“Hey, it was a business arrangement,” I say, bumping him back. “We both won in the end.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He makes a face I can’t read as we reach the top of the hill. A silence fills the space. All I can think of is how we’ve always been good business partners. A yellow sign in the shape of a beehive welcomes passersby to Honey Creek. Holden stops and points to the small font beneath the trio of bees smiling that spells out the town’s population.
“You know, I thought the rest of the world would’ve caught up with Honey Creek by now,” he says, almost to himself.
“We check the rest of the world at the county line, don’t ya know? Just to make sure you city people aren’t trying to sneak in all that modern hocus-pocus stuff.”
He laughs. “One of the reasons I always liked visiting here was that it really was so different from Phoenix. But I was just as happy to get back home.”
I scoff like his statement offends me somehow. “We were just as glad to get rid of you.”
He takes his hands out of his pockets and runs one through his hair. The look on his face is animated. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. I just don’t know what they’re turning about.
“I get why Pap loves it here so much, but I get why Mom wanted to leave too. It’s a great place to visit, but I need . . . I don’t know what I need,” he says, his voice drifting away.
We exchange a smile as we find the sidewalk that starts in front of the old deli. Slowly, we make our way into town. Holden doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, so I just walk alongside him.
We pass the gas station with two pumps—one unleaded and one diesel—and the butcher shop. Finally, the little red metal building comes into view.
“My grandma used to bring me here for breakfast,” he says.
“It used to be more of a breakfast place, but we never went there until Tank took it over because my gramma thought that the woman that ran it before stole her crepe recipe, and Gramma refused to set foot near that place.”
He chuckles as he picks up the pace toward the restaurant.
The church bells from a few streets over ring a new hour as I make it to the front of Tank’s. Holden stands next to a muddy Jeep with a bumper sticker outlining what will happen to the person who mistakenly rear-ends them.
He turns quickly, extending an arm to point toward something. Instead, his arm collides with my side and knocks me sideways.
My foot catches on the curb, and I topple toward the ground.
“Ah!” I squeal as panic flashes through my veins. I turn to the side to try to catch the ground with my hands when I’m snatched upright . . . and into Holden’s arms.
My stomach wiggles around as his grin grows warmer . . . and more mischievous.
Our breathing is ragged as we stare into each other’s eyes. My heart pounds in my chest so loud that I think Holden can hear it.
Holden’s fingers press into my side, his cologne washing over me and drowning out the fear that just surrounded my senses.
He forces a swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
My lips part as my gaze lands on his mouth. His tongue swipes along the bottom ridge and makes it appear even more kissable.
Damn it.
I drag in a lungful of air.
He releases me from his grip, but not completely. It’s as if he wants to hold on to me as much as I want him to.
“What do you say we get our food to go?” he asks, his voice rough.
I grin. “I think that’s a good idea, Mr. McKenzie. Or we could say forget it and just go home.”
His eyes burn with a mixture of heat and amusement. “When is the last time you’ve eaten?”
“Um, breakfast? Maybe.”
He releases me. “Then you’re going to need some sustenance. Let’s get a sandwich and eat it on the way home.”
I laugh and head for the door. “I’ll race you.”
His laughter follows me inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SOPHIE
Here.” Liv shoves a coffee from Tank’s into my hand. “I had to get some caffeine, or I wasn’t going to make it through the day.”
We stroll down the center of Grigg’s Hardware. Old Man Grigg waves with one hand from the front counter as we pass by. His other hand is stuck in the front of his bib overalls.
The Styrofoam is warm in my hand, and I have half a notion to let it sit against my hips in the hope that it works out some of the kinks in my muscles. But I don’t. Because doing something like that is the first clue to your nosy older sister that something is wrong.