Follow the sun, huh?
But what if it’s a cloudy day? What if I can’t feel the sun at all?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
What’s for dinner?” Liv asks.
I pin the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Pizza. I’m not cooking tonight. Every muscle in my body hurts.”
“Ooh. Sounds like a good story there.”
“Hardly,” I scoff, taking glasses out of the dishwasher and putting them into the cabinet. “Unless you want to hear me tell you about taping off trim and patching dings in the wall.”
“Yeah. Not interested.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“So, any news on your husband?” she asks, not missing a beat.
I know her question stems only from her wish for me to be happy. She still thinks in her misguided but well-meaning way that he will make the right choice. But the situation with Holden is what I’ve been avoiding all day.
Of course, it was impossible to completely block it, and him, from my mind. In such a small amount of time, so much of the Honey House now reminds me of him.
I can see him sitting at the table when I look into the dining room. The warm glance of appreciation he cast my way for the meal I’d prepared for Dr. Montgomery. And him. I really made it for him.
As I gaze out of the kitchen window, I see the backyard alight with the string lights someone hung for our wedding party.
Our first dance.
The first moment I was in his arms.
Our first kiss.
His cologne lingers in my bedroom. The bathroom has traces of his presence, and I can barely even look at the kitchen counter without blushing.
One minute, and I’m smiling and giggling and convincing myself that he’s enjoyed this too. And I’m picking out every sliver of a sentence that he’s said that could be construed as meaning that he might want to stay. He could work for Fred. He’d still be doing what he loves. And . . . he’d be here. Where I am.
That minute is fleeting and replaced just as fast by another. That moment is filled with dread and a foreboding fog swirling around my head. The notably rational, obvious reasons that he will be going to Orlando if he gets the job elbow the hope away, and I’m left feeling like I just lost my best friend.
Just knowing would be easier, regardless of the outcome. The indecisiveness is what’s killing me, and I don’t know how long I can do it.
“Soph?” Liv asks.
“What? Sorry. I was . . . trying to unload the dishwasher.”
“I just asked if there was any news on Holden.”
“Not yet. Montgomery came, and I think it went well. So it’s probably just a matter of time before he gets the job offer.”
She pauses. “You still think he’s going to go?”
I close the cabinet and blow out a breath. Conflict wars inside me. My brain tells me that he will go. My heart says he won’t.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip and worry it between my teeth. “He did say that Fred offered him the clinic. Or a job there, at least. So maybe that helps.”
“So you want him to stay?” she asks softly.
“I don’t know, Liv . . .”
“You know what? I know you do. And that’s okay. It’s okay to have hope, Sophie. When you lose hope, you pull back inside your shell. You forget that there’s more out there for you than dickheads and maintaining a bed-and-breakfast.”
I sag against the counter. “I know. You’re right. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this. I mean, I know I’ll be okay, but”—I force a swallow—“it’ll freaking hurt. A lot.”
“Listen to me right now,” she says. “If he leaves, it’s because his hopes didn’t align with yours. It has nothing to do with you. We’re Bates girls. We aren’t victims.”
Her words make me smile. It’s something our mother used to say when we were little. I haven’t necessarily carried that thought process in my pocket, but Liv has. And every time she brings it back out, it hits me in the heart.
“You have to be honest with yourself about what you want,” she says. “Embrace that. Validate your feelings. And then we’ll deal with the end result when we have it.”
I take a deep breath and lift my chin. Liv’s right.
The front door opens, and I hear Holden’s feet coming down the hallway. I close my eyes as my body flips on, anxiety pulsing through my veins. The force clears out my brain, removes the fog, and I know what I want: I want him to stay.
“Liv,” I say, “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Good luck. I love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
I end the call before she can reply.
Holden comes around the corner. He looks as divine as ever with his slightly mussed-up hair and green eyes. Lines mar his forehead but somehow just make him look wiser and more sophisticated.