The label breaks free as a whole piece, and I slap it onto the counter.
“How mad would you be, Gramma, if I got a loan?” I say out loud. “Like, really, really mad? Or kind of mad? Because I remember how you were so against getting loans and how hard you and Grandpa worked to pay this thing off. But I don’t know what else to do.”
I take the wineglass I got out earlier and pour myself a drink. Then I pour it down my throat. The tartness of the alcohol reminds me of the time I tried to drink apple cider vinegar to lose weight. I’m not sure what’s worse.
What’s worse than both of those experiences would be going to the bank for money to help me out of this mess. It’s the easy answer. It’s the obvious solution. But every time I start to seriously consider it, a heaviness sneaks up on me. Not only would I be going against Gramma’s wishes, but I’d also have to face the ladies at the bank. They’d know why I need a loan, and that’s humiliating. I can hear the gossip now. “Poor Sophie Bates, needing money after Chad robbed her blind.”
Nah. Not doing that.
The glass clinks against the countertop at the same time the front door creaks. My head snaps to the clock. My stomach tightens as I hear Holden’s voice call out my name.
“Sophie?”
The sound echoes around the Honey House. The spicy scent of the kitchen, a man’s deep voice, and the warmth of the wine in my belly combine to make me a little light-headed.
I pour another drink. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Before I get the last syllable out, he rounds the corner. His forehead is crinkled, his lips pressed together. The lines grow deeper as he takes me in.
“You look like you’ve had a hell of a day,” he says.
“You know what? If you wanna judge me, just head on out of here.” I bring the glass to my lips. “Leave me with my wine.”
“Judge you? Let’s commiserate. Got another glass?”
I point at the cabinet by the refrigerator. “Over there. Bad day for you, too, I take it.”
“You could say that.” He glances over his shoulder as he pulls a glass out of the cupboard. “Do you have anything other than wine?”
“You don’t like wine?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, me either.” I take a sip and flinch. “This stuff is particularly awful. It’s what I think drinking starter fluid would taste like.”
He straddles the stool next to me and sits at the island. The leathery scent of his cologne licks at my skin, and I pull my arm away for good measure. He must notice, because his brows pull together, but he doesn’t point it out.
“If you don’t like it, why are you drinking it?” he asks.
“Because it’s all I have.”
“Good answer.”
He takes the bottle and fills up his glass. He holds it in the air and inspects it like I used to do when we were kids and I’d steal Liv’s drink. I’d hold it up like that to check for bits of food and backwash floating around.
“It’s clean,” I point out.
He sets it back down. “I was just thinking about how this is the exact color of the cinnamon bear goo that a ferret shit out today.”
Gagging, I lean away from him. He means it as a joke, but somehow it triggers the flames from the wine, and I start choking for real.
My cheeks heat from both the lack of air and the heat in his gaze as he watches me gasp. For half a second, I consider that he might think I need CPR. That makes me choke harder. I lean farther away to discourage him from patting my back or otherwise making contact, because that will only lift me to the next level of choking. I don’t even know what that might be. Death, maybe.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say, holding a hand against my chest as the air begins to stream more evenly into my lungs. “Sorry. That visual was just disgusting.”
He sips the wine, looking halfway proud of himself for grossing me out.
“Is that what you do all day?” I ask, gathering myself.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Inspect ferret poop?”
“I’ll do whatever duty calls me to do, and today it was making sure a teenage boy’s pet ferret wasn’t bleeding from its ass.” He holds the glass in front of him and swirls the liquid around. “The boy—Patrick, I think his name was—thinks I’m a rock star now, though. So there’s that.”
“Now I get it. You love your job because people think you’re brilliant and it feeds your ego.”
He raises his glass to me before taking a drink. I shake my head and try not to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
The refrigerator hums softly, but other than that, the house is quiet. Whether it’s from the moonlight coming in through the windows or the wine hitting my veins, I don’t know, but a warmth settles over me. It’s a slight haze that I welcome with open arms.
“What’s all that?” Holden nods to the stuffed file folder next to me.
I eye it like it’s my mortal enemy. “A bunch of stuff I have to deal with.”
“Like . . .”
“Like it’s none ya.”
“Huh?”
“It’s none ya business.”
He rolls his eyes. “So clever.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a woman of many talents.”
My gaze drops to the folder again. The longer I look at it, the tighter the back of my neck becomes. The irritation builds and builds until I’m reaching over and pulling the pile in front of me.
“Wanna know what this is? Here. I’ll show ya.” I reach in and take out the tax bills. I slide them in between us. “This is the thing that’s going to put me out of business. It’s due by next month, or I’m kaput.”
He takes a look at it and whistles between his teeth.
“Right? Thanks, Chad, you fucker.”
Holden picks up the sheet of paper. “Shit, Sophie. Is that for just one year?”
“It’s spring and fall for this year and last. And maybe the fall from the year before that. I don’t even know anymore.”
“This is due soon.”
“No shit. I thought I’d be able to recoup some of it through bookings, but a place opened in Rockery—the Sweet Tea. What kind of a name, even, is that for a bed-and-breakfast?” I scoff. “Anyway, they’re pulling just enough of my business to let me not quite get ahead.”
He doesn’t laugh or smile or even almost crack a grin. I don’t blame him. It’s pretty mind-blowing that someone can get themselves into this kind of situation.
Peering out the window and ignoring Holden’s gaze on the side of my face, I chastise myself for getting into this mess. In my defense, it’s like it happened overnight. One minute, I’m conquering the world. Have a savings account with a decent little padding. The next minute, I’m in a hole a mile deep.
What the hell happened?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Chad happened. Chad happened, and I haven’t found my footing. He found me at a time when I was reeling from the loss of Gramma and leaving Florida and feeling so . . . alone. As I was wondering what my future looked like and was secretly scared about the possibilities, he waltzed into town and held me tight and said everything I needed to hear.