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“You totally have the bone structure for film,” Skye continued. “I dated an agent who works with a lot of Hollywood people. I could totally introduce you.”
My fingers curled even tighter around the poor mug in my hand to prevent them from reaching across the table and strangling Skye. The sour feeling in the pit of my stomach was absolutely jealousy. Skye was beautiful — petite with the perfect boobs and butt — and was absolutelynotwearing a faded orange T-shirt with a cartoon cat’s face on it.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested in acting.” He turned to look at me, dousing the jealousy and replacing it with joy at the quick dismissal of her. “Are you eating?”
I opened my mouth, but Sissy answered for me. “Oh, Suttonnevermisses a chance to eat.”
I took a sip of my coffee while counting to ten in my head. Then, setting the cup down, I smiled at Sissy.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” It was the only thing I could think to say that wouldn’t break my promise not to start a fight today, for my parents’ sake.
Mama placed plates with egg whites, a pile of slimy-looking cooked spinach, and sad sausage links in front of Sissy and Skye. It looked like a plate of sadness. Macon received the same kind of plate Holden had. He ignored Sissy’s death glare as he dug in, complimenting Mama on her sausage gravy.
“I’ll get my plate, Mama,” I offered, setting my mug down and standing. “Why don’t you sit down and eat?”
She must have been running out of steam, because she passed me an empty plate with a thank-you. I added some eggs, bacon, and biscuits to my plate, grabbing some honey on the way back to the table.
“Holden, would you like some coffee?” I asked before I sat back down.
“I can get it.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder — both to stop him from getting up and because it was a convenient excuse to touch him.
“Sit. I’m already up.” I walked back to the counter, filling up a mug for him, skipping the cream and sugar. I would have added a splash of Bailey’s if I hadn’t felt every single eye in the room watching me.
“Thank you,” Holden murmured as I set the cup in front of him and slid into my seat.
“You’re welcome,” I responded, avoiding looking up since we still seemed to be the center of everyone’s focus.
“We should be done with all the drywall by the end of next week,” Daddy said, drawing Holden’s attention.
“Great, you’re ahead of schedule. I’m guessing that means that you were able to salvage some of the original plumbing?”
Daddy nodded, tearing a biscuit into pieces. “A lot of it was still in good shape, and somebody’d worked on the pipes at some point. We mostly just relaid pipes and removed anything that might have lead. Just updated the existing foundation, really.”
“We’ve really gotten lucky with the electrical and plumbing. Are we still scheduled to meet with the designers next month?”
“We’ll have to look at everyone’s schedule, but I think we could move the meeting up a week. Gives us extra time for the material to come in.”
“Holden, if you want help picking out anything, just let me know,” Sissy chimed in, the weather apparently forgotten for the moment. “I did design work for a firm in LA and everyone said what an excellent eye for color I had.”
Must not stab the bride on the wedding day, I silently chanted as my hand inched toward the butter knife next to my plate. Something about the look she was giving him made me inexplicably angry.
“Oh!” Skye interjected once again. “We could totally call Pierre! OMG, he’s legit the best. You’ll love his work. Didn’t he design the penthouse for one of the Real Housewives of New York? It was gorge.”
Daddy and Holden both looked like they were at a loss for words.
“That reminds me,” I lied, deciding to throw them both a bone, “I found this amazing antique store the other day, right down the street from Tom’s restaurant. I peeked in and I bet you could find some great pieces for your office in the new house.”
“You went back to Tom’s?” Holden’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “When?”
“I did, Wednesday. Max and I went for dinner,” I said, even though I was pretty sure I’d told him in one of our many text exchanges.
“That’s right, you mentioned that. Sorry,” he apologized. “She loved it as much as you did, if I remember correctly.”
I bumped his shoulder with mine.
“No worries, I know how busy you’ve been lately.” I made sure to look at Macon and Sissy when I said it, but nothing registered on either face. Not even a hint of guilt. Maybe Sissy and Macon were actually a good fit. How had I never noticed how selfish Macon was? Had he always been like this, or was it a recent development?
