“Fish?”
I nod emphatically, raising a closed fist as if I’m dangling a giant trout next to my face. “Fish.”
I don’t actually know if that’s true for Fox Ridge, though I’m pretty confident in my conviction. I’ve seen enough women lamenting online about their dating prospects in small towns like that.
“Weird.” She holds a hand out, fingers clapping against her palm. “Let’s see what new guys we can find in the city.”
Like I was just body slammed by the huge finance bro waiting in line for his triple espresso a few feet away, all the wind is knocked from my chest.
“Oh, well…” I gulp. “I deleted the app.”
“The fish men turned you offthatbadly?“
“No,” I say through an awkward laugh. “Holls, I actually met somebody really great, and I don’t know if it will ever—could ever—be something real. But…”
I want to try.
Holly’s face lights up. “We’ve been here for twenty-five minutes and this is the first you’re telling me about this? Who is he? How did you meet? Please don’t tell me it’s the hot dog guy. Like… I’m notopposedto a hot dog bar at your future wedding, but just know I’ll never be able to look at your husband and keep a straight face.”
“First of all, it’snotour Oscar Meyer buddy. Secondly, cool your jets because I literally just told you it’s nothing serious, and you’re already talking catering.”
She wags a finger at me. “To be fair, I might be onto something with the hot dogs. That sounds a lot more affordable than what our caterer is charging.”
The teensiest part of my brain wishes I could just tell her I’m dating the hot firefighter who sent me the questionable dick pic before Christmas. We’d have a laugh—at my expense—and move on like normal. At least there would be no risk to our friendship.
“So, tell me about this guy.”
“We met a while back actually, but just, um, had the chance to reconnect. He’s nice… funny.” I’m stalling, and she knows it. She takes a bite of muffin, rolling her free hand to encourage my bean-spilling as she chews.
“Holls… it’s Lucas.”
And that’s the moment I kill my best friend.
Almost.
She chokes on the banana oat muffin, shrapnel spraying from her mouth in an unavoidable coughing fit. Frantically, she reaches for a drink, and I meet her halfway, handing the cup to her. I watch her chug coffee with tear-filled eyes and lungs that are fighting to function. While my own blueberry scone is sitting safely on the table, I’mstill struggling to speak, thanks to the obtrusive uvula blocking my throat.
“Lucas?” she croaks, finally able to utter a single word between coughs. “My… brother?”
“I know, I know. I’m the worst friend.” I wince, waiting for an indication that she agrees with my statement.
But Holly’s staring at me in a sweetly similar way to how she eyes up the Sipsters bakery case.
“IswearI didn’t go to the ranch with any intentions.”
“Yes, you did,” she counters. “You said you reconnected. So there was a whole-ass ‘connection’ before that you failed to mention.”
Shit, I did say that, didn’t I?
“You saw us talking at the bar during your engagement party. That’s the connection.”
“Okay, so… shit,really?My brother, Lucas? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Lucas,” I say with a smile that I can’t help anytime I think about him. “Tell your mom I’m really sorry he worried her on Christmas. We were together, and I think he didn’t trust me and Half-Pint not to destroy the house. That’s why he was so eager to leave.”
She blinks rapidly at me. “Half-Pint?”
“The kitten we rescued out at the—”
