A sense of trepidation wiggles through me. It feels unnatural to be standing in my grandfather’s clinic talking to another vet about leaving after Pap offered me a permanent place. I shake the chill away and refocus.
“May I ask where you’re staying?” I gather my keys and bag from behind the counter.
“At a place over in Rockery, I believe. I need to check my secretary’s email.”
“Well, my wife and I run a bed-and-breakfast here, and we’d love to have you stay with us tonight. It’ll save you a twenty-minute trip to Rockery.”
“Oh, you got married?”
“I did.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.” His eyes light up. “If you have a vacancy, I’d be thrilled. Thank you.”
“Of course. Just follow me through town. It’s not far.”
“I’m parked out front,” he says.
“Great. Let me lock up. I’m driving a little silver car. Watch for me to pull up the alleyway, and then get behind me.”
He nods and leaves me to lock up.
So far, so good, I think as I tug my phone from my pocket. I find Sophie’s name.
Me: Dr. Montgomery is here. He’s going to stay with us. Are you okay with that?
I look at the words on the screen. An uncertainty fills my body as I realize what this means: it’s do-or-die time. And I don’t know if I do want the job or if it’ll cause a part of me to die.
The chat bubble blinks immediately. Her message pops up in seconds.
Sophie: I have the yellow room, and dinner, ready.
Me: See you soon.
“Something smells incredible,” Dr. Montgomery says, setting his overnight bag by the door.
He stands next to me in the foyer. Sophie’s office is to our right, and to our left is a formal dining room. Three places have been set—complete with linen napkins. Two taper candles glimmer on the mantel. The reflection of light in the large mirror hanging just above the wicks creates a warm, cozy setting.
Down the center of the burl wood, antique table is a blue runner. Sitting on top of the fabric are white dishes filled with food.
I’m floored. Utterly speechless. When Sophie texted me that she had dinner ready, I didn’t expect . . . this.
Sophie comes down the hallway. “Well, hello. You must be Dr. Montgomery.”
He nods appreciatively at my wife.
So do I.
She’s wearing a pale-pink dress that cinches at her waist. Her hair is down in a style that makes me think she got out of bed like that, except I know better. A pink stain tints her lips, and her cheeks are flushed.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Like, wife-mode gorgeous. A “this woman chose me and I’m wholly undeserving” kind of gorgeous.
I’m not expecting it, nor do I deserve it. Hell, it’s not even technically true. But that doesn’t stop me from puffing up like some asshole with a trophy wife.
Because damn.
I hold a hand toward her. She takes it as she reaches us with a wide smile. I slip my arm around the small of her back and try to will myself to behave.
“You must be Mrs. McKenzie,” Dr. Montgomery says. “I’m Timothy.”
“Well, Timothy, I’m Sophie, and I’m so happy you’re joining us tonight. I’ve made roasted chicken. I hope you’re hungry,” she says sweetly.
“I love roasted chicken. As a matter of fact, my wife made that the night I proposed to her,” he says as he follows her into the dining room. “I always tell her that it was the final nail in her coffin. I couldn’t possibly not marry a woman that could make a chicken like that.”
Sophie laughs. “I’m not sure that Holden married me for my cooking skills, but I must have done something right.”
“He must have,” Dr. Montgomery says, offering his elbow to my wife. “Hosting such a nice gathering is an art lost to most.”
I stand in the doorway and watch Sophie charm Dr. Montgomery—or “Timothy,” to her. I hope my jaw isn’t on the hardwood floor, but I’m not sure.
How did the woman who fought me over a PayDay a couple of days ago turn into this?
I must have missed something, because when I look up, Dr. Montgomery is seated with a glass of wine. He looks more relaxed and at home in this space than I probably do, and I don’t quite know what to make of that.
“Would you like a glass of wine, love?” Sophie looks at me and tries to tame her smile. Her pet name throws me off, and she clearly delights in it. Her quiet, contained giggle is at my expense but music to my ears.
“I would love one,” I say.
She pulls out a chair across from Dr. Montgomery and hands me a glass of wine.
“This is a lovely place you have here,” Dr. Montgomery says. “There’s so much charm. You can feel the history. I bet that if walls could talk, this place would have stories for years.”
“My grandmother inherited the Honey House from her grandmother,” Sophie says, sitting to my right. “My great-grandfather kept honeybees. He had a locally famous beekeeping farm way back when.”
I walk around to the chair she’s standing in front of and pull it out for her. She seems surprised but covers her shock quickly.
“Thank you,” she says.
I sit at the remaining chair with a plate. “This looks amazing, Sophie.”
“Thank you. It’s nothing, really. Just some roasted chicken and vegetables. I threw in some biscuits and a salad to round it out.” She flashes me a nervous smile. “Now let’s eat before it gets cold.”
We begin to fill our plates with the aromatic contents of the dishes in front of us. It’s a comfortable silence interrupted only by the occasional ding from silverware hitting porcelain. The wind blows outside, and the Honey House creaks with it. It all works together to create a storybook-like environment that I think my potential employer might appreciate.
“So, Sophie. Tell me about your husband,” Dr. Montgomery says, spearing a piece of chicken. “What’s he like?”
Sophie sets her fork down beside her plate. Her gaze falls to mine. Her lashes flutter as she eyes me with mischief.
I can’t help but grin. She could roast me right now—carry on a spiel of things that are unflattering at best. But she won’t. She might have a bit of fun with this, but I trust her.
The realization that I do, on this level, in real time, is a wonderful thing.
“Well,” she says, “I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with the good stuff,” I whisper loud enough for Dr. Montgomery to hear.
He laughs. “What made you decide to choose him?” He busies himself by smoothing a square of butter on a biscuit. “I often find that’s the best way to get to know the truth about a person—finding out why the ones closest to them choose to be with them.”
My stomach rumbles as I manage my breaths. I hope Sophie has something good, and false, to reply.
She sits tall, shoulders back, and looks right at Dr. Montgomery.
“When he asked me to marry him, I thought he was joking,” she says. “It was so out-of-the-blue and spontaneous that I contemplated that he’d lost his mind.”
“Oh no,” Dr. Montgomery says, lifting a brow.
Damn right, oh no.