A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

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 of marriage. This looks bad. 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 sucks everything out. 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....