Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

My head lands on the curve of his shoulder. My brown hair splays in a harsh contrast to the white shirt stretching across his broad shoulders.

Instead of doing anything that could remotely be construed as having underlying motivations, he just lies still. He brushes the hair out of my face with one hand. The other wraps around me and holds me to him. That palm, his right one, is heavy on my abdomen. But he doesn’t move it. Doesn’t drag it north to my breasts or south between my legs.

A quiet peace tucks itself in around us and brings us closer together. I have questions—so many questions—but I don’t ask them. It feels like I might be jinxing myself if I do.

We lie together in the still of the night. Eventually, he lifts his left hand and shuts off the lamp.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For tonight. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

He pulls me closer and rests his head on top of mine.

The Honey House sways in the wind, as if it’s luring us into a sweet slumber.

His breathing evens out as his chest rises and falls to a consistent, smooth rhythm.

I close my eyes, surrounded by Holden, and try to sleep. I try to ignore the solidness of his body, the comfort his proximity brings. I attempt to block out the way his leg crosses over mine at the ankle.

But, most of all, I try to ignore the idea of Holden staying in Honey Creek. Because against my own good advice, my hopes are soaring. And that has never gotten me anywhere good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HOLDEN

What’s this?”

Sophie’s voice makes me jump.

I turn around to see her standing in her robe. She leans against the doorway, her hair a wild mess piled on the top of her head, a curious, sleepy look on her face.

Her cheeks are pink, and there is a line extending from her temple to her jaw from having her face pressed against my shirt all night.

I like it. I like it too damn much.

The feeling clouds my head and mixes with the remnants of the conversation I had with my father yesterday and the day I’m about to have with Montgomery. I need to focus.

Clearing my throat, I turn away from her. “I made breakfast.”

“You did?” Her bare footsteps patter against the wooden floor. “What did you make?”

“Breakfast quesadillas.”

She peers over my shoulder. “Never heard of it, but it looks delish.”

“My mom used to make them. As a matter of fact, she used to put everything in a quesadilla.” I slide one onto a spatula and transfer it to a plate. “Here you go.”

“What’s in it?”

“That’s no way to say thank you,” I tease.

She pulls her eyes from the plate and up to me. “Dare I say that I didn’t know you can cook? So I’m . . . nervous.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” I shake the plate. “Here. Take it. I gotta get going.”

A light in her eyes dims as she does as I ask.

“What about Dr. Montgomery?” she asks. “I got up early to make him breakfast.”

“Already took care of that.”

She slow blinks. “I thought y’all were leaving at eight?”

“Well, I got up around six to go to the bathroom, and he was up. We thought we’d just get the day started early.”

“Oh.” She looks down at her plate. “Well, thank you for breakfast. And for doing my job.”

“Guess you owe me.”

She grins as she heads to the table but doesn’t comment. It’s just as well.

I carry the pan to the sink and give it a quick rinse. The small cut I got while slicing the onions this morning burns under the water.

That’s what I get for being a pussy and letting my hands shake.

I grab a towel and dry them off, careful to blot and not rub the injury. If Sophie weren’t watching from the table, I’d inspect it more closely. But I’m not about to raise her suspicions that I’m anything but steady by showing weakness.

Steady. My insides ripple with suppressed laughter at myself.

I’m never good on little sleep. And although I slipped into dreamland without a problem, staying there proved to be much more difficult. Hell, even if I could’ve gone back to sleep, I probably wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have appreciated having Sophie nestled up beside me, her hands wrapped up in my T-shirt as if she were holding on to me for dear life, if I hadn’t been awake. I’ve never felt so . . . wanted. Needed. Content with all that. Happy about it, even.

But if today goes well . . .

The knot that took up residence in my gut last night twists a little tighter.

I have no idea how today will go. Will I pass his inspection? Will he be able to see me in the future of Montgomery Farms? Will he think I might be a good fit?