Page 109 of Promise Me

“Well?” she prompts me.

I have to tell her. I have to.

“The night you hit your head, you were making lemon bars.”

She studies me for a moment.

“Okay.”

“And … the day before that, I told you that your lemon bars were subpar and that I had to wash them down with beer, or some version of that.”

I swear my entire body is pulsing with each beat of my heart as I wait for her to reply.

She crosses her arms but doesn’t say anything.

“And so, you think that I was there that night because of you?”

I give one single nod and wait.

Instantly, her expression softens, and she steps toward me, reaches up to run her fingers through my hair, and kisses me.

“I have no doubt that I was there trying to perfect something someone told me wasn’t my best, but you didn’t push me down, Hudson. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“You were there because of me. I’m sure of it.”

“We don’t know that. Either way, you are not the reason I hit my head. Listen,” she says and turns my face to look at her, “you are not responsible for what happened to me. All right?”

How can she be so accepting of everything right now?

“All right?” she repeats. “Tell me you hear me.”

“I hear you.”

“Good.”

She presses to her toes and kisses me.

“Now let’s eat these yummy bars, get naked, and then possibly start brainstorming ideas for locations for Sips and Stories.”

She retreats to the kitchen quickly, and the guilt that vanished right away when she told me the accident wasn't my fault is back. I should tell her that she wants Mrs. Whittaker’s space. I should tell her about the deal we made to decide who gets it, but what if I tell her, she remembers, and then boom, she pushes her dream of Sips and Stories to the back of her mind all over again to pursue what she thought she wanted before she hit her head?

Fuck.

My mind races with what choice I should make, but then she smiles at me and tells me she thinks her bookstore should be focused on romance books and starts to tell me more about the decor she wants.

I don’t want her to pass up her dream again.

But that only eases my choice not to tell her about the space a little bit.

I know I’ll have to tell her, just not yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SADIE

“I love the view you have out here,” I say as soon as I pour myself a cup of coffee and meet Hudson outside on the patio off the kitchen.

I haven’t seen him sit out here very often, so when I saw him this morning, I wanted to jump at the idea of joining him—even if all I’m wearing is his T-shirt from last night.

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