Page 27 of Best Served Cold

Never mind that Hannah, Briar, and I had compared notes about him, and there was no way they were lying.

“Here’s the thing about my brother,” Rob says. “If you don’t give him what he wants, he’ll try harder. The challenge is what he cares about. If you give in, he’ll?—”

“You really think I’d forgive him after what he did?” I snap, straightening my spine. I think of all the times Rob has called me Pollyanna with a knowing smirk on his face.

“He can be persuasive,” he says, shoving his hands into his back pockets again. Once again, his biceps are on display, but I’m not going to be distracted this time.

“I didn’t know him the way I thought I did,” I fume. “But you know what, Rob Price? He didn’t know me either, and neither doyou. Just because I give people the benefit of the doubt doesn’t mean I’ll let them walk all over me. I think you should leave now.”

He takes a half step toward me, his eyes full of remorse and lined by a surprising profusion of eyelashes.

“Sophie, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice a low rumble. But I steel myself against his apology, his eyelashes, and his presence in my room, my life.

For one thing, he’s a Price. For another, he’s always treated me like I’m as interesting as dry toast.

“You’ve taught me how much apologies are worth to you,” I say firmly. “Why would they be any more valuable to me?”

“I really am sorry. I just didn’t want him to embarrass you at work.”

“Too late,” I mutter. Because everyone knows the engagement is off. Even if they don’t know why it’s off, it’s still mortifying. They’ve all been sonice. And whatever Rob thinks of me and my Pollyanna kindness, their attitude sometimes makes me want to screech at the top of my lungs—or do something truly unforgivable, like empty a pitcher of beer onto a rude customer.

He shifts on his feet. “I don’t want to walk away with you pissed off.”

I exhale so sharply it comes out as a snort. “You don’t get to choose how I feel.”

“I know that. I wouldn’t want to. But it wouldn’t feel right to leave like this.”

“I thought you didn’t care what anyone thinks of you?”

His eyes hold mine, and I see something flicker in them. “I never said that. You did. Everyone cares what someone thinks, Sophie. Including me. I care what you think.”

I sniff in disbelief. “Right. You know what the second thing you said to me was?”

“I’m Rob?” he asks, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“No, that was the first thing—and you didn’t say a word to me for the rest of dinner. The second thing you said to me was at the next family dinner. You said, ‘Oh, you’re still around?’ Like you couldn’t believe it.”

“Because you were nice. I hoped he’d leave you alone.”

“But not because you liked me.”

He falls silent, working his jaw. When he finally opens his mouth to speak, the “Bridal Chorus” blasts deafeningly from downstairs. For half a second I think he’s the one singing it into existence. Then I realize my guests have gotten impatient.

I feel a fresh surge of self-consciousness, my cheeks flushing.

“Look. You can leave, stay. I don’t care.” I look away from him. “They need me, andthey’remy friends.”

I don’t glance back to see if he follows me out of the room. I walk down the hall and descend the stairs, collecting a bouquet from Hannah, who’s waiting at the bottom.

Her eyes dancing, she asks, “Are you ready to make the only kind of commitment a woman should ever make, Soph?”

“I am.”

I step into the living room, where Dottie is waiting for me with a loving smile. Otis, who’s back on the couch, burps loudly. He has his phone out and is recording this disaster.

“I think you meanI do,” Dottie says, her eyes sparkling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

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