33. Henry
33
HENRY
“Have you been listening to me?”
I slam my car door and look at Amelie. I haven’t been listening to her, only because I’ve been analyzing our conversation over breakfast since we left the restaurant. It could’ve gone better—probably would’ve, if I hadn’t said all those things about my dad, but it doesn’t matter. Amelie would’ve found them out anyways.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself to feel less guilty about it.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, scratching my jaw. “What did you say?”
She sighs as she makes her way toward the front door. We came directly back to the cabin after eating, though Amelie debated shopping for at least twenty minutes. She decided against it after her sixth pancake. “I said, we need to set some rules for this whole thing.”
I blink. “Rules?”
“Yeah. Guidelines.”
“Guidelines,” I repeat, and she nods. “What do you have in mind?”
She crosses her arms and chews on her lip. I study her face, trying to predict the outcome of this conversation before she even speaks, but all I do is distract myself at the sight of her. She’s too much. This is all too much, so I should be thankful for her statement, but for some reason, it almost disappoints me.
“I think there are logical ones,” Amelie starts. “No kissing, no being alone in a room with Margot?—”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“She doesn’t, I guess, but if we’re separated, she’ll get the truth out of us.”
That’s probably true. I’ve quickly learned that when Margot wants to know something, she will find it out. Amelie is the same, but she’s sly with her ways. Her sister, on the other hand, will forcibly remove the words from your mouth.
“Okay,” I mumble, leaning against the side of the house. “What else?”
“No touching unless necessary, for sure.”
I hum. “What does necessary mean? That’s a vague rule.”
“It’s not that vague. Surely you can use some context clues.”
“You want me to just…decide when to touch you. Without you breaking my limbs.”
“Don’t test me, Arlington,” she warns, peering inside the house. There’s no movement, and I’m not sure why we haven’t gone inside yet, but I don’t complain.
I clear my throat and shift slightly. “Just…clear it up for me.”
Amelie sighs, not looking me in the eyes as she responds. “Like, if you casually put your hand on my back, or on my waist. That’s normal. And last night, when you put your arm around me. That was fine too.”
“No kissing?” I ask, only to antagonize her.
“Correct,” she says firmly. “No kissing.”
“It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, we’re not going to do it again!”
“Come on, Ames. I wasn’t that bad.”
Her eyes widen, and I can’t help but grin at her shock. Every time I say something like that, something a little more brazen than I normally do, she looks stunned out of her mind. It’s enough to override the warning in my brain that says I shouldn’t be teasing her this way.
“You’re terribly unsavory today,” Amelie says, giving me a tired once-over. “No kissing, unless it’s on the cheek or something. That’s something that couples do.”
“Absolutely. Couples do that” We used to do that. “Anything else?”
“No talking about our past.”
I gape at her for just a moment. “At all?”
“At all.” She shakes her head, and from the solemn look on her face, I know that it’s already settled. We won’t be discussing us , despite the urge I have to do exactly that. “Do you have anything?”
I think for a moment. I have…very few qualms about this whole thing. If Amelie hadn’t mentioned setting rules, it wouldn’t have crossed my mind. I would’ve gone through this entire thing with a distant promise of her and I acting how we used to.
“No,” I say. “Nothing.”
“Great.” Amelie unlocks the front door and steps inside the cabin. We take off our snowy boots in silence and leave them on the porch, and just as I remove my coat, I hear racket in the kitchen. Spoons clanging around in bowls, mugs being placed on the counter. I look up to find Melinda and Arnie in their pajamas, which happen to be identical matching sets.
“Morning, early birds,” Arnie says, lifting a hand. “Where did you go?”
“Brenn’s,” Amelie says, crossing the room to sit next to him.
He laughs. “You get the pancakes?”
“A stack about a foot high,” I say as I approach them. I take the barstool next to Amelie and pour myself a mug of coffee, despite just having two servings at Brenn’s.
“When Amelie was little,” Melinda says, leaning over the island toward us. “She would eat every last bite of those pancakes. We could only go once per trip, or else she’d get all jittery. The syrup there, Henry—it’s pure sugar.”
Amelie laughs fondly, but the sound dies when footsteps pick up behind us. I turn to find Margot walking down the stairs, fully dressed for the day like Amelie and me. I assumed she’d be in pajamas like her parents, but from the looks of it, she’s been awake for a while.
“Morning, pumpkin,” Arnie says to her. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” she says, going to the fridge. “Where did you guys go so early this morning?”
“Brenn’s,” Amelie answers. “Henry and I went. I got the pancakes.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Margot says, managing to make the innocent words sound sharp.
Whatever joy was on Amelie’s face seems to disappear at her sister’s comment.
“I would’ve brought you something back if I’d thought of it,” Amelie says. “You’re normally still asleep. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Margot opens a container of yogurt and shoves a spoon into it. “I was awake, but I figured you guys wanted to be alone.”
Neither of us acknowledge her.
“Did you sleep well, Marg?” Arnie asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
She nods. “Yep.”
“Did you find the extra blankets?”
“Yes.”
Amelie huffs. “Did you lose your voice in your sleep?”
“Ames…” Melinda sighs.
“Sorry,” she mutters, standing from the barstool. She goes directly to the coffee pot and pours herself a mug. “I just think we should be talkative. Talking is a fun activity!”
“A favorite of yours,” I say, giving her a sideways glance.
Melinda smiles at me. “She never outgrew the talking.”
“Oh, I know.” I grin. “She proved that when we ran into each other again.”
“I didn’t talk that much,” Amelie mumbles from the fridge.
I laugh. “She wasn’t even talking to me, if I recall. I think she just wanted to express her opinion to whoever would listen.”
“Another hobby of hers,” Arnie agrees.
I laugh again, hiding my smile with my mug. Amelie pokes her head out from behind the refrigerator door and looks at me, and when her face breaks into a smile, I feel it in my chest.
“It’s true,” she says. “I wasn’t talking to Henry, but he was lucky enough to hear my ramblings.” She sits back down beside me, this time armed with a pink porcelain mug.
“I’ve never been luckier,” I say, and just because I can, I curl my hand around the back of her neck and press the softest kiss to her cheek. Her lips part out of shock, and she distractedly picks up her coffee mug, eyes staying trained on the kitchen sink.
Seeing her blush at my touch feels like much more of a victory than it should.
Before I can really revel in such a thing, my phone starts ringing from my pocket. I exhale and look at the screen, wishing I had let it go when I see my dad’s name.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, retreating to the hallway.
Very reluctantly, I hit the answer button and hold the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”
“I’m sending over footage,” Dad says, no time for greetings. “According to the doorman, this man was lurking around the lobby for quite some time. Tried to talk his way into the elevator. He kept his face hidden from the cameras—how, I’ve got no idea—but Michael was able to vaguely describe him.”
I release a breath as I stare at the link he sent. This could be it. This whole thing could be over, and then…I’d be out of this deal Amelie and I are twisted in. I’ll have my work back, attend the auction this weekend, and that’ll be it. Our partnership would be over.
Somehow, I don’t like that plan. But I’m still tapping my foot in anticipation as I click on the video.
It takes a second for the quality to clear, but when it does, I see the back of a tall man in a dark jacket. He’s talking to Michael, the doorman, but he doesn’t look all that threatening.
And then I notice something different.
He’s got a tattoo on the back of his hand, one that goes up under his sleeve.
The ink matches Jensen’s. Amelie’s partner. It’s the same tattoo I noticed after the Bondi’s incident.
“No,” I say under my breath.
“What was that?” Dad asks.
“Nothing. Uhm, are you running the footage?”
“We can’t get much from it, but we’re trying. The tattoo gives us something to work with.” He sighs heavily. “This is incredible, Hen. Don’t you see? We’re close.”
He hasn’t called me Hen since I was ten years old. It’s a strange time to start.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Uh, I’ve got to go, but let me know if?—”
“How’s the convention?”
“ What ?” I croak.
“The convention. How’s it going?”
I am never going to lie again.
“It’s not…I—phone—bad—” I attempt a stiff, robotic voice, but it’s a very poor attempt.
Dad sounds frustrated when he says, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Poor—connection?—"
He gives another heavy sigh and hangs up the phone. It’s likely that he doesn’t buy the fake excuse, but he’s too focused on the security footage to argue with me.
I set my phone on the counter and wring my hands together, chewing at my lip until it bleeds. It can’t be. It can’t…
But it must be. That’s the only explanation.
I rub my eyes and exhale, trying to lessen the pressure behind my ribcage.
How do I tell Amelie what my dad found?
More importantly, how do I ignore the disappointment I feel at the thought of this being her work?