Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
THEN, September: three years and six months ago
“I’m sorry.” My head fell into my hands with a frustrated sigh, and I blew a stray curl away from my face when I looked back up at him. “This has quite literally never happened to me.”
Henry blinked, all green eyes and long, dark lashes. I hadn’t noticed the few faint freckles across his nose when I’d—quite literally—run into him, and I hadn’t noticed them when he had sat behind me in our first lecture a few days later, either. The one in which he’d leaned closer, breath fanning against my ear, and whispered, “I take it your parents think we’re best friends, then?”
Which referred to the fact I was still at HBU in the first place.
It shouldn’t have sent goosebumps down my neck, but had. I’d turned around, not meaning to blush when I looked up at him, and even then, he’d been too far away to make them out.
Somehow, now, sitting on opposite sides of a library table in the middle of the night, the lights low and our voices hushed, he was close enough for me to make out the crook of his nose, the faint scar on his jaw, the way it ran down his neck—and those freckles.
His head tilted. “What hasn’t?”
I snickered. “I’m going to sound like a dick.”
“Try me.”
And maybe it was the lack of sleep, the desperation creeping in, that made me confess. “I’ve never really been bad at… anything. School-related!” I added quickly, as soon as his lips quirked at the words. “I mean, I’m great at school. Learning, calculating, understanding. I don’t know what I am, if not good at those things. So why am I struggling?”
Henry nodded thoughtfully. “You do seem like a girl who’s never gotten anything wrong in her life.”
He stated it like he thought a lot about the kind of girl I was. Like it might keep him up at night, and he’d pondered about it so deeply, he was completely sure of his words. “And you just happen to be in the library after hours with a boy who never has, either. We’ll get there, Paula.”
“Humble,” I snorted.
“Hey.” His hands lifted in mocked surrender as he leaned back into his chair. “You said it.”
With a laugh, I agreed, “I did.” But I sobered quickly, head shaking again. “I’m sorry, though. You shouldn’t be stuck here, just because I can’t grasp the concept of Data Science.” When he’d offered to help me out, he’d said he could stay until ten.
It was midnight now, and Henry Parker Pressley still sat opposite me. Smiling and shaking his head like he’d never given himself a time limit at all.
“And Financial Reporting.”
“What?” I asked.
“You can’t grasp the concept of Data Science or Financial Reporting. Or Technology & Operations Management, actually.” He added after a pause, as nonchalantly as one might report the weather. Like he wasn’t listing every single one of my faults.
“Why thank you.” My nose scrunched. “For reminding me of all my shortcomings—”
“Which I am here to help you with. What is it you were good at, back in high school? When you were still at home?”
Everything! I wanted to scream. But despite the fact we were alone, this was still a library, and it would’ve felt wrong.
That I didn’t yell the answer back in his face didn’t mean it was any less true, though. I’d been great at school. Math. English. The sciences.
Grades were what I’d always measured myself by. When I’d gotten an A on a test, Dad would get me a treat from the corner store. When I got older—about fourteen—Mom would take me to get a manicure, and I’d walked around with bright pink nails for weeks.
When I got a B or a C, there were no treats and no manicures and fewer of the usual loving words from my parents. It was still Well done! or Not bad!
But never We’re so proud of you, Paulita! You’ll go so far in life!
And I didn’t think it was intentional, really, but the difference seemed to still stick with me now. If I couldn’t show off my grades after this first semester—if they weren’t good enough, then what?
I sighed. “English, I guess. And Spanish.” My best subjects had always been the languages. “I wrote for the school paper.”
There was a hint of surprise in the way his brows shot up. “And you didn’t think to study something related? Business seems like a big leap for someone whose favorite subject was English.”
I took a deep breath, head falling back. “I don’t think my dad ever considered I’d study anything other than business, to be honest. He’s got a little restaurant back in the Dominican Republic, so he thinks he’s a businessman—”
“Technically, he is,” Henry mentioned in amusement, and my hand swept in his direction to agree.
“Technically, he is a businessman,” I repeated with a glare I did not mean. “And he always liked when we had things in common, I guess.”
My parents started saving for my college fund when they found out Mom was pregnant. I assumed since then, they’d both known I’d study business, too. The idea had never even been discussed.
Henry nodded like he understood all too well. “English.” He hummed. “So, vocabulary, then. That’s doable.”
He said it more so to himself, eyes batting open and immediately connecting with mine. “We can be back here tomorrow morning. I’ve got practice till nine, and we won’t have a class until four. Gives us seven hours to study Data Science, Financial Reporting and Technology & Operations Management, but like vocabulary. Flashcards and everything. How’s that sound?”
I didn’t know what it was that made him so… eager to help me. But his brows rose, and his tongue flicked across his lips like he couldn’t wait for my answer. As someone who couldn’t make her own decisions to save her life, the way he just took over was so… relieving. I wanted to lean into whatever he decided more than anything.
My face soured. “I’ve got work. Eight to three.”
The coffee shop doubled as a flower store, and it was fine. The pay wasn’t great in a college town, but it was better than nothing, and I’d been grateful to find something so quickly. I’d only been at HBU a few weeks, and any job with which I could take some of that financial burden off my parents was good enough.
Even more important now that I felt like I was failing them.
“You work?”
I nodded. “At Daisy’s. Jack doesn’t like opening by himself, and someone else got sick. So, he asked me earlier to cover their shift tomorrow morning. I’m—”
“Jack?”
“Griffin. Jack Griffin. My coworker? He’s the barista. I don’t know if you’ve—”
Henry shook his head before I’d actually asked. “Haven’t heard of him, no. Fuck him for making you work on such short notice, though.”
I laughed, the sound somewhere between a snort and a cackle before my head shook. “Well, he couldn’t have known I’d much rather be in the library.” With you , I didn’t add.
Because Henry was smart and funny in that stoic way not everyone would appreciate. He was undeniably handsome, and I’d dreamed about him twice in the three weeks I’d known him—neither one platonic enough to write it off—and there was no way he’d feel the same way.
He’s only being nice. Because the first time we met I told him my parents were scared I wouldn’t find friends.
The thought brought color to my cheeks that I hoped the low light hid well enough.
“Would you?” Henry asked, brow rising in amusement. “Rather be here? Poring over books, while I just sit here and watch you?”
More color. Much hotter.
Still, I only shrugged, trying my hardest to keep my cool instead of blurting Gladly . “You’re surprised by that? My parents think we’re best friends, after all. What am I supposed to want more than to spend time with friends?”
Henry swallowed thickly, and he couldn’t hide the hint of a grin on his lips. When he leaned his forearms on the table between us, casting his face in shadows from the light right above us, something shifted.
Between us. In the way I breathed, and the way he looked at me.
“It’s cute that you say that.” I didn’t know why I held my breath until he continued. “But I don’t think we’re going to be friends, Paula.”