own fault.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad about that? Because I don’t. I’m jealous, in fact.” She looks at the ceiling. “The way he kissed you—”
“Liv.”
She lowers her head and looks at me. I meet her gaze with my own no-nonsense glare. She’s unaffected. I, however, am not.
I, too, remember Holden’s kiss. Vividly. And how soft his lips were against mine. The heat of his breath as it mixed with mine. How his hand nestled at the small of my back.
If all that were real, I’d be one lucky girl.
But it’s not.
And I have to remember that little bit of unfortunate truth.
“Why are you still home?” I glance at the clock in the hope that we can change the subject for a while. “It’s . . . nine thirty. Crap. I should’ve been up hours ago.”
“That’s what happens when you’re doing the dirty all night.”
She giggles at my ill-fated attempt to glare at her again.
“I’m home,” she says, “because Henry is at company headquarters in Nashville this morning. I hope this means I’ll get transferred to the Rockery office. I also hope it doesn’t mean Henry gets transferred elsewhere without me, because I love working for him.”
“Good luck,” I offer.
“Thanks. Anyway, back to you and the good doctor . . .”
“He’s a vet.”
“Your point?”
I shrug. “Just . . . clarifying.”
She tucks her legs under her and gets comfortable. Liv getting situated is a solid indication that she’s in this conversation for the long haul, meaning she has questions and wants to prod.
I start to get up but am frozen to my seat by a cocked brow.
“All jokes aside,” she says. “You doing okay this morning?”
The question is full of sincerity. There’s no teasing implied, no ribbing ready to fall out of her mouth. She means it.
And this is why I love her.
I settle back in my seat and contemplate how to answer her question. Am I okay? Yeah. I think so.
“I mean, I need a little coffee, but yeah, I think I’m good,” I say.
She slow blinks.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t understand how you can be good. It’s such a . . . nondescript word.”
“That’s not true. Good means I’m . . . fine.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Which is another meaningless word.”
I scoff before getting to my feet and heading toward her coffee maker. Well aware of her eyes on my back, I pour myself a cup. Slowly. Because I get where she’s going, and she’s not wrong.
But trying to pinpoint the emotions that I’m just beginning to really feel is harder than I expected. I need to rationalize them to myself before I go spouting stuff I may or may not regret later.
That’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way—more than once.
Think first, speak later. Figure it out in your own mind before projecting it into someone else’s brain.
Except that’s easier said than done with a sister like Liv.
“I’m waiting,” she says.
I grab a spoon and make my way back to the table.
“Gramma’s ring looks pretty on your hand,” she says softly.
My stomach tightens as I sit. “Well, I’m sure it’ll look just as pretty on yours when you get married someday.”
“If I never get it back, I’ll be just fine with that.”
I raise my mug but pause as it hovers in front of my mouth. I watch my sister over the brim. There’s a glimmer in her eyes that makes me uneasy.
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject, “I need your help. Now that I’m not drowning in financial obligations, I get to focus on sprucing up the Honey House. Did you know the homecoming festivities got pushed back to late October this year?”
“No.”
“Well, they did. And that means I have time to try to draw in new business. You know how many people come by and make reservations for the holidays and Valentine’s Day and spring break during homecoming.”
Liv nods. “I know. I have to make sure I don’t write stuff down on sticky notes this year and actually put it all on the calendar. You’d think I’d learn.”
I chuckle before taking a sip of my coffee.
The clouds break and the sun begins to stream through the kitchen windows. Sitting back, I prop my feet up on the chair next to me. I work my toes back and forth and feel the stretch up my calves.
My whole body hums. I have a sudden urge to get up and . . . do. Go. Paint, build, and plan. It reminds me of how I felt many, many moons ago.
It reminds me of . . . me. The old me. The capable me. The me who has shit under control.
Man, I missed her.
“What?” Liv asks.
“Huh?”
“What are you thinking right now? You’re off in your own little happy world.”
I set my mug back on the table. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking that I’m happy.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it. “I’m not going to say it.”
“Look at you, learning new tricks. I didn’t think it was possible.”
“So funny.”
My feet plant on the floor, and I sit up. “I’m happy because I feel like I’m finally on the right path. I always make decisions and wake up the next morning and second-guess myself. And it’s now”—I look at the clock again—“nine forty-five. I’ve been awake a whole thirty minutes, give or take, and I haven’t had my fight-or-flight instinct kick in one time.”
“Because he’s hot.”
I fire her a warning glare that I mean with every bone in my body.
“Well, he is. And he’s nice. And he was so good with Jobe last night.” She leans against the table. “Gramma would’ve loved him, sis.”
I force a swallow and get to my feet. Turning away from Olivia, I take my mug to the sink.
She’s right. Holden is hot, and Gramma would’ve loved him. Heck, I halfway think she sent him here in the first place. But it doesn’t matter. This isn’t real.