The Honey - Don't List

Kurt was right: I did forgive Melly over and over. But I’m trying to take better care of myself now.

James straightens. “It sounds like an excuse, but I do want you to know that I’d always planned to tell you. I advocated for you with him, too.”

“But how weird is that?” I ask. “That I’m there for a decade, you’re there for two months and can put in a good word for me with Ted? It doesn’t just feel sexist and classist, it reminds me how small Melly kept me all those years. And you went and did the same thing.”

I see the impact of my words, because his shoulders pitch forward, chest shifts back, like he’s been physically pushed. “Yeah. I know.” He takes a few deep breaths to put himself together and finally takes another determined step closer. He’s only inches away from me again. Kissing distance. When he reaches down, the warmth of his hand engulfs mine.

“It’s no excuse, but I was desperate and caught off guard when he called,” he says. “You’d disappeared from my bed, then essentially told me we were over. I know we were both in self-preservation mode—the whole situation was a mess.” He absently massages my fingers when he feels them begin to cramp. “But I regret how I handled it. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re brilliant. I don’t care if you want to stay in this town the rest of your life. I don’t care what you decide you want to do. The only thing that matters to me is that I have a chance with you.”

My stupid attention has snagged on those stupid lips again.

“Carey?” the lips say. They go still, and then they twist into a tiny, knowing smile, and James waits until I look up again. “Do I have a chance with you?”

Ideally I’d make him work a little more for it. Realistically, I give him the most unequivocal nod of my lifetime.

He lets out a relieved laugh. “Holy shit, can I kiss you now?”

I don’t answer aloud. Instead I stretch, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. Beneath my palm, his skin is warm. When his smile touches mine, it’s achingly sweet, but for only a breath, because relief is a consuming thing, and mine sends me down this razor-sharp line between sobbing that I nearly lost him and crying out in joy that he’s here.

To think I forgot the precise feel of this, the perfect mechanics of his kiss. The memories I cherished were such a sad, pale rendering of the reality. He’s so assured this way, pulling me tight to him, bending to come back to me from a better angle, right here in the foyer of my new house.

My hand holding the bouquet clenches tight and, in a stiff spasm, releases. The irises tumble to the floor and for a second I dread that it’s going to break the moment—that he’ll bend to pick them up and suggest we find somewhere to put them. Then we’d be interrupted by introductions and having to carry on with this totally lame party I’ve planned. But James just smiles at me and kisses me again. We both know I’ll be dropping things for the rest of my life, and those flowers are just fine where they are.

“I love you, too,” I say.

This yanks a surprised breath from him and he pulls me into a hug, spreading a big hand across the back of my head and one across my lower back, and he just holds me there for not nearly long enough. A week like this would barely suffice.

But we only get a few more minutes because then Peyton is there picking up the bouquet, and Annabeth takes it to put the flowers in water, and Kurt is awkwardly clearing his throat because no one likes to catch their sibling in a sexy embrace.

Introductions are made, Annabeth returns, and Kurt tries to make himself taller as he inspects James. I guess he approves, because he offers to grab him a drink from the kitchen; I want to burst out laughing at Kurt’s expression when James asks for a glass of wine.

But the party isn’t so terrible, I guess. Conversation takes off. James is a goddamn charmer and apparently his sister, Jenn, is a former college softball superstar, so Peyton immediately loves him. Kurt hands him the wine and gives me a look that says, If you say so. I give him a look that says, In fact, I do say so, you cretin.

In the midst of all the softball talk and James winning over everyone but Kurt, Mike steps into the house and hands me a six-pack of Coors before groaning out loud.

“When the hell are you going to get some furniture, Carey?”