Page 29 of Beehive Yourself
HALLIE: Second… just… I need you to focus.
BETH: So you want to have his babies—we’re coming back to that.
HALLIE: BETH!
BETH: Okay so love him, Hallie! Make the apology big because he deserves it.
HALLIE: What if he doesn’t want it?
BETH: Then you love him harder and show him what words can’t
HALLIE: He was so mad
BETH: Wouldn’t you be?
BETH: He gives you butterflies and you want to climb him like a tree, so why aren’t you doing that?
HALLIE: Because I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be traveling—that part of my life is going to end
BETH: Well, that’s all up to you, but I find it hard to believe that after all the miles you’ve traveled and all the places you’ve seen, you’d rather go sleep in a strange bed in two months instead of waking up with the man you’re falling for
I swallow hard,reading and rereading the message…because she’s right.
But I’m not just falling for him. I’m in love with Sawyer Kade.
And I don’t want to start this next chapter of my life without him.
My sister traveled to get away—to find herself when she didn’t know who she was or what she wanted. Maybe I’m not so different. But instead of trying to find myself, I’ve been trying to find my way back home.
And not just to a place.
But to a person.
I just hope I can fix this,for both of us.
19
HALLIE
“Oh! Son of a?—”
The baking sheet crashes against the top of the stove as I rip off the oven mitt and thrust my wrist under the faucet.This is why I don’t do this.
Growling at the angry red mark on my skin, I dry off andcarefullygrab a plate and spatula before selecting the four best cookies from the sheet.
The online recipe had promised they werefoolproof,but we were about to put that promise to the test.
Together.
Making my way up the stairs, I try to ignore the way my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. Silently, I pass my room, noting that Winnie isn’t on the bed and mentally addingget the damn cat a bellto my list of things to do. I’d caught the little terror hanging from the living room curtains—the ones Sawyer said his mama had picked out.
A smile graces my lips as I gently knock on his door, not waiting for a reply before pushing it open to find the man himself sprawled out on the bed with a tiny black ball of fur curled up on his chest. It’s so precious I can barely stand it.
“I don’t really wanna see you right now,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, the statement not surprising but gutting me all the same.
“I made cookies. Like from a recipe,” I say, unable to keep my voice from shaking.
“My kitchen still standing?” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
