Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

“That’s great,” I say, tears sliding down my face.

He catches the wetness with the pads of his thumbs. It’s such an intimate gesture that it only makes me cry harder.

“I don’t want you to think this is about you. Because it’s not. It’s about . . . me. I guess. About the things I need to do and the promises I need to fulfill.” He looks at the ceiling and sighs. “I know you won’t go with me, but if there’s any way . . .”

I shake my head. “My home is here.”

He looks down and nods. He takes me in, his gaze boring into my soul. I stand before him and let him see what he wants to see.

“What should I do?” he asks. “Do you want me to stay? Go now? What will be easier?”

Never leave.

I suck in a hasty, shaky breath and then clear my throat. “You might as well take the Band-Aid off and just go. Why delay the inevitable?”

His eyes fill with a sadness that kills me. A surge of pain envelops me, and I want to wail—full-on sob until my voice becomes too weak and my body too tired to expel that kind of energy.

I don’t want him to see that. I’d like to maintain some sense of dignity, and I don’t want him to second-guess his decision because I’m a crybaby.

“I’ll go to Liv’s,” I say. “You can leave tonight or tomorrow. I’ll just stay gone until then.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He grabs my shoulders, panic flitting across his face. “Stay with me tonight. Stay here one last night.”

It’s too much.

Panic rises in me, too, as I take a step back. His hands fall to his sides, his face broken.

“I’m sorry, Holden. I can’t. I . . . I can’t.” I wipe the tears off my face with the backs of my hands. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I do. But this . . . you know . . . there’s no reason to . . .” I give him the best smile I can conjure up, and despite being blinded by the tears in my eyes, I turn and walk toward the door.

“Sophie!”

I pause at the doorway but don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll get stuck in this cycle that’s going to end the same way no matter how many times we hash it out.

He needs to go.

And I have to let him.

I face my bedroom door. Snot drips down my lip, and I wipe it away with my sleeve.

“I didn’t mean for it to end like this,” he says.

“I didn’t either.”

And with that, I run out of the Honey House and don’t look back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HOLDEN

What in the hell just happened?

I sit on Sophie’s bed and put my head in my hands. Never, ever did I think I’d feel this way about getting what I want.

Except maybe I didn’t get what I want.

I don’t even know anymore.

I lift my head and look around her room. It’s typical Sophie—quirky, silly, but inviting. All the things I love about her are displayed here. And just last night, I lay here with her snuggled up next to me like all was right in the world.

My head spins as I sort my feelings. It’s a confusing mishmash of pros and cons—of feelings and dreams and promises and intentions. But every time I try to sort them out and put it all in tidy little boxes in my head, one thing pops out: she didn’t ask me to stay.

Surely, if that’s what she wanted, she would have.

Sophie isn’t shy. She’s opinionated and forward and will ask, maybe even demand, to get what she wants.

The thought makes me smile.

Damn it and damn her.

Half of me wants to march across the street and barge into Liv’s house—and potentially duck anything Liv throws at me—and scoop Sophie up and bring her home. But the other half of me sits back with a cigar and points out that there was a reason this wasn’t real. And I’d be smart to remember that.

Getting too comfortable in situations leads to an acceptance of things that are mediocre. That’s what happened with Jessica. Not that Sophie is mediocre in any way, but living here would be. It would be filled with ferrets and tractors and apple pies from the resident cougar. Not at all like the life filled with challenge and success and self-accomplishment I want.

I stand up and gather my things from the bedroom and bathroom. It doesn’t take long.

Before I leave, I pull out my phone and find my grandfather’s number. It rings only once before he picks up.

“Hello?” he says.

“Hey, Pap.”

“Holden. What’s wrong?”

I chuckle in frustration. “I, um, I just got done talking to Sophie, and we decided it was best if I headed out to Florida right away.”