Chapter 10 Henri
Henri
Another date with Liam?” Iris asks as I fuss with the buttons of my cream, strawberry-spotted cardigan in the mirror.
Usually I don’t wear the clothes I really love out with clients.
Knitwear with little fruits on them don’t exactly scream I’m a professional liar and can be trusted with all your insecurities.
But after how Liam and I initially met, I doubt it will make him see me any differently.
Now I have to decide, one button undone or two?
“It’s not a date,” I say. “Well, it’s not a real date.”
“Last time I checked, you usually only go on two or three with them. Seems disingenuous to lie for his article.”
Over the last two weeks, Liam and I have seen each other four times.
Beyond the initial coffee shop meeting where we discussed our initial plans and accidentally ended up staying until closing, we went shopping for his family, because I refused to show up empty-handed. He came and sat at Fender to talk about scheduling, but we ended up talking until close.
Then there was three days ago at Rockefeller Center, where he pretended he wasn’t good at ice skating before I called him on his bullshit for trying to make me feel better about falling every ten feet.
And once he actually let himself skate, I couldn’t look away.
Usually he’s curled in on himself, but on the ice, he was nothing short of graceful.
Afterward, hot chocolate in hand, he told me about the frozen lake by a cabin his family sometimes uses. The way that he’d skate until his legs gave out and then just lay on the cold slab of ice ringed by trees that stood watch over him like ancient noble guardians.
“It’s not just about the article,” I say. “And one of those times was because he came by with Jasmine, so those don’t count.”
“So there is another reason?”
Heat floods my cheeks as I settle on one button. “Yes. After the first article, I’m scared people will be hypervigilant about last minute holiday dates. So I’m spending extra time covering my bases.”
“Oooh.” Iris drops her voice into her best ghost impression and wiggles the fingers of her free hand at me. “The family’s worst fear is a woman who won’t eventually become their in-law and is only there because she’s being paid to tolerate their bullshit.”
I roll my eyes. “I just want to get this right.”
“I know. But would it be the end of the world if you did enjoy spending time with him?”
“I can’t date him. He’s paying to spend time with me. That’s not a dynamic I’m comfortable with turning into a real relationship.” I repeat what I’ve been telling myself non-stop these last few weeks.
Distractions lead to mistakes and I literally can’t afford to make any with so much on the line. I have a plan.
Help with this article. Get the money. Pay for my master’s. Get a job that pays enough for me to not constantly stress.
It’s already been put at risk once; I won’t let it happen again.
She gasps, a hand flying to her chest. “Relationship. Have I ever heard you say such a dirty word?”
“I’m not that bad.”
“I’m not going to justify that with a response.
But I will point out that he’s not paying you—Spitfire is.
Plus, he knows what you do for work and wouldn’t get all weird and judgy about it.
” Her mouth curls into a grin, proud of herself for finding a loophole.
“And you can’t say you’re leaving soon, because you aren’t. ”
“Iris,” I start, but her phone chimes, interrupting me.
Her face lights up with a smile. “You really like Jasmine, don’t you?
” I ask. A hand squeezes my heart, because, really, I want what she has.
Not just someone in her life that makes her light up from the inside, but the ability to let herself be swept away. To fall without fear.
When I think about falling, what occupies my mind is the inevitable brutal landing. Maybe that’s because the few times I’ve trusted people to catch me, they didn’t.
“Yeah, she’s been sending all of these updates for her big holiday shoot. But she’s stressed as hell.”
“So, are we officially in girlfriend territory?”
“Soon. I think part of it is that we’re finally putting down roots.”
The words are as close as she ever gets to admitting she’s been purposefully holding off on pursuing long term relationships. I hate feeling like she’s limiting herself because of me.
“If I don’t get into the program and move you could stay here with her—if that would make you happy.”
Iris props a hand on her hip and levels me with a stern expression that I know she must use on her difficult patients. “Henrietta Elm, you’re not talking that way. You’re smart and hard working and aced the stupid fucking standardized test to get in.”
“Fine. Just promise me that you’ll also take care of you. Don’t put your life on hold because of me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She reaches out and wraps me in a hug. “But remember, you’re part of my life too, you hyper-independent idiot.”
An hour later, I meet Liam at The Attic, a used book store along Union Square.
It’s on the second story of a diner, up a set of rickety stairs with steps that I’m scared to put my full weight on.
Music hums through a small speaker on a stool and the muted chatter from the patrons rises up through the floorboards like smoke.
The spot was Liam’s pick. Usually, I plan everything, but he suggested that we come here for the day.
And it was nice not having to be the one in charge of every detail for a change.
Most of the time, I like the element of control, but there was something exciting about being invited deeper into his world.
“Why this place?” I ask. It’s small, as far as bookstores go, especially for New York with some shops spanning multiple stories.
“It’s never crowded, which is nice. And kind of makes me feel like if I go anywhere else I’m cheating on this place because it doesn’t have too many customers.
It’s also one of the first places I found when I moved here.
” We walk through the historical fiction section, arms brushing as I step aside to let an older man pass by us.
His fingers hover over the dented and cracked spines.
“Have you brought anyone here before?” I ask and immediately wish I could take it back. I blame Iris for putting thoughts in my head. I’m not important to him and starting to act like I am is a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
“No. But I don’t really have anyone to bring here. There’s Jasmine, but she wouldn’t appreciate it and I wouldn’t put either of us through that,” he says, selecting a Hudson Sloane title. Does that mean he thinks I would appreciate this place? “Sorry if I just made it sound less special.”
“I’m honored to be your first. Are books how you got into writing?”
He hesitates. “I had an accident when I was younger—ACL tear. The ligament was completely severed. My family lives on the ski hill pretty far away from anything else and I couldn’t exactly be on the slopes while I recovered, so I hung out in the library and read.”
“Do you miss it?”
“The mountain? Plenty. Competing? No, not really. I was always more concerned with what other people wanted than what I wanted. Honestly, I could have gone back, but I pretended the injury was worse than it was. Because of it, for the first time in my life I could pick my own path instead of having everything down to what I ate for breakfast planned out for me.” His grip on the book tightens.
“Well, I’m happy with the path you chose because it means I got to meet you.”
“Thanks. I still feel like I’m bumbling around, trying to figure things out.” He laughs half-heartedly, scraping a hand through his hair.
“You’re great—you know I think that. Not just anyone reaches celebrity crush status based on their writing alone.”
“At the very least, this piece we’re doing will make sure I end the year with a bang.”
“I love a good bang,” I purr in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Liam fumbles, the book in his hand falling, the pages flapping like butterfly wings before smooshing against the floor. “Shit,” he hisses.
We both dive to the ground to retrieve it, each grabbing one corner of the cover. “Sorry,” we say over each other. We’re crouched, faces inches apart, in an odd type of tug-of-war, neither of us showing any sign of moving.
Liam’s Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes go wide and dilate. My own heart races, blood thundering through my ears.
“Excuse me, but could I pass by?” a rasping voice asks. I turn to my right to find the same old man from earlier.
“I’ve got it,” Liam says and I release my end of the book and step away to clear a path. I pretend to inspect the titles on the shelf until I’m breathing like normal and won’t feel like I’ll combust just by looking at Liam.
When I do look at him, I find him smoothing the now-bent pages then pushes back up to his feet, offering me a hand as he does. “Let me show you something. It might be my favorite part of the shop.”
I nearly refuse to take it, but that would mean acknowledging what just happened. We’re supposed to be on a pretend date after all.
At the end of the stack is a reading nook with a faded cushion and an arching window that overlooks Union Square. A crowd snakes through the green-roofed wooden stalls of the winter market, arranged in a triangle to look like a tree.
I must stare because after a minute, Liam asks, “We could go if you want?”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, and we should probably take a picture here before we go,” I say, even though part of me wants to go down there with him. It’s the same part of me that is jealous of Mom and Daniel’s easy camaraderie as she reclaims her life.