I laugh. “Hardly. She will get so much enjoyment out of putting me on the spot like this that it’s not even funny.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me.” He extends a hand. “Let’s go eat pie.”
I place my hand in his. He flashes me a smile—one that’s inherently more intimate than any others before it—and we start around the side of the house.
The air smells of pine and fall. The cool evening breeze licks at my skin and makes me shiver. Holden tugs me closer, pulling me into his side just as we take the corner by the kitchen.
“Congratulations!” rings out from the crowd filling my backyard.
My feet stop in place as my jaw drops. The work that must’ve gone into this at a moment’s notice is surreal.
Lights hang off trees like little stars in the sky. Balloons are tied everywhere in an assortment of colors that makes me happy. Tables have been set up along the back of the house. Dishes of every size, shape, and color sit on white plastic tablecloths.
My breath stalls in my chest, because this is more, much more, than I even expected.
Drinks are held in the air, whoops of celebration shouted across the lawn by people I had no idea would even consider showing up, albeit at the last minute, for an impromptu wedding reception for me.
I try to see each person, one by one, but it’s overwhelming. Debbie from Tank’s sits near the tire swing with a beer in her hand as she talks to a girl I went to high school with. The cashier from the Lemon Aid stands next to one of Jobe’s friends by a giant speaker. Dottie and Birdie engage in conversation near the tables of food. By the way Birdie moves her hands as if she’s stirring something in a bowl, I imagine they’re sharing recipes.
“This is crazy,” Holden whispers. “Are you sure you didn’t plan on marrying me days ago?”
I snort. “You were in Phoenix days ago.”
“True.”
I scan the crowd as they go back to their conversations until my sights land on my sister. She’s standing in the doorway to the Honey House, looking absolutely pleased with herself.
“It’s amazing what my sister can pull off when motivated,” I mumble.
Holden takes a proffered beer from one of Jobe’s friends. I tune out their conversation as my sister comes racing toward us and brace myself for impact.
“You’re glowing,” Liv nearly squeals. Her grin is so big that I wonder if her face hurts.
“I’m not glowing. I got married. Not pregnant.”
“You got married. You could be pregnant next.”
I gasp. “Olivia!”
“I’m kidding. Well, kind of. I’m just . . .” She holds a hand against her heart. “This is so exciting.”
I lean forward until my lips are close to her ear. “While I appreciate this all very much, please don’t get so excited about this. You know the truth. This is just temporary.”
“Yes, I know you said that, but it doesn’t mean that’s how it has to end.”
“Liv . . .”
My argument is cut short when I notice my brother approaching. I step to the side as Liv heaps her giddiness on Holden and I focus on Jobe.
One hand in his pocket, a beer in the other, he moseys his way through the crowd. His face is unreadable. His posture worrying. And his sights? They’re set on Holden.
“This is some party you’re throwing,” Holden says to Liv.
“Well, it’s not every day that your baby sister gets married.”
Jobe stops a couple of feet in front of me. “Let’s hope it’s the last time.”
Liv jabs her elbow into Jobe’s side. The motion knocks him off-balance. But in typical Jobe fashion, he controls it so that anyone watching thinks they’re playing.
He’s not.
He levels his gaze at Holden.
“Hey, Jobe,” Holden says, sticking out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”
My brother takes my husband’s hand and gives it a shake. “I remember you as a kid. Spunky little shit. Always talking about baseball.”
“I’m not quite as spunky these days, but I still love baseball.”
Jobe arches a brow. “You’re spunky enough to marry my sister.”
I look at the sky and sigh. “Help me. Please.”
Holden gently tugs on my hand and draws me closer to him. Our sides nearly touch as we face my siblings.
My brain swirls as he moves his arm around the back of me and places his hand on my hip. The pressure of his fingertips lying on the thin fabric of my shirt is enough to create a ripple of chills shooting across my skin.
Liv notices. She squirms in delight as she watches the two of us together. Jobe, though? Not so much. While his smile exudes kindness, his eyes tell a different story. Holden is on a short leash with Jobe, and I think he knows it.
“I’d like to apologize for not coming to you myself before we left,” Holden tells him. “I meant no disrespect. I should’ve asked for her hand in marriage, but we—”