“This is why you’re single, you know that right? Well, this and those extra ten pounds you’ve put on since Thanksgiving.”
“I didn’t see you for Thanksgiving.”
“Of course you did. I invited you?—”
“That was four years ago.”
“That’s not possible—” Her easy dismissal of a fact I know to be very true is interrupted by the doorbell. “Youhave friends?”
“Of course I have friends,” I retort, heading back toward the front door. I have the verybestof friends who’ve gone above and beyond to ensure I’ll be quite busy during Hillary’s visit so I don’t end up in jail for homicide before we can ring in the New Year. If it weren’t for Ruby’s quick thinking, I might be stuck—alone—with my sister for three whole days.
“You’ll forgive me if it’s a little hard to believe. You were always so shy,” Hillary says, tapping away on her phone.
The doorbell rings again, and a bark echoes.
Hillary jumps, and her phone slips out of her hands.
“What is that?” she gasps.
“A dog, obviously.” I turn to hide my wicked grin as her phone rattles against the hardwood floor and answer the door.
Marshall McCray stands on my covered front porch, his happy German Shepherd—Gram—sitting obediently at his side. The man’s wearing a smile so potent I’m certain I’ll spontaneously combust if I stare at it too long. Even in a winter coat, I can easily picture all those glorious muscles hiding beneath it. Muscles I’ve more than once dreamt about licking with my tongue.
Down, girl.
Have I had a teeny tiny little crush on Marshall since the very first moment I laid eyes on him several months ago? Yes.
Has he tried to ask me out more than once, and I’ve shut him down every time? Also yes.
Do I regret it?
Yes and no.
Because there’s one glaring problem with giving into the man who should be a cover model for my friend Kelsey’s romance novels. He’s the last single man my age in Daisy Hills—and I’m the last single woman. Marshall McCray is the kind of man women would leave their husbands for. The kind of man who could have whoever he wanted.
If there were other options, I wouldn’t be his number one choice. Even if I was, he’d no doubt lose interest in me faster than my sister can hurl a passive aggressive insult—and she’s a black belt in that department.
Despite all that, I’m still a little giddy to tell Hillary that one of myfriendsowns a gym, if only to see the shocked expression on her face. He’s the same friend I’ll be spending a lot of time with over the course of her visit because Ruby thought it would be a brilliant idea for her brother and I to take over coordination for the town’s New Year’s Eve party.
“Ready to go?—”
“Who is this delicious specimen of a man?” Hillary asks, shoving me into the doorframe so she can step out onto the porch and get a better view.
Never mind that my sister ismarried.
“I’m Hillary,” she says, extending her hand.
“And I’m here for my girlfriend.”
“Girlfr—” My question is cut off with the firm, delightful press of Marshall’s lips to mine.
My entire body turns to liquid in the span of a single heartbeat, and I sink into the kiss I’ve craved for far too many months.
It doesn’t matter that Marshall playing the part of my boyfriend never once came up during the conversation where Ruby orchestrated this scheme to keep me too busy to be stuck with my overbearing sister. Every cell in my body responds to the lips that move with mine so effortlessly, so effectively, thatit’s as though we’ve practiced for this very moment. As though a fake relationship was always the plan.
I know the second Marshall allows me to come up for air, I’ll never be the same again.
2
