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Does he know he’s touching my skin? Does it have anywherenearthe impact on him that it has on me? Clearly not.
“The immigration kind, not the credit card kind. Complicated, long story. The point is, if I don’t get married in amonth”—he winces at this, and I do too because WHAT—“I’ll be deported to Canada.”
He gives these words a moment to sink in. They do. Deeply, like the roots of an old oak. Deported? I think first, irrationally, of all the dogs who won’t get their pets. And of not seeing him, of having the bright spots in the otherwise dishwater gray of my life.
Selfish thoughts, I realize, when I should be thinking of the man who will be deported. Canada, I realize, feels as fictional to me as Narnia. Up North, snowy, a vast expanse on a map that’s never seemed real until this moment.
Eli clears his throat. “But I didn’t really think … I mean, you wouldn’t …”
He didn’t thinkwhat?
I wouldn’twhat?
My thoughts have been tossed haphazardly into an industrial dryer where they’re tumbling around on high heat. Around and around. Mixed up.Heated. If Eli’s cheeks are rose-petal pink, mine must be Valentine’s red.
“Wow. I’m bad at this,” Eli says with a chuckle that sounds less humorous than a funeral dirge. “It’s not like you or anyone else would want to marry me anyway. For money or whatever reasons.”
His eyes flick up to mine, and I swear there’s an unspoken question:Would they?
Maybe even … wouldyou?
I wish I could say this didn’t have some part of me standing up, jumping and waving while shouting,Me, me, me! You had me atFor money! Yes! I do! Put a ring on it!
It’s the same part of me suddenly aware that Istillhave a letter poking me in the boob that very much has to do with money and my desperate need for it.
And would it even be a hardship to marry this man? The one snuggling a dog, whose face is inches from mine. The one with kind blue eyes and the kind of scent I’d like to wrap myself up in like a warm sweater.
“Can we, uh, just forget I asked you to commit fraud?” Eli asks, and his fingertips do a tiny dance at the top of my spine. I fight to keep still and not tremble. “I’m clearly beyond help.”
“I …”
My thoughts are still tumbling, but now it’s more like one of those lotto ball machines, and as I open my mouth to speak, I’m not at all sure what word will separate itself from the rest and pop out of my mouth.
And I’llneverknow because that’s when the door opens, and Dr. Evie—aka Dr. Evil—walks into the room.
She freezes, one hand curled around the doorknob. Her blue eyes—which are not fjord-like but rather the gray blue of harsh slate—narrow at me first. Her delicate features manage to be pretty even when she’s glaring in disapproval. Professionally shaped dark eyebrows, lashes I suspect are extensions, and the kind of perfect lips that gave cupid’s bow its name. All of her deceptively pretty features might lead one to believe she is nice. One would be mistaken.
While her doctorate is in veterinary medicine, Dr. Evie has a secondary degree in finding flaws and pointing them out with clinical—and maybe joyful—precision.
All while looking just like a Disney princess.
“What’s happening here?” she asks, closing the door behind her with a decisively judgmental half-slam.
I scramble to my feet, eyes still slightly wet with cough-induced tears, cheeks still flaming from all the talk ofmarriage. This looksbad. I am not supposed to be hanging out with a prospective pet owner. Definitely not sitting practically nose-to-nose.
Absolutely positively not talking about marriage.
“Sorry, I was …”
The explanation—or excuse?—I was striving and failing to come up with completely leaves my mind when Eli stands, towering over us both. His presence doesn’t just suck all the air out of the room. It suckseverythingout. Air, thoughts, words, feelings—all gone.
For half a second, I’m grateful for the reprieve. For the distraction of this giant man saving me from making up some kind of lie. I am a terrible liar. And it’s not like I want to tell Dr. Evil about the confusing conversation she just interrupted.
But then, I quickly realize my relief was naïve.
Because Dr. Evie’s eyes track up, up, up until they land on Eli’s face with surprise and then interest. The protectiveness I felt when Katrina was angling her body toward him earlier is nothing compared to how I feel now. It’s all I can do not to put myself as a barrier between Dr. Evil and the man, though I have zero claim to him. The urge only increases when her lips curl into a poison-apple smile.
“Well, hello,” she says. “I didn’t expect to seeyouhere.”
