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Good question, since they hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours before Holly needed to employ every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from kissing him.
“Look, I know it won’t be easy, Kit,” Holly conceded. “But I’ll manage. I promise.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll try.” Kit released a heavy sigh. “And I’m here if you need anything. To talk. Vent. Cry your eyes out. But if you feel the need to hit something, call Alex.”
They both laughed. Their brother always seemed to take the brunt of their frustrations.
“In all seriousness,” Kit continued, “don’t hesitate to reach out. Day or night. No matter what.”
“I won’t.” And she wouldn’t.
“You’d better not. Oh, and Holly, just so you know, I’ll most likely be checking in on you daily, so if you don’t respond in a timely manner—”
“You’ll show up in person,” Holly finished her sister’s threat. “Got it.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
Yeah, so was she. Because even though they didn’t always see eye to eye, there was never any doubt she and her sister always had each other’s back.
“All right. I better get off here and get to bed. Old man Larsen is bringing in his hunk of junk in the morning for its annual tune-up. I’m sure I’ll have my work cut out for me.”
“You always do.” Holly paused a beat. “Kit?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for checking on me.”
“Of course. That’s what big sisters are for.”
“Younger sisters too.”
“You bet. Good night, Holly.”
“Good night, Kit.”
* * *
Holly was backat the scene of the near-crime early the next morning. Only this time, she was alone and seated at the island with a mug of coffee as she graded senior essays. Her heart wasn’t in it, but with the semester ending in two weeks, she didn’t have much choice.
Especially since she’d learned early in her teaching career to grade writing assignments in chunks rather than an entire class of thirty in one sitting. Along with alleviating cramping in her fingers, neck, and shoulders, the strategy also gave each student’s paper the fresh eyes and full attention it deserved.
Most of the time.
Today, with yesterday’s events keeping her from getting much sleep, not so much. Even when she had managed to drift off, snatches of festival activities, both past and present, the conversation she’d had with her sister, and that near-kiss invaded her usually dreamless slumber.
Around seven, Holly gave up the fight, crawled out of bed, and dug out clothes appropriate for tree hunting. Though she didn’t want to, she’d resigned herself to the inevitability of the day’s events, because once Emme and Wren got an idea in their heads, changing their minds became an exercise in futility.
Particularly when they joined forces, like Holly fully expected would happen today.
Once dressed, she’d brushed her teeth and French-braided her hair into two pigtails on either side of her head. Returning to the bedroom, she’d debated whether to change the bed linens, decided to wait until the following weekend or when Lyss was on her way home, whichever came first, and made the bed.
Then, she’d tidied up, tossing dirty clothes into the hamper and making mental notes of what she needed to pick up from her townhouse in the coming week. When she’d run out of things to do in the bedroom, because yes, she’d been looking for anything to keep from going upstairs where early riser Chace would undoubtedly already be enjoying his second cup of coffee, her choices of what to do next were few.
With the reluctance of a teenager forced to clean her room, Holly had trudged up the stairs. However, Chace was nowhere to be found when she entered the kitchen. But as evidenced by the green light on the Keurig and an empty mug by the sink, he was up and at ‘em. She just wasn’t sure where he’d gone.
Happy for the reprieve, she’d brewed a mug of coffee for herself, pulled out the essays, and had finished three when a fresh-from-the-shower Chace sauntered into the kitchen wearing another pair of faded jeans that hugged his lean hips and thighs like an old friend, and a blue thermal Henley under an untucked and unbuttoned blue flannel shirt.
With his finger-combed damp hair, freshly shaven cheeks, and bare feet, he looked good enough to eat. What was it about a man in boot-cut jeans and bare feet that was so freaking sexy? Holly didn’t know the answer to that question, but if he’d been shirtless with the top button of his Levi’s undone, she knew for a fact it would take every ounce of restraint she could muster to keep from stripping naked and begging him to take her right there on the kitchen floor, consequences be damned.
