“Well, it’s not mine, either, when you put it like that.”
“See?”
She rolls her eyes. “So what did you do today?”
Just like that, a surge of energy roars through my veins. It’s a crazy mix of currents—a dose of excitement from seeing Holden again, a sprinkle of annoyance at his confidence, and, if I’m being honest, a smidgen of dizziness from his smile.
The little boy I used to play with every summer is now most definitely all grown up.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand.
“Ooh,” Liv singsongs. “What’s that look all about?”
“What’s what look all about?”
“That smile.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I ran by Dr. Fred’s, actually.”
Liv leans back, gripping the arms of her chair as she anticipates my next words.
The problem is, I don’t know what to say. I haven’t had a lot of time to mull it over and boil down my thoughts about Holden. Sure, his angled jaw and brilliant green eyes that remind me of clover in springtime have muscled their way into my brain throughout the afternoon. And maybe the way his shirt clings to his biceps and shoulders did too. Maybe.
But if I tell my sister all that, she’ll flip out. It’ll be taken the wrong way. She’ll be trying to marry us off like she did when we were teenagers. There’s no doubt she’ll be planning our wedding at the nonexistent gazebo in the backyard instead of figuring out how to help me build the wedding prop in the first place.
“I’m going to need you to speak,” she prompts, waving a hand through the air. “I need more, Sophie—especially with you sitting there like that.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Fred’s . . . new sidekick is a stickler for rules and”—hot—“a little difficult.”
“And . . .”
I roll my eyes in case she can somehow see my stomach fluttering. My brain shouts at my mouth to stop there. To cease dialogue. But my lips part, and before I know it, I’m going there.
“And he has the straightest, whitest teeth and a smile that probably distracts people, because he kept flashing it my way. But I refused to break. I don’t break for a great smile.”
Liv moves, her arm hitting a stack of books on the corner of my desk. They hit the chair before dropping to the floor with a boom. She scoots to pick them up.
“Oh my gosh, Sophie. Do I know him?” she asks with a giddiness that inches up the same feeling in me.
“You did. Um, it’s Holden. Do you remember him?”
Her head whips to me. “Of course I do.”
Liv places the books back on the desk’s corner. They aren’t squared, and the messiness of it makes me crazy, but I can’t worry about that when my brain is misfiring at thoughts of the vet.
Liv smiles as she gets to her feet. “So he’s cute?”
“Yes, he’s cute,” I admit. There’s no sense in lying. As soon as she runs into him in town, she’ll see for herself and then wonder why I downplayed it. “He’s cute . . . but not in an everyday kind of way. He’s gone from ‘boy next door’ to ‘man of your dreams.’ Does that make sense?”
“So he’s hot? That’s what you mean?”
I flush. “Well, yeah. I mean, he has the most symmetrical features and a delicious jawline. And his eyelashes are extraordinary. That overpriced tube of crap I put on mine every night to make them grow wouldn’t give me ones equal his, even if I used it, and it actually worked, for ten years.”
My sister watches me, her eyes dancing with humor. “I can totally envision this. So . . . dark-brown hair?”
“Yes.”
“And . . . green eyes? And great shoulders. Like they have that slope from his neck down in a thick, muscled band.” She mimics the slope in the air with her hands.
“Wow. You’re good at this. Or maybe I’m really good at setting the stage.” I think about it. “You know what—it’s actually probably me. All these years of writing marketing material for the Honey House are paying off.”
Liv grins. Hard. The kind of smile so deep, so mysterious, that my stomach flip-flops.
“What?” I ask.
“It could be all that marketing,” she says. “Or it could be that Holden McKenzie is standing right behind you.”
“What?”
I shoot to my feet and spin on my heel. The sexy, brown-haired, green-eyed, great-shouldered vet is leaning against the wall.
Crap.
His cheeks are split into a wide, shit-eating smile that inflames me as quickly as it melts me.
Kill. Me. Now.
His smile is deep and wide. “Well, that was the nicest welcome I’ve ever had.”
I want to spit some witty comeback his way. I would, too, if I could unstick the words from my throat.
“Well, here’s a nice farewell—goodbye,” I say, walking around him in the widest berth I can manage. I head toward the kitchen and mentally kick myself. Repeatedly. Hard.