Jobe rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. “You’re insinuating . . . dirty things about your brother-in-law, Livvie.”
“Yeah, Livvie,” I tease.
“Whatever. I was only stating things that are general knowledge. Facts, if you will.” Liv shrugs. “Anyway, my boss is getting transferred to Rockery. So if either of you are hiring, I’ll take the job.”
Liv gives us her best practiced smile.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jobe says. “But thanks anyway.”
“What?” Liv asks. “You don’t think I’d be a good personal assistant? Every Realtor needs a personal assistant.”
He winces as he looks down at her. “I’d like one I can fuck. Thanks.”
Liv’s jaw drops open as I laugh.
“You still have your job, right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Liv says. “But Corporate is sending Henry’s replacement next week, and I don’t want to work with anyone else.” She sticks out her bottom lip. “Henry spoils me.”
Jobe chuckles as he heads to the door. “I’m grabbing breakfast and then heading out. Chin up, Liv. Call me if you need me, Soph.”
“I will,” I say.
“And tell that husband of yours to call me too. I want to take him out for a beer.”
I narrow my eyes. “A beer?”
“A beer,” he repeats, grinning.
“Just a beer, Jobe.”
His grin grows wider. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” I warn.
“Me too,” Liv chimes in. “This never ends well.”
Jobe shrugs as he starts down the hallway. I roll my eyes as he disappears from sight and sound.
Liv gets to her feet. “I have to get to work too.”
“Have a good day,” I tell her.
“You too.”
The door closes roughly behind her.
I swivel in my chair and watch as Jobe climbs into his truck. He revs the engine as Liv walks in front of it, earning him her middle finger.
Despite the antics and irritation of my brother, I find myself smiling as he pulls away. I turn back toward my desk when Gramma’s—my—wedding ring catches the light. It sparkles, shining beautifully just for me.
My chest squeezes as I think of the way Holden’s eyes shone similarly the moment he placed it on my finger. And how similarly, too, my heart feels when I think of him, compared to when I think of my family.
It’s like he’s my family.
And while that might not technically be true, it feels real. Genuine. True. And it warms me to the core.
While I let it.
I live in that place for a few minutes—a place full of locked doors before work, shared meals after, and kisses in bed that feel . . . special.
It gives me hope that those can be a part of my life one day. That someone will want to share those things—their life—with me, no matter what.
A love like the Ingrams’.
That’s what I want.
Their relationship is something I have always dreamed of but have never really seen. I’ve only imagined what a connection like that might look like. Now, after spending time with Holden, I have an inkling of what it might feel like.
I know the agreement we made about our marriage. It’s no great question what his plans are. But as I study the ring on my finger and think about the way his lips feel against my forehead in the morning when he thinks I’m sleeping, a sliver of hope settles in my heart, anyway. Against better judgment, I let my heart and head consider that maybe, in an unbelievable twist from the universe, Holden will pick me.
A burning sensation flows through my core—a warning shot from the part of my brain saddled with protecting me. The jolt is uncomfortable, searing in my chest like a drink of hot coffee right from the pot. It serves its point to remind me of the dangers of hope. Of just how destructive the pain can be if I daydream too much.
Because at the end of the day, that’s what a life with Holden is: a daydream. And I’d be smart to remember that.
My hand falls to my side.
I clear my throat.
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” I say and get back to work.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HOLDEN
The song on the radio is a country tune. It’s something about spray-painting cars and spending summers stacking hay—about growing up in the middle of nowhere.
I pilot the car onto the street. The warm afternoon sun kisses my face. The lyrics filling the car could easily be describing Honey Creek.
A man waves from the post office as I drive by, and I wave back. It makes me laugh, because no one from Phoenix waves unless it’s to tell you to slow down or hurry up. It’s more of a signal there to move. It’s more of a hello here.
My good spirits have made today fly by. Dottie was rather upbeat too. We made a contest about who could come up with the worst joke that my grandfather would eventually repeat. I won, but I bet Dottie would disagree with that.