Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

We exchange a smile so soft that it takes everything in me not to reach out and pull her into my chest.

“But the thing I love most about him, Dr. Montgomery, is that he’s a good man. He’s genuine. Holden is a man you can respect, and that’s really, truly hard to find. I know. I’ve looked.”

She blinks rapidly as the color in her eyes blurs. Looking down at her plate, she dabs at her eyes as discreetly as possible. I reach out and take her hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze.

My heart swells in my chest. I want to tell her all the things I admire about her, all the reasons why she’s a great friend and a great wife. But I don’t because her words swim together with Pap’s—words like “respect” and “love” and “marriage” all colliding together and making me confused and tongue-tied.

Sophie talks about me like my gran would’ve talked about Pap. Like she really does care for me. I guess on some level she probably does; we’re friends, after all, but if she did want me to stay here with her, why would she speak so glowingly about me?

It’s counterintuitive. I can’t rationalize it.

Before I can sort it out, Dr. Montgomery speaks again. “That’s quite a referral,” he says. “And from the heart.”

“You would be crazy not to hire my husband, Timothy. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.” She looks at me and smiles. “This job is all he’s ever wanted. And seeing him get the things he wants most is what I want too.”

Dr. Montgomery sits back and places his napkin on the table. His plate is clean, polished of the food Sophie thoughtfully prepared.

“I appreciate your thoughts, Sophie. And I hope your husband does as well. I’m sure it won’t be easy for you to leave this place behind and come to Orlando if he’s selected for the job. Many spouses put up roadblocks. I’ve seen it many times over the years.”

Sophie looks at me. She raises her chin. “Holden’s dreams hinge on this one opportunity. I’m just a piece of a much larger puzzle. This marriage isn’t only about what I want. It’s about what he needs to be happy too.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands as my chest squeezes. Of course she’s right. She is a piece of a much larger puzzle. But as I sit and look into her eyes, I wonder how big this puzzle might actually be.

Her words roll around my head. I want to believe there was a veiled meaning in what she said, but I’m not sure I have the right to hope for that.

“Very well.” Dr. Montgomery pushes away from the table and gets to his feet. “I’m a fast eater. It’s a product of growing up in a house without much food. It was delicious, Mrs. McKenzie. Thank you for sharing your talents with me tonight.”

“Oh, of course,” Sophie says. “Thank you for making the trip up here for Holden.”

He gives me a tilt of his head. “I’m going to retire for the evening. It’s been a very long day, and a good night’s rest will do me a lot of good, I’m afraid. Can you tell me where my room might be?”

“I’ll show you,” I say.

He waves me off before I can even get to my feet. “Nonsense. Enjoy your dinner. Just point me in the right direction.”

“It’s up the stairs, the first door on your right,” Sophie says. “I’m happy to show you.”

“That’s quite all right,” he says. “Towels are in the bedroom?”

“Yes, sir,” she says.

He nods in approval before turning to me. “I’ll see you in the morning. Around eight?”

“Sounds great,” I say.

“Good night, Sophie,” Dr. Montgomery says.

“Good night, Timothy.”

With a nod of his head, he exits the room. The stairs squeal as he takes them slowly. Before long, we hear the bedroom door shut.

I look at Sophie, unsure as to what I should say. There are so many things on the tip of my tongue, but they all feel wrong.

She scoots her chair back. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

“Wait,” I say.

She pauses, her eyes darting to mine. I think she’s holding her breath as well.

I force a swallow. “How did you do all this?”

“I made it for you.” Her shoulders fall. “You said you wanted chicken last night,” she adds as she bows her head and gets up from the table.

I start to speak, to ask her what I really wanted to say, but don’t because . . . she might be afraid of that. There’s a chance that she’ll be scared that I’m going to ask her what she meant earlier. There’s a greater chance that she doesn’t want to explain. An explanation could be something she can’t give me, because she may be as confused as I am about what’s happening between us.