It took me a year to put the words “marry me” into a sentence around Jessica for fear she’d think I was actually asking her. And when I finally did, I vomited right before and carried a nugget of uncertainty in my gut every day after.
I rub a hand down my face. “You’re losing your mind, McKenzie,” I mutter.
The light goes off in the office. I grab my bag from the back seat and blow out a breath.
“Might as well lose your mind, too, considering you’ve probably lost everything else,” I add as I climb out of the car.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHIE
Every face in the restaurant turns to look as Holden and I walk into Tank’s. All seven people in various stages of eating and drinking pause to take us in. Debbie, the woman who’s waited tables here for the last ten years, lifts her brows as she checks out Holden and his gray sweatpants.
I almost asked him to change out of them. They’re utterly and deliciously distracting.
“Hey, everyone,” I say loudly. “You all remember Dr. Fred’s grandson. This is Holden McKenzie.”
And, just like that, they all switch their attention solely to Holden. His hand flies up in a little wave.
“Hi,” he says.
“He’s helping out Fred for a little bit,” I say.
“Well, that’s a damn good thing,” Bob says from a table in the corner. His red hat hangs on the back of his chair.
I glance at Holden. He’s poised to say something else but stops himself. I stifle a laugh at his obvious discomfort at being the center of attention.
Serves him right for making me feel like a dork earlier today.
Various forms of hellos and head nods are sent our way. Birdie Jones smiles at Holden, pressing her red lips together in a shameless pout.
“Well, it is so nice to meet you, Holden.” Her eyelashes flutter. “I’m Birdie Jones.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says. “I’ve heard so much about your pies.”
“Oh, well . . .” She waves a hand through the air. “You’re just being sweet. They aren’t that good. Well, maybe my apple pie. And the strawberry rhubarb. And the gooseberry, if I do say so myself.”
She sits back in her seat and eyes him like a slab of meat.
A tide of jealousy washes over me as Birdie flirts with Holden right in front of me. Not that I have any right to care who flirts with him . . . or who he flirts back with. Still, the feeling creeps up my spine like a snake.
Before I know what I’m doing, my elbow digs into Holden’s side.
“It was nice seeing you, Birdie.” I turn toward Holden and drop my voice. “Let’s find a seat. Now.”
“Gee, we better hurry. Seats around here are going like hotcakes.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll sit you by her. She likes younger men.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” His eyes dart over my shoulder. “I’ve never said this before, but I don’t think I can handle her.”
“Trust me. You can’t.”
“I don’t like how quickly you answered that,” he says, following close behind me as I lead him across the restaurant.
We stop at a table under a window. There are four unmatched wooden chairs—two on each side. I take the one on the far side with a red seat cushion. The fact that Holden’s back will be to Birdie is a coincidence.
“I’ll have you know,” Holden says as he sits, “that I feel slightly compelled to prove to you I can handle her. I don’t want to do it, but it feels a bit like a challenge.”
“Oh, Doc. Don’t even try. She has years on ya, bud. Her level of man-eating exceeds anything you could’ve experienced in your . . . thirty years of life.”
He drops his jaw. “I’m not thirty. Yet.”
“You could be fifty and still not be ready for Birdie Jones.”
Holden takes a laminated menu from between the napkin dispenser and saltshaker. I’m about to tell him to order the fish—that’s why we’re here—when my phone dings in my pocket.
I dig it out and see Jobe’s name on the screen.
Jobe: You didn’t tell me you were going to dinner with the vet.
I roll my eyes as my fingers fly across my screen.
Me: First of all, how do you know that?
Jobe: Debbie. Also, I know everything.
Me: Sure. Just like the name of the girl you slept with last night that you were just telling me about a half an hour ago and couldn’t remember her name.
Jobe: I remember important things.
Me: You’re a jerk.
Jobe: Probably true. Tell Lover Boy that he and I and Aaron will have to have a beer one night.
I laugh out loud. Shifting in my seat, I type out a response in a matter of seconds.
Me: I’ll be sure not to do that.
Jobe: Why not?
Me: Because you and Aaron are troublemakers.