The Nerds are forgotten. She holds them in her hand, but her attention is squarely on me. I can feel her stare on the side of my cheek, and it makes me shift in my seat.
I don’t know why I’m telling her this. It’s really none of her business and not something I like to delve into. As I’m about to tell her as much, it occurs to me that we are in this car together because we have some level of trust in each other. She’s doing me a hellacious favor, and I need to honor that.
And be open.
“I was the only child growing up. My father’s only son,” I say as if that explains everything. “There was so much pressure to do everything his way and to do it well. Pitching in Little League. Wide receiver on the football team. He made me learn how to play piano, and I hated those damn lessons. Honor roll.”
I clear my throat. If I had a shirt with the top button fastened, I’d loosen it. My chest is constricted as I think about how to further explain myself to Sophie.
“I’d come home from Honey Creek at the end of summer,” I say, “and he’d try to erase anything I might’ve picked up from here. He wouldn’t bad-mouth Pap or Tennessee, specifically. He’d just make it clear what he thought of the place and that I was above it somehow.”
“That’s shitty.”
I nod. “I grew up feeling like his expectations and somehow . . . his successes in life were on my shoulders. Like if I didn’t live up to what he wanted me to be and check off all those boxes, then we’d both fail. Then I would be this huge disappointment, and that was the hardest thing. Seeing that in his eyes.”
Sophie sighs. “You know, it’s usually the girl with daddy issues.”
When I look at her, she’s smiling softly. It makes the tension in the back of my neck relax. There’s no judgment on her face or smugness, like I’ve seen in women before when you show them your vulnerabilities or truth.
Not that I’ve ever told a woman before that I more or less have daddy issues, but still.
“Oh, but I also have mommy issues. My mother”—I blow out a breath before just spilling all the words into the air between us—“she died of a crazy-aggressive form of bone cancer between my junior and senior year.”
The words come out more strangled than I’d like. Even after all these years, I still can’t talk about her passing in normal conversation. The fact that I just tried to proves how weird this whole situation really is.
“I’m so sorry, Holden. I remember Pap telling me that, and I cried for you. It broke my heart that I couldn’t be there with you.”
Sophie’s hand covers mine on the console. The weight of her palm resting on the top of my hand brings me more comfort than any hug I’ve ever gotten, any story ever shared, any well-wish from someone over this event in my life.
It’s as if she truly is sorry for me. Not because she knew my mother or because anyone losing their mother is an awful thing. Maybe it’s because she lost her mother too. I don’t know. But the warmth that spreads through my body is a relief.
I ease up on the accelerator and look down at her flesh sitting on mine. Her hand is so small, and I wonder how it can feel so heavy.
She pulls it away too soon.
“So there’s that,” I say, raising my voice a little. I give her a tentative smile. “You still want to marry me with all my issues?”
She winks. “Yup. Only ’cause it’s fake and you’re paying off my debts.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m glad you’re so shallow.”
“I’m not shallow. I’m a realist.” She tucks one leg up underneath her. “If I were marrying you out of love or some other crazy thing, I might want to make sure you were mentally stable and ready to actually be a husband. But what do I care? You can be a lunatic with issues out the ass, and it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Good point. Good point.”
A small incline brings my attention back to the road. We pass one sign for a lower speed limit, and another welcomes us to Dogwood Lane. A spark of excitement inches its way through me.
“We’re here,” Sophie says.
“I don’t know where to go.”
“Oh, um, just take this road, and it’ll be on the left. You can’t miss it. It’s the only flower shop in town.”
Sure enough, we pass a little restaurant with a couple of girls doing cartwheels on the front porch, a building that says it’s a salon, and a few other nondescript places before coming upon Buds and Branches.
I park the car a few spots down from the main entrance and cut the engine.
My heartbeat picks up as I look across my shoulder at Sophie. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt and doesn’t meet my gaze.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Me? Yeah. I’m great.” She finally lifts her eyes to mine. “You okay?”
“Never been better.”
She laughs. “This is your last moment of freedom. Have anything you want to do or say before you’re tied with a ball and chain?”
I study her as she laughs at her own joke. There’s nothing about her that’s remotely like a ball and chain. And despite the fact that I’m going to marry her in a few minutes, I’m less nervous about that than I was at the thought of marrying Jessica at some point in the future.
A man walks in front of my car. He’s wearing a sleeve of colorful tattoos and a toolbelt around his waist. A black backward hat sits on top of his head. He looks in the car and gives us a little wave before disappearing into the florist shop. I notice Sophie watching him until he disappears.
I bite my bottom lip. “We didn’t address one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I won’t be sleeping with other women during our marriage. I think that’s obvious, but I want to make sure that’s clear.”
“Good.”
I force a swallow and shift in my seat. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t sleep with other men either.”
A slow, wide smile splits her cheeks. “That wasn’t in our agreement.”
“I—”
“But that’s fine. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had sex, and my guess is that won’t change for a while either.”
My lips twist as a hundred questions spark through my brain. Why isn’t she having sex? Is she on some kind of spiritual journey? Has she not had the time? Does she have self-esteem issues?
“Besides,” she says, “if we are really playing this marriage off as real, I can’t be screwing around with someone else. I’d have the whole town talking before I got home, and our cover would be blown. As long as we’re married, I’m celibate.”
I look away to keep her from seeing how relieved I am. It shouldn’t matter, and I’m not even sure I had the right to ask her that, really. But I did and it’s done now.
“I have a quick question myself,” she says, the smile slipping. “What do we do about the whole ‘kiss your bride’ thing?”
My throat goes dry as I try to deflect all attention away from the way my cock just sprang to life.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess we kiss.”
She blows out a breath. “I’ve been thinking about this.”