“I—”
“Are you two ready?” Haley’s voice rings through the flower shop, cutting off our debate.
Holden faces me so that Haley can’t see his face. The playfulness in his eyes fades as I stare into them.
I hold my breath as my ears fill with the sound of blood pouring through them.
“You ready?” he asks me softly.
I take in the emotions on the surface of his gaze. There’s kindness and concern, friendship and respect. If I told him I wasn’t ready and didn’t want to do this, there’s no doubt that he would tell Haley we changed our minds. He’d walk me to his car, and we’d eat candy and laugh on the way home about how we almost signed a marriage certificate.
But as I stand here surrounded by the smell of coffee and roses, knowing that a judge is a few feet away, it feels . . . like the right answer. This is the first time I’ve breathed easy in months.
Simply put, this is how I keep the Honey House. And if keeping everything that means anything to me requires putting my trust in a man whom I have more faith won’t screw me over than I did the guy I married the first time, then I’ll do it.
I’m game.
“Ready if you are,” I say to him.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s go.”
We turn toward Haley.
“Lead the way,” Holden says.
Haley’s face lights up as she waves for us to follow her. I fall in line behind Holden as we slip around the bar and through a doorway outfitted with dangling lights.
Once inside the small room, I gasp.
Roses in the faintest pink and lavender form a small arch above a doorway leading deeper into the building. Topiaries are arranged in displays on either side. Along the wall sits a long workbench decorated with ivy and a rope of soft white lights pinned to its edge.
A man in a black suit stands next to the far end of the bench. His hair is combed over a balding spot on top. He greets me with a warm, grandfatherly smile.
“Haley,” I say, her name coming out in a gush. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Uh, yes, I did. You are getting married, Soph. Every bride needs flowers—especially ones getting married in a flower shop,” she says.
My will softens right along with my shoulders. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, friend.”
“Of course.” She beams. “Now, this is Mr. Cates. Mr. Cates, this is the bride and groom.”
Holden shakes his hand. “Thank you for coming, sir. I’m Holden McKenzie.”
“It’s my pleasure. Truly. I spend most of my days making people angry. It’s not often I get to take part in something so special,” Mr. Cates says.
“We’re happy to have you here,” Holden says. He turns to me. “This is my beautiful bride, Sophie.”
I want to roll my eyes or otherwise tease Holden, but now isn’t the time.
“Thank you for coming, Your Honor,” I say.
“Please. You can call me Mr. Cates, or George would even be fine.” He digs into a folder on the bench and pulls out a piece of paper. “If you could show me your identification and sign this paper, we can make things legal.”
The room is eerily quiet as we retrieve the items. Mr. Cates has Haley make a copy of our licenses as we sign our names to a black-and-white piece of paper. My signature isn’t as smooth as it usually is, and I kind of hate the way it loops around on the end. I also don’t love the way I’m obsessing over things like my signature so I don’t concentrate on what’s happening otherwise.
“That will do it,” Mr. Cates says as he takes the photocopies from Haley and gives us back our identification. As we put them away, he places the marriage license and copies back in the folder. “Do you want to walk in to music? Or are we just going to stand in front of the lovely little arch over there?”
Holden looks at me.
“Oh, um, I don’t need to walk in,” I say, feeling my cheeks pinken. “We can just stand up there and get this over with.”
Mr. Cates’s face wrinkles as if he doesn’t understand.
“I just can’t wait to be his wife,” I say as enthusiastically as I can. “Can’t wait. So excited.”
Holden’s snort is stifled, but not enough for me to miss it. I turn to face Haley, but as I do, I whisper to him under my breath. “Stop it,” I say without moving my lips.
He begins to laugh but covers it with a cough.
“All right. Well, let’s head over to the flowers, then, and get started,” Mr. Cates says.
Haley thrusts a bouquet of roses the same color as the ones on the arch into my hands. “I know. I didn’t have to do this either, but I did it, so here.”
My hand shakes a bit as I take the flowers from my friend. “You are truly the best.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I inhale a deep, rose-scented breath before turning around. When I do, my gaze lands on Holden. He’s standing at the arch with Mr. Cates. A quiet conversation takes place between the two of them. Holden listens with rapt attention as the judge moves his hands through the air to drive home his point.
“I can’t believe Liv let you come without her,” Haley says as she brushes a piece of lint off my shirt. “She’s not my sister, but I would kill Neely if she married Dane without me.”
Suddenly, a pang of emotion floods through me as I wish I had let my sister come. It might not be a real wedding, but it feels wrong without her here. My stomach tosses with unease as I wish she were standing beside me.
“Are you ready?” Mr. Cates’s question seems to fill the room.
Everyone looks at me. I force a swallow.
“I am.” I turn to face Haley once more. “Thank you again. For everything.”
She shakes her head. “No worries. Now go. Marry your man.”
My smile is weak as I turn toward Holden. His brows furrow as I get closer, and his eyes search mine.
I know what he’s thinking—that I want to bail. And I know what he’ll do—call this off.
“Mr. Cates—” Holden begins, but I interject before he can go any further.
“Ready to make me yours?” I ask.
His head turns slowly. A puzzled yet amused look is painted on his handsome face. “Absolutely.”
I stand shoulder to shoulder with Holden and face Mr. Cates. His tanned face is lined with years of experience, and that somehow helps to settle me down.
The judge starts off by giving a little speech about happiness and how it’s defined. I try to focus on what he’s saying but find my attention drifting to the man beside me.
Holden stands tall, shoulders back, and concentrates on the words being spoken. His face is completely sober, as if he’s taking this with all due seriousness. The only hint that he’s a little antsy is the way his chest rises and falls more quickly than usual.
I gaze up at him, taking in the hard line of his jaw. It’s sturdy and durable, and something tells me that this is the kind of man he is altogether. Dependable. Studious. Determined. The kind of man who makes me proud to stand beside him, even if the entire thing is a facade.
He looks down out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitch as he reaches for my hand.
I hold my breath as I place mine into his, which is huge in comparison, easily covering my palm with his own. It’s muscled and strong, but also gentle. So different from when he tugged me along behind him when we were kids, or held me down until I said boys were better than girls, way back then. But for some reason, just like I did years ago, I feel safe with my hand in his.