Chapter 16 Henri
Henri
Ican’t remember the last time I missed someone. Like aching to see them again, bones weary from the effort of it.
Even when my father was arrested, I didn’t miss him.
He was a busy guy, the type to work eighty-hour weeks and we didn’t have the strongest relationship.
Back then I was so sure it was because he cared about us, that he was absent to make sure we had everything we could ever want.
What a nice delusion. Which really should have been an early indication about where I sat on his list of priorities.
But I never really missed him. Even Kurt and Laura, people I used to consider my closest friends—I didn’t really miss them after they stopped responding to my texts. I just missed the feeling of having someone on the other end of the message.
Of not being alone.
And I guess I’ve never broken out of that—hopping from one stranger’s life to the next, with the exception of Iris, who has texted me consistently since I left the apartment, scuffed suitcase in hand.
Iris
Are you ready to see him?
Me
I don’t really have a choice.
Iris
I swear to God. If he turns into one of those guys that’s a total ass after they feel rejected I will throw hands.
Me
Doubt that will happen.
Iris
I will shut up now. Be safe. Max out his corporate card. And be safe
She’s had my back from the moment I walked through the door, lipstick smeared from my kiss with Liam and mascara running from the subsequent crying session in the cab.
I had to tell her it was ridiculous to cut off Jasmine, but the fact she was willing to go to such lengths for me was so incredibly special.
All that and I couldn’t tell her that I missed Liam because it makes me feel pathetic and weak.
He’s just some guy.
I don’t cry over guys. They pay me to be emotionally detached. It’s what I’m good at—walking away and never looking back. And I tried SO hard. I sent a damn email instead of texting him. Okay, so maybe not that hard, but this is uncharted territory for me, and I should be given some grace.
But here I am, vibrating as I sit at the bar nearest our terminal, head on a swivel to see what way he might be coming from, and keep the seat next to me free just in case.
I’ve splurged on a martini and fries. Instead of soothing my nerves, the briny concoction has only served to send me into a spiral. Does Liam hate me for kissing him and then running away? Will he be able to trust me during the rest of the trip, or is what’s between us broken?
If I had just stuck to my own damn protocol, then he and I could’ve at least gotten out of this as friends. He just makes me feel seen, like the parts of me that I doubt are worth showing to the world. I want that for more than just the holidays, and I went too far.
My phone nearly flies out of my hands when someone’s duffle knocks squarely into my shoulder as they run by me.
The screen lights up with a call—a call from him.
Shit shit shit.
How am I supposed to get through our first conversation in nearly a week without any facial cues?
“Uh, Henri. I’m here. I guess that’s a bit vague. I’m by—” he says and relief washes over me like a cold shower in the middle of August. Shocking, yet refreshing. His nerves are palpable. Liam with his emotions out there for me to see, or I guess in this case, hear.
Thank you for not being stoic and broody, I nearly say, but don’t because that makes no sense, and because I also spot him. He’s in a faded, tattered Dulcet Point crewneck and black sweatpants, bulky black headphones over his ears. So instead I settle on, “You’re right in front of me.”
He slows as he searches, nearly getting knocked over by a family of five in a rush to get to their flight.
“Look to your left,” I suggest and he does.
I watch as his face mirrors my sense of relief.
I feel my mouth split into a smile before I can even attempt to suppress it.
Because I missed him and he’s here and maybe he missed me too, but that might be a desperate extrapolation.
This also might be a thank-God-my-five-thousand-dollar-investment-actually-showed-up face.
Neither of us hang up even though there isn’t a good reason to continue the call.
“Get through security okay?” he asks.
“I packed my edibles in my gummy vitamin container. I wasn’t sure it would work, but what fun is life without a risk.”
“Why would you do that? You know it’s legal to buy in Colorado right? Kind of known for it.”
“I’m joking, Liam,” I say. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this for you.” Not again, I tack on mentally.
“Oh, I should have picked up on that. There was just a champagne tasting at work and I’m a little out of it.”
“Had to get drunk to put up with me?” I tease.
“God. No. Shit.” The words tumble out of him and I have to bite back a laugh. Same Liam as ever. “You look great, by the way.”
“It’s because I’m sitting. There’s a hole in the butt of these sweatpants and they are saggy as hell.” He’s a foot away now, eyeing the seat where my tote is resting.
“Well, I will make sure not to get stuck behind you. Or maybe I should? So other people can’t see.”
I lift my bag and pat the worn leather. “Are you just going to stand there or sit?”
“I’m on a very important call; I can’t just hang up.”
“I think we could talk like this the entire trip,” I joke but the phone gives this degree of separation from reality. The absurdity forming a shield between us and what happened the last time we were standing this close together.
Our eyes lock and I quirk a brow. “Same time?”
We lower our phones in tandem and end the call. Wow. This feels so good. If it weren’t for the-last-time-I-saw-you-I-kissed-you-and-ran shaped elephant sitting here with us it would be perfect.
When he takes a seat, it takes him a moment to settle into place, arranging his long legs into a comfortable position.
“What can I get going for you?” the bartender asks, expertly sliding a coaster in front of Liam as she talks. “Or do you need a minute with a menu?”
“Whiskey sour, thanks. And could you put her drinks on my tab.” He hands over a card and the woman disappears with it before I can protest.
Finally, he looks at me again with those warm brown eyes of his and lashes that fan against his cheeks when he looks down at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“So . . . about the other night,” I start, then we both say in unison, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you—”
“I was the one who—”
We both pause and then I try again. “I think we can agree that we shouldn’t have crossed that line and we’re better off as friends. We didn’t talk about public displays of affection before and that’s my fault, so let’s do that now.”
Boundaries. That’s what we need. A fuck ton of them.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I shake my head. “I know how it can get. Proximity and time together are some of the biggest indicators of attraction. I’ve read a few studies about how the more you see someone the more likely it is to develop feelings for them. You asked, but it was also my job to tell you no, and I didn’t.”
This has happened before, people mistaking how careful I am with them as a client for me being interested. I’ve never been on the other side of it before, though, and I guess I’m just as susceptible when it comes to Liam’s interview questions as people are to me getting to know them.
“All right then, what are we thinking? Hugging? Hand-holding?” he asks. “PG rules?”
“We’re great at those things—not that it was a bad kiss.” Why the fuck did I say that? “But no kissing?” Yeah, rough recovery, Henri. Way to NOT stick the landing on that one.
“Emergencies. We can kiss if there’s an emergency.
” He tugs at his collar as if the words are threatening to choke him as the bartender hands Liam his drink.
Instantly, he raises it to his mouth and downs at least a quarter, his Adam’s apple bobbing along the strong column of his throat. And shit he has a good neck.
The sound of ice clinking as he sets the glass on the counter rattles me back to my senses.
“And what would a kissing emergency be to you?”
“If one of my family members suspects we aren’t together?”
“Great! That works. We’ll just have to make sure they don’t suspect anything!” I can do that. I do it all the time. “And now that we have a plan, let’s do this thing.”
And we can move on to not talking about kissing ever again.