Does that sound shitty?

Should I be volunteering at the animal shelter, cleaning up trash in the neighborhood park, or some other Good Samaritan type deal? Zoey seems like the kind of woman who does stuff like that.

While I have a minor existential crisis about the value of what I’m offering the world at large—newsflash, it’s not stellar and I should probably do something about that—Zoey seems to have gone off on an entirely different mental tangent.

“That’s a lot of people. Friends, teams, family.” Her hands have paused, or at least I assume they have because though they’re inside the open-chested guy, she seems still somehow. Quiet, thoughtful . . . no, that’s not all. She seems . . . sad?

“You have people? Other than Holly, I mean.” I chance a glance toward the door to make sure Holly isn’t loitering around to eavesdrop. “She seems like a lot, so she probably counts for like three people at least.”

That does get the corners of Zoey’s lips to tilt up in an actual smile.

I’d call that a big victory except that her shrug is noncommittal. That shrug of hers is basically the kiss of death, a clear sign that she doesn’t care whether I’m here or not.

But I need to be here—for the paperwork.

And because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the other day, and surprisingly, those thoughts have not at all been about how she caused thousands of dollars of damage to my car but that her lips were the prettiest shade of pink.

“Holly,” she finally says. “And Jacob.”

Oh, damn! I got an answer!

I hate Jacob instantly.

Whoever the hell he is.

“Who’s Jacob? Husband? Boyfriend? Kid? Dog, right? Tell me he’s your pet labradoodle and put me out of my misery, Zo.” I slap an open palm to my chest over my heart, which has stopped beating as I dramatically wait on pins and needles for her to answer.

Zoey pulls something large and meaty looking out of the body, and I gag aloud before I can stop it this time.

She looks up at the sound, eyes going from me to the whatever that is, and no, I absolutely don’t want to know.

I swallow again, not willing to look away now that I’m this close to a break-through with her.

Oh, she doesn’t want to tell me, but she does too. I can sense her reserve, but she’s licking her lips like she can taste the words.

Either that or she’s a secret cannibal and I’ve interrupted her evening dinner.

She sets the organ in a bowl, thankfully out of sight, and gives me the full attention I want. Her eyes are wary, her words slow, but she asks, “Why do you want to know?”

That’s not what I expected her to say.