I wrinkle my nose at the expression but let it go. “Even though my track record proves I pick terrible men?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Because we all get one screwup, and Chad was yours.”
“I’m not sure this could be a screwup. I mean, there’s not a lot that can go wrong.”
Maybe this—maybe Holden—is the answer to my prayers. Maybe Gramma is somewhere, laughing her butt off right now.
“Like you said, what do you have to lose?” she asks. “It’s not like you haven’t been married before. And it’s not like it’s a marriage for real. You can think of it like . . . a very long, serious, expensive date.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
She twists around to face me. “I mean it, Soph. You’ve been so stressed out lately. Chad kind of stole your spark a little. I say you marry Holden and have fun and play it up and enjoy it. Maybe you’ll discover the little pizzazz that you used to have.”
“I had pizzazz?”
“A little.” She winks. “So yeah, find your pizzazz and have some fun. If nothing else, it’ll be a damned good story for your grandkids someday.”
“I will not tell my grandkids this,” I say with a laugh. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m not the one marrying a man. Tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “Do you think I need to tell Jobe?”
“For sure.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?”
She shrugs. “Let’s find out.”
I pull my phone from my robe’s pocket and pull up my brother’s texts. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I begin to type.
Hey, Jobe.
Almost immediately, the three little bubbles dance on the screen to let me know he’s texting.
Jobe: It’s late.
Me: I have some news.
Jobe: ?
Me: I’m getting married tomorrow.
I cringe as I wait for his answer. My stomach flip-flops. Liv places her hand on my shoulder while we watch the screen.
Jobe: How much did I drink tonight?
Me: Ha.
Jobe: Let me guess. The vet.
Me: Good guess.
Liv laughs. “Well, he seems less surprised than me.”
Jobe: You happy?
Me: Yes.
Jobe: Then go for it.
Liv and I look at each other. Her brow is arched toward the ceiling. She looks as confused at Jobe’s reply as I feel.
I don’t know what I was expecting from my brother, but going all in wasn’t it.
My fingers fly across the screen.
Me: That’s it? No warning or threats or outbursts?
Jobe: You know what? I trust your judgment.
Me: Since when?
“Someone must have his phone tonight,” Liv says with a laugh.
Jobe: I believe and live by the idea that someone gets to make their own choices and either reap the rewards or suffer the consequences. Just know I’ve got your back if it doesn’t work out.
Me: You aren’t giving me the warm fuzzies over here, brother.
Jobe: Nope. That’s why you’re at Liv’s. You are at Liv’s, aren’t you?
I look at my sister. We laugh.
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?”