“Not me. Come to think of it, it’s probably part of the reason I have marriage issues.”
The microwave buzzes. She removes the bowl and slides it in front of me. An incredible scent wafts up from the ceramic vessel. I peer inside to see miniature sausages with bacon wrapped around them. A shimmer coats the top.
“You’re not a healthy eater, are you?” she asks, handing me a fork.
“Not today.” I stab one and put it in my mouth. The sweetness of sugar mixes with the smokiness of the bacon and the meatiness of the sausage, blending together on my tongue. “That’s amazing.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “I couldn’t watch you sit there and drool while I cooked. I have a thing about people being hungry.”
“How about for people needing a room?”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks? I have my résumé out in a couple of places. As soon as I hear something, I’m gone.” I look up at her with puppy-dog eyes. “Please rent me a room. I’ll beg.”
A sigh that’s laced with both amusement and reservation topples from her lips. “You don’t even know how much I charge.”
“By the time I factor in gas and my time driving back and forth to Nashville, you could probably double your price and it would still be worth it.”
She grins mischievously. “It’s eighty-eight a night plus a dose of antibiotics.”
“Sophie . . .”
She laughs as she flips off the stove. “Fine. I’m teasing. You can have the blue room. Top of the staircase, last door on your left. But keep it down after nine, because the couple in the yellow room go to bed right after the early news.”
Her cheeks are a light shade of pink, and I’m not sure if it’s from my smile or the heat of the stove. Either way, I pause to appreciate it.
She bites her lip. “The pipes in the bathroom squeak a little. It’s on the list of things to replace as soon as I can.”
“I can deal with noisy pipes.”
“Good.” She turns back to the stove. “Dinner isn’t included with your room. Just breakfast. It’s a bed-and-breakfast. Get it?”
“Oh, so that’s what that means,” I say, letting my mouth hang open in faux surprise. “I never knew that.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll whip something up if you want me to, since I’m cooking anyway.”
Her back moves in such a way that I’m pretty certain she’s laughing. It occurs to me that I haven’t had such easy banter with a woman in a very long time. I also can’t remember ever feeling this relaxed around a woman. My last interaction with my former fiancée included a migraine and the indifferent return of an engagement ring. Maybe this one is so easy because she keeps me in check, or maybe it’s our shared history. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it right now.
“I’m going to head to the car and grab my bag,” I tell her.
“Suit yourself.”
I turn away but stop when she calls out to me.
“Holden?”
“Yeah?”
She smiles sheepishly. “The hot water in the shower upstairs is on the right. Not the left. Liv and I installed a new faucet last summer and . . . you know. That stuff gets confusing.”
“No worries.”
She clears her throat. “I have to go by my brother’s and drop off a few things. Then I’m heading to Tank’s for a fish sandwich. It’s the best part of the week.”
“Okay.”
“Well, um, if you want to meet me there in a half an hour or something—no pressure. I can bring you something back. Or . . . not. Either way is fine.”
My lips twist at her stumbling over her words. “I’d love to meet you.”
“Cool. See you there, then.” She grins to herself and turns away.
There are dozens of questions on the tip of my tongue—about her and the bed-and-breakfast and Liv and the soot that I can still faintly smell. But instead of asking them, I head outside and get in my rental car.
I sit in the driver’s seat and take in the Honey House. It needs a good coat of paint, and one of the shutters is askew. But it’s still quaint and looks more or less just like it did when we used to ride our bikes by here as kids.
We had so much fun back then. Hell, I still like being around her now. She’s unpretentious and easygoing. Spontaneous, yet grounded. She’s a crazy mix of gorgeous and adorable, and to see her as an adult makes me so curious how our friendship would’ve played out in different circumstances.
“Not unless you want to marry me.” My words ring through my mind as Sophie enters the office in front of me. As I watch her look at something on her desk, I’m bothered by the fact that marrying her doesn’t seem all that crazy. The words slipped out like an invitation that I didn’t have to think twice about. And I don’t think I would’ve been shocked, or all that weirded out, had she just said, “Yeah, let’s do that.”