She was going to have to kill her brother, but since he was out of town for the weekend at a vet conference, that pleasure would have to wait.
Maybe she could just move to Iceland. Iceland might be far enough to escape the humiliation, but probably not. Dammit. She’d kissed a perfect stranger, just accosted him on her doorstep. And . . . now her chest hurt. Maybe an impending heart attack would explain her behavior. Holding her chest, she used her other hand to point at him to stay. “I just need a minute,” she said.
And then slammed the door in his face.
Behind her, in the living room, a brick fell from the ancient old fireplace. It did that every time she slammed the door. She’d tried to get someone out here to fix it but the contractor had wanted her to promise her firstborn, so she’d just decided not to slam the door anymore.
But she kept forgetting. Note to self: Stop kissing strangers, and stop slamming the door. She ran to the kitchen, where she’d left her cell phone, and pounded out her brother’s number.
“Yo,” Wyatt said in greeting. “Hear you’re going out with some dentist guy tonight. Watch where he puts his hands. You don’t know where they’ve been.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Her siblings gossiped like a pair of old ladies. “You’re a veterinarian,” she pointed out. “God knows how many worse places your hands are all day long. Maybe I should tell Emily to watch where you put your hands.”
Wyatt just laughed. Since Emily—the love of his life—was also a vet, it had been an idle threat and they both knew it.
Zoe sucked in a deep breath. “Listen, about your friend, the one who’s coming to stay—”
“Yeah, Darcy told you he’s coming early?”
“Uh-huh,” she said with what she thought was a perfectly even voice.
But Wyatt had been seeing right through her for years. He was the only one who could. “Zoe,” he said in his most annoying brother voice. “You’re going to be nice. You promised. At least until I get back to Sunshine.”
“Yeah,” she said, and grimaced. “About that . . .” She closed her eyes. “I might be a little short on nice as it turns out.” Try hoochie-mama on for size . . .
“Shit, Zoe. He’s there already? What did you do?”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything.” Well, except kiss him.
And then slam the door on his nose . . .
Crap. “So . . . just how good a friend is this guy again?”
“Very,” Wyatt said. “We met in college when we were bartenders at the same place. On my first night, we got jumped at closing by five drunk assholes. Parker saved my ass. Haven’t gotten to see him in years, though, so don’t chase him away before I get home.”
She grimaced again. “Gotta go.”
“Zoe—”
She disconnected. “Oops,” she said. “My bad.” She glanced at herself in the microwave glass door. “Go make nice,” she told her reflection. She turned to do just that, stopping to grab one of the cooling chocolate chip cookies she’d baked earlier. She was a great cook but she’d never been much of a baker. Determined to change that, she’d used one of her grandma’s recipes—Zoe’s first-ever batch that wasn’t from the grocery store’s frozen aisle. She took a bite . . . and nearly gagged. They tasted like baking soda.
She spit the disgusting thing out in the sink and rinsed it down. Okay, so her baking needed a lot more work.
And maybe your attitude.
Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she went back to the living room. She let out a heavy breath and once again opened the front door.
Parker was crouched low, chuckling over Oreo, who’d stayed outside with her new roommate and was sniffing at the guy’s proffered hand.
“He’s not much for new people,” Zoe warned. “And especially not much for men. He’s a rescue and—”
And nothing because Oreo jumped into Parker’s arms and licked Parker’s chin.
Traitor.