The Unhoneymooners (Unhoneymooners, #1)

by Christina Lauren

“I can appreciate my body in a bikini and still want to set fire to the patriarchy.”

“Is that what you meant at check-in? About losing your job and baking?” “Yeah. I’m a stress-baker.”

“God, I’m so tired,” he moans. “Rough day of sightseeing and drinking?” He laughs, one hand reaching up and coming in for a heavy landing on my forearm. “That isn’t what I mean.” His hair has fallen over one eye, and I’m so tempted to move it aside. For comfort, of course. I reach out, carefully sweeping the hair across his forehead, and he looks up at me with such intensity that I freeze with my fingers near his temple. “What do you mean, then?” I ask quietly. He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even for a breath. “It’s so exhausting pretending to hate you.” This pulls me up short, and—even though I know it now, the truth of it still blows through me—I ask, “So you don’t hate me?” “Nope.” He shakes his head dramatically. “Never did.”

He goes quiet again; obviously he doesn’t have to repeat what he said. But I don’t feel entirely sure where my head is on this particular issue. “I’m… thinking.” “Think out loud,” he says. “With me.”

until it’s dark enough to justify taking a running leap into my pillows. I am a homebody, through and through, and there’s nothing like being home.

“I’m not sure if I’m the kind of person who can open back up again.”