“So no one, then?”
He laughs. “What do you want, you little pest?”
“Well, two things. First, I made a meatloaf if you want some. It’s in the fridge.”
“Damn right I do.”
“And second, do we have a ladder tall enough to reach the top of the walls and ceilings?”
He pauses before answering. “Why didn’t you call your husband about it?”
My jaw sets in frustration. “You’re right. What am I doing calling my brother? I’ll start excluding you from things now. My bad.”
A low groan rolls through the line. “I didn’t say that.”
I balance the phone on my shoulder and put my things back in the tray. It takes a bit of Tetris skills, but I manage.
“It’s in the shed in the back,” he says.
“Thank you.” I make my way to the front of the store. “Want to come by tonight and grab the meatloaf?”
“I’m actually heading to Liv’s tonight to change her oil. I’ll swing by after that.”
“Deal.”
“I have a prospective buyer pulling up right now, so I gotta run. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Jobie,” I say, using his nickname from childhood.
“Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I get to the counter. My phone goes back into my pocket, and I ask Mr. Grigg to whip me up a sample of Earl. He disappears into the back, leaving me alone in the store.
I mosey around, checking out the shovels and hoes. My fingers dust along the green tines of a rake, and I wonder offhandedly when the leaves will change this year. It’s my favorite part of the season. I like it much better than when they start to fall from their limbs and leave a mess all over my deck.
Maybe Holden will be here to help out this year.
My fingers stop on the edge of the handle.
I shake my head, my body squeezing in preparation for the moment when he leaves. I don’t know when that time will come. Even if he gets the job, as I’m sure he will, it might be a month or two.
I take a deep, calming breath.
Easy, Sophia. You’ll figure this out.
I hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HOLDEN
You definitely have a problem on your hands,” I say.
Patrick takes Fidget from me. Relief is evident on his face as his prized pet squirms until she’s up and under his chin.
“I don’t know what to do with her,” Patrick says. “She just sniffs out all of my candy now. It’s like she’s addicted.”
“Sugar is addicting.”
I smile to myself. Just like everything else today, the word “sugar” reminds me of my wife. And boy, is she ever addictive.
The more I’m around her, the more I want her time. Every touch leads to an itch of my fingers that I can barely stand. Each laugh or joke, every poke and prod, creates a need for another go-round.
It’s a problem. I know it. It’s a situation I didn’t expect—one I don’t think I could’ve expected if I’d tried. Sure, she’s always been pretty. No doubt she’s sexy. But I’ve encountered pretty, sexy women before and not felt like . . . this.
Pinpointing the exact cause of my predicament is tough. Impossible, even. No matter how long I stay awake after she falls asleep against me, I can’t decipher it. Am I just nervous and appreciating having someone wait this out with me? Is it just a case of proximity making me want her? It could also be that we make a really good team and that lends itself to other crazy thoughts that are more smoke screens than reality.
Because Sophie and I don’t really want an actual marriage.
We can’t.
Our lives and goals are different—so different, in fact, that we had to get married to achieve them. There’s no way to get around that.
“Anyway,” I say, as Fidget tries to climb back up my arm, “just try to keep your goodies where she can’t get to them. I know she likes all that stuff, but candy and chips aren’t any better for her than they are for you.”
“Got it. Thanks, Dr. Holden.”
“Anytime, Patrick. Anytime. Go see Dottie before you leave, okay?”
I open the door, and he exits the room. I, on the other hand, pull out my phone.
No missed calls or texts from Montgomery Farms.
I consider calling his office and seeing what his status is, but I don’t want to appear desperate. And I’m not desperate. Not really. I’m not even sure what the hell I am anymore.
The thought of getting the job in Orlando comes with mixed emotions. There’s an elation I can feel at the idea of hearing the words “You’re hired.” But right on the heels of that feeling comes something else. It’s painful and depressing, and the thought of working that out makes me not want to even think about it.
If I could pause time forever and just stay here, thinking that I might get the job, I’d do it. Just to have both worlds in some way.