Holland’s sister-in-law Ximena (hee·MEH·nuh) is readers’ favorite side character. Actually, I think some readers like her more than Holland! Here’s a fun look at their relationship. If you read Holland, My Heart, please remember to leave a review.

I rest my head against the exceedingly comfortable leather… headrest. Guess that’s why they call it that. Just as I’m about to close my eyes, Ximena’s ringtone interrupts the cool silence of the town car’s backseat.

“Manita.” My sister-in-law uses the LA-Spanish slang for little sister. “How are you?”

“Menita.” I use the play-on-words-diminutive for Ximena I gave her years ago. “I am toast.”

“Oh, Holland, you sound wrung out.” Ximena’s voice drips with the warm honey of empathy. “How did it go at work today?”

“I mean, I suppose my day could have been longer,” I say. “I could be on my way to Australia…”

“Oh my! On your first day?” I hear in Ximena’s voice all the excitement and anxiety warring in my own heart.

I don’t argue. It was just a visit. Not my first day. Instead of correcting my sister, I say, “I’m as elated as I am exhausted. I met one of my heroes today. I have followed Zahra Johnstone’s career since the first time I read about her in Forty Under Forty,” I tell her. “In the eight hours we worked in her comfortable, sunny office, we broke down the entire structure of the company’s current IT processes.”

After nearly a year out of the workforce, I am pretty squeaking proud of my contributions. I recommended a handful of software upgrades, and some updated best practices—especially regarding Innovated’s employee experience and inward-facing technology. At every turn, I was thrilled to find that Zahra was receptive and appreciative. I felt welcomed and valued, seen and heard by this woman I respect so completely.

“The only time we took a break was when Kai magically appeared with lunch,” I say. I felt a familiar Kai-flavored heat creep up my neck and cheeks when he brought us sandwiches, salads, sodas, and brownies. “He’s so capable and competent. I really admire his… well, um.”

“Ass?” Ximena offers.

“Mena! No!” I am aghast.

“Abs? Arms? Ankles?” she’s laughing now.

“Ximena! No!” I’m choking back giggles. “I admire his mind. Over lunch he asked Zahra how it was going, and her debrief was fast and furious—but he kept up, interrupting to ask insightful questions and to praise her flexibility and ingenuity.”

“Did he flex his biceps while he asked? Did he mention his desire to get in-to-you-ity?” Ximena and her terrible puns.

“That’s not funny,” I protest through giggles.

“I googled his hotness,” she says. “The man looks good in a suit, Holland.” She stretches out the o’s in good like a four-year-old would describe a particularly excellent ice cream cone.

“Stop it.” I’m so glad she didn’t FaceTime me—I am most likely beet red from my chest to my ears.