Page 85 of Pieces of Me

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like… are you regretting—”

“Not at all,” I cut in.

It’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nod, positive, and kiss him once. “I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened between us in the past twenty-four hours.”

He smiles, but it’s slight, and it’s fake, and it’s not what I want.

“Listen, Jamie,” he says, tugging me closer. “I’ve had a lot of time to think the past few days, and I need to say something…”

“Okay…?”

“First, I’m sorry.”

Shaking my head, I say, “You don’t need to—”

“No, I do,” he cuts in. “I haven’t exactly been fair to you. I’ve treated you horribly because you left all those years ago, and I don’t know even know your reasons. And I know that I told you I didn’t want to know, but in saying that, I disregarded any possible feelings you might have. Who knows? Maybe keeping it to yourself is hurting you more than it would hurt me to know the truth.”

Growthisgood,and I can see the effects of it working between us. “I didn’t come here to relive the past,” I tell him honestly. “I came here to see if we had a future.”

“Good,” he breathes out, relief washing through him. “But if you ever feel the need to tell me, then you can. My logic still stands, though. Knowing the reason won’t change anything. Becausenothinghas changed in the past five years. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ve loved you every single day in between.”

36

Jamie

I didn’t say those three words back.

Not because I didn’t feel them, but because I was too stunned to speak.

Istillhaven’t spoken.

I’ve done many other things like… showered, gotten dressed, sat in his truck, rode to the diner, and still… no words.

I’m officially mute.

Even when the server—notSandra—came to take our order, I couldn’t get a sound out, and so Holden had to order for me.

Now, he watches me from across the booth, his arm outstretched on the top of the seat. He’s so cool and calm, as if he hasn’t just tilted my entire world off its axis. He has his head cocked to the side, his hair a mop of glorious morning mess, but it’s his eyes I focus on—bright against the light streaming through the windows, they don’t move, don’t shift from his stare. Finally, he opens his mouth, and, after a sharp intake of air, he says, shaking his head, “I don’t know why you’re so shocked.”

I tilt my head, matching his. “Hmm?”

Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on the table with a look of pure perplexity. “You do recall last night, right? When I handed you the keys toyourgarden? The garden I spent five years cultivating?” He grins to himself. So cocky. SoHolden. “Because if that isn’t a sign of how much I love you, then I really don’t know what more I can do. Want me to say it again?”

I nod, biting my lip as heat forms in my cheeks.

“I love you, Jameson Taylor.”And before I know what’s happening, he’s standing on the booth, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “Hey, everyone!”

It’s a Friday morning, and there are only three other people here: an elderly couple and a guy I’m almost positive drives the huge eighteen-wheeler in the parking lot. Still, I get up, try to pull him down by his t-shirt. “Holden, stop!”

He doesn’t. “Y’all see this amazingly beautiful, and talented, and smart, andextraordinarygirl right here?” he shouts, pointing down at me. “I’m insanely in love with her!” Then he mock-glares atthe older man a few tables over. “You keep your hands off her, Mr. Greeley,” he jokes. “Yeah, I’ve seen pictures of Mrs. Greeley back in the day.” He winks at the man as his wife giggles. “You ladykiller, you.”

“Stop!” I laugh out, tugging on his arm. “Get down!”

This time, he does as I ask and settles back in his seat.

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