Page 7 of Best Served Cold

I might not think much of her judgment, but seeing her like this is like a gut punch. It makes me want to deliver a gut punch to the man who’s responsible.

My hand forms a fist as I think about punching Jonah. Something I have absolutely done before, and for good reason. I keep all of the times my fists have met his flesh in my memory bank to take out on special occasions.

But I remember something my mother said to me once. Sometimes people don’t want you to fix things for them, Rob. Sometimes they just need a hug.So I step forward and wrap my arms around Sophie.

She’s soft, and exactly the right height for her ear to be pressed to my heart when she’s against my chest—a weird thing to notice, but let it never be said I’m normal. Her hair smells like flowers, and…

She stiffens as if I’d thrown a bucket of icy water over her. “Oh, no. You donotget to hug me.”

I pull back, fighting a smile for half a second, because at least I got her pissed off again. That’s better than sad and defeated. Shaking my head, I insist, “I didn’t know, Sophie. If I’d known, I would have warned you.”

“Me too,” Otis pipes in.

“So you were just being an asshole because you’re an asshole?” she asks, studying my face. I’d thought her eyes were brown, inasmuch as I’d given them any thought at all, but they’re actually a deep, dark blue, surrounded by thick black lashes. It’s a revelation so surprising that it takes me a second to remember she asked me a question. I decide to keep things simple and nod. It’s not necessary to burden her with my side of the Price family drama. I’m guessing she’d like to shut the door on all of us permanently, and I wouldn’t blame her. It would probably be the best thing that ever happened to her.

I glance at Otis, who looks like he’s not sure where he should be but would prefer to be somewhere other than where he is. “So, where’s the phone, bud? Seems like Soph should bring it back to Jonah personally.”

Sophie flinches. “He’s in a meeting with an important client?—”

“Exactly,” I say pointedly. “Wouldn’t it be a pity if someone barged in and let the world know what an absolute waste of life he is?”

Otis gives a cheer. “I’m gonna go grab it from the freezer.”

I don’t know why the phone is in the freezer, and I’m not interested in asking. My focus is on Sophie.

I notice she hasn’t agreed yet—and also that she still has Jonah’s engagement ring on her finger. My gaze shifts to the little bungalow next door, where an elderly woman with purple hair is openly watching us from behind gauzy curtains. I wave,and she pops down as if to hide. I can still very much see her, but I let it go because I don’t want her to break a hip trying to get fully out of view.

My gaze returns to Sophie. She seems to be waffling, and I don’t want her to give up. I don’t want her to give Jonah the chance to put one of his legendary spins on this.

“Follow your instincts,” I tell her in an undertone as Otis appears with the phone, clutched in an oven mitt.

“She doesn’t need to do that,” he says, waving the phone. “She has evidence. Remember the evidence, Sophie. Don’t let him dismiss what we saw. I took screenshots of everything before I put the phone in the freezer.”

I’d like to know what they found. Then again, there’s a possibility it’s a photo of my brother’s dick, and I already have trouble sleeping at night.

I also don’t want to say or do anything that might unintentionally make Sophie cry.

Maybe this is a sign that I’m yet another Price man who’s a selfish asshole, but I can’t handle tears right now. It still isn’t my normal wake-up time, and it’s already been a crap day.

Her chin lifts as she takes the phone from him, immediately flinching from the cold.

“Sorry, sorry,” Otis says, taking the glove off and handing it to her. She frowns at it. I’m hit with a sudden vision of her storming into Jonah’s meeting with an oven mitt on her hand and dropping the phone into his lap. It’s enough to make me smile—but as soon as I do, Sophie glowers at me.

“This is no laughing matter.”

“Agreed,” I say, wiping the look off my face.

She straightens her spine and hands the oven mitt back to Otis.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks in a tone that suggests he desperately wants her to say no.

She considers for a few seconds before shaking her head. “Just don’t drink any more of those IPAs in case you need to drive.”

“Is someone going to offer me a drink?” I ask, earning another dark look from Sophie. I lift a hand. “Kidding. Let’s go.”

“Wait, you want to come with me?” she asks, her expression shifting to shock. “But why?”

“Consider me your designated driver,” I say pointedly, even though I doubt she drank enough to need one. Truth is, this is my way of ensuring she sticks to the course.

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