Page 23 of Honeyed

We tell each other everything. Or at least I thought we did.

He shrugs. “Arthur, for all intents and purposes, was the only parent I had left. My family situation has always been complicated, and I guess … hell, I was tired of talking about it and overthinking it. I just wanted to easily get along with one of the people in my life who’d been a guardian to me, and I finally had that. It felt special, having that time with him. I didn’t want to share or overanalyze it, and talking to anyone about it would have done just that.”

In his head, I’m sure it made sense. I always tried to put myself in Warren’s shoes when it came to his family and situation because, clearly, I couldn’t relate.

“You know I’m always here if you need to tell me these things. I hated not talking. It was the worst four months of my life.”

Something unreadable passes over his face, and I want so badly for him to take me into his arms. I want to bring him comfort. But even if our silent battle is over, it still feels like we’re a million miles apart.

A yawn swallows me, exhaustion rattling my bones. It’s been a tiring few weeks, and with all the mental gymnastics I’m doing having Warren move in here, I think it’s catching up to me.

“You ready for bed? We don’t have to watch our show if you don’t want to.” His fingers skate up my arm.

It’s only meant as a comfort, and I hate that my core clenches, wishing he were touching somewhere else.

Before our fight, we’d been binge-watching an old sci-fi mystery show that both of us were too young to watch when it originally aired on TV. Warren probably assumed we’d settle back into the old friendship routine on the couch now that we have unlimited viewing time together. But aside from the fact that I’m tired, I need to be alone. To think, to breathe without him in the same space as me, to build up my defenses before he shatters them again by being so perfect and kind.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just head up. You can watch without me … you know, if you have been already.” Part of me wonders if he watched episodes without me because I certainly hadn’t.

“Like I’d do that.” He frowns at me and quirks an eyebrow, knowing it was a test.

I smirk like the shit I am for trying to get that information out of him.

“Thanks for letting me stay here, Al. I know this whole thing isn’t easy, but if I had to do this with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Not for the first time, I wonder why Arthur specified me. Or what Arthur said in his letter to Warren to spur him to follow through. But I bite my tongue, knowing I might not be ready for the answer I would get.

Warren pulls me into his arms, surprising me, though it shouldn’t because we’ve hugged a thousand times. I know he means this as a comforting embrace, an appreciative gesture for all I’m doing for him.

Quickly, though, it morphs into something else entirely. My arms wind around his neck, my nose pushing into the crook so close that I’m nestled next to his Adam’s apple. Strong arms bracket my waist, one hand splaying on my back as the other travels up to cup the back of my neck. Everything inside me warms—my core to almost a boiling point, and I feel Warren pull me closer. No air exists between our bodies, and this hug goes on too long to just be a thank-you embrace.

With how he’s holding me, it’s like he’s trying to communicate the feelings we’ve always left unspoken.

Warren pulls back infinitesimally, our noses nearly brushing as his eyes blink into mine. I can almost feel the scruff on his jaw scraping my cheek. For a split second, I think he’s going to take this to the next level. That he’ll explore the spark I know we both felt when he kissed me on our wedding day.

But then he releases me, his jaw ticking, and puts a good foot or so between us.

“Night, Al.” He nods as if he’s convincing himself this is what he wants.

And because I’m bone-tired and feeling the sting of rejection, I paste on a smile and wish him good night.

Sleep comes fitfully and broken up with all the thoughts playing in my head.

10

ALANA

A day after Warren moves in, my mother stands at the hostess stand, closing down the point-of-sale system for the night while my youngest brother is sitting at a table taste-testing the rest of the dessert left over from dinner service.

Before I can chicken out, and because the impulsive gene seems to have been bestowed specifically on me in terms of the Ashton clan, I slip my simple gold band onto my ring finger and stand firmly in the middle of the restaurant.

“Hey, everyone?”

I watch as Patrick comes around the corner with his coat in his hand like he’s about to head home to Cass.

“Huh?” Evan doesn’t even look up, and I know he’s caught up in his food bubble. He’s usually caught up in his food bubble like the rest of us live in another universe.

Holding my left ring finger up like it’s a lewd gesture, I clear my throat and announce, “Warren and I got married three days ago.”

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