Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

He searches my eyes. “I’m just saying that there’s no rush.”

My throat burns with a tightness that comes just before tears. I force a swallow and plead with myself not to go there.

I part my lips and test my restraint. So many things, questions, and possibilities are coursing through my brain, and I’m not sure which will shoot into the air if I open the gates. But I can’t sit here and not say anything at all.

“What will you do if you don’t get the job, Holden?” I ask.

My fingers dig into the blankets, curling the soft fabric in my hands. I can feel the material scrape beneath my fingernails. I try to keep my face free of any of the emotions that well up inside me.

But hope is building in my heart. The painful experience of it swelling has me holding my breath.

I hope outright, without telling myself not to. I allow my heart to wish that he will choose me. This. Us. That for the first time in my life, someone will think I’m worth fighting for.

It’s risky and potentially devastating, but it’s where I am. I’m hopeful. I’ve been quietly hopeful all along.

I guess I’m more like Liv than I thought.

“I don’t know,” he says carefully. “I’ll have some decisions to make, then, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

The fabric clenches harder in my hands. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I slip my gaze up his torso and to his face. His eyes are mossy, like a storm is rolling in, and a smile plays on his lips.

My heart thumps in my chest because I don’t know where this is going, and by every indication, it’s going somewhere interesting.

“Pap offered me the clinic.” His voice is quiet, soft, but edged with what I think is a tempered excitement.

I unclench my fists. My shoulders twist so I can face him more head-on.

“He did?” I ask.

The surprise in my voice somehow tugs at the corners of his lips. They rise higher and higher until he’s in a full-blown smile.

“Would you consider that?” I ask, aware of how excited I sound. It completely defeats my efforts to not show him exactly how I feel, but I can’t hide it. I don’t want him making a decision because of me and then resenting me for it.

I want him to want to stay on his own.

My palms begin to sweat against the blankets, and my legs are suddenly too hot all tucked into the sheets.

I free my legs from their confines and scoot one foot to the edge of the mattress. I watch his handsome face for any indication as to what he’s thinking.

“Would you want me to?” he asks carefully. “If I stayed here . . . I mean, we’re married. What does that look like for the two of us?”

“I . . . I don’t know . . .”

My brain races almost as fast as my heart as I try to get a grip on all this.

“Well, if I lived here,” he says, forcing a swallow, “things might get more complicated. It’s not like I can just move out and get out of your hair. I mean, unless you wanted me to—”

“No,” I say quickly, much too quickly. I clear my throat and then carry on in the hope that it distracts him from my interruption. “I’m just saying that if you moved out, then the rumor mill would turn on, and neither of us need that. Right?”

He nods, biting back a smile. “Right. Could you put up with me for a while? I mean, I don’t mind living here. With you.”

I try not to return his grin but fail epically. “I don’t mind you living here. Too much. With me.”

“I can see why. I’m an easy guy to get along with.”

“Oh, whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s really just that I’m terrific at dealing with assholes. I married Chad. There are—ah!”

I yelp as Holden grabs me by the arm. He untucks my body, swirls me around, and has me lying with my back to his front and his mouth hovering over my ear before I realize what’s happening.

His breath is hot against my neck. “No more Chad.”

“Huh?”

A spatter of goose bumps slip across my skin, and it has absolutely nothing to do with being cold.

My core tightens as Holden’s body ripples behind me. An arm comes around me, caging me against him and the mattress. I hold my breath for fear that I might moan.

“No. More. Chad,” he whispers.

“What do you mean, ‘No more Chad’?” I ask with my eyes pinned to the blue curtains framing the window.

“I mean that I’m sick of hearing about him.”

“Well, when we talk about marriage and behaviors associated with our experiences in relationships, he’s my frame of reference.”

Holden sighs and lies back against the pillows. Just as I sigh in relief that I can breathe again, his hands guide me backward too.