Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
NOW
For the next interview, I was early. Prepared and early, and somehow Henry still beat me to it. He sat at one of the tables in Daisy’s, the coffee shop I still picked up shifts in, every now and then.
In his chair, he looked a little too large, almost comically so. Long legs extended to one side of the small white table, he’d left a spot on the bench—that stretched along the entirety of the light pink wall on the other side—empty. For me, presumably.
I took a deep breath, appreciating one last moment before he’d notice me, and stepped through the door.
Ex-girlfriend who didn’t at all still care and kind of despised him , I reminded myself. The bell above the door chimed. Henry turned with a smile like he knew it was me.
The same smile he’d give me when I’d walk into his apartment without a knock or a ring of the doorbell, and suddenly stood in front of him demanding a kiss or a hug or just general attention. The same smile he’d give me from the field once he’d spotted me on the sideline, knowing we’d get exactly thirteen minutes alone in the locker room, after everyone else had left and before staff would check to lock up for the day.
And the same one he’d give me after we hadn’t seen each other for a while, because he’d become busier with soccer, and I’d become much busier with the paper after that first article had sold.
That’s how much I could see in his smile. That’s probably why it tugged on my heartstrings, too.
“Paula!” I thought he said, but his lips weren’t moving, and his voice was usually a pitch deeper. My eyes diverted, flickered behind the counter, and almost doubled in size.
“Jack,” I acknowledged by way of greeting, forcing myself to walk up to him instead of sitting on that bench opposite Henry. I held up a finger in his direction, beckoning him to give me a second I didn’t even want to give myself. “Didn’t know you were working today,” I admitted.
Jack laughed, the sound as airy and innocent as always. He drew a hand through his strawberry blond hair, then messed the front of it up to frame his face.
“We used to cover this exact shift together,” he reminded me. “But it’s been a while, hasn’t it? What’s got you so busy that you can’t help dear old me out anymore?”
I physically fought the urge to look at Henry. When my head moved to turn in his direction, I managed to shake it instead. “The Post .” A happy sigh accompanied the words, like I was finally doing what I’d been supposed to all along. “I don’t think I’ll be able to cover shifts anytime soon. Could you tell Daisy when you see her?”
Jack’s brows rose with surprise. He was just as aware of the fallout caused by my last article for the HBP , and neither of us thought I’d ever write for them again.
“Paula.” He was smiling again. He did that a lot in my presence. “That’s wonderful. Of course I’ll let her know.” His eyes shifted behind me when the door announced another customer, and he cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything, then?”
I shook my head, remembering Henry again. “That’s alright, I’m here for—” My hand swept in his direction before I could stop myself. When Jack’s gaze followed, I cut myself off.
He’d never been Henry’s biggest fan, honestly. Not when we were dating, and especially not after we’d broken up. Even less so when Jack had kissed me, and I—in a whirlwind of nerves and pity and heartache—told him I wasn’t over my ex, and this could never go anywhere.
That was six months ago. And to give credit where credit was due, Jack had been diligently waiting for me to do just that: get over my ex.
Seeing Henry now, he probably wasn’t thrilled. So I scurried away. “Thank you. Gotta go!”
I still wasn’t quite sure what I’d thanked him for when I let myself fall into the seat opposite Henry. The amused gleam in his eyes immediately took the edge off, though.
They flicked to the smartwatch around his wrist, then back up to me. “Only two minutes.”
I huffed, both in frustration and amusement and immediately forgot Jack behind the counter, watching us like a hawk as he took another order. “How do you do it?” I asked Henry, shrugging out of my jacket. “I really tried to be on time today. Between training, school, and… everything else you’ve got going on, how are you still earlier than me?”
Henry leaned into his chair, crossed his arms in front of his chest lazily while he watched me unpack my equipment. The early spring sun peaked through the window, streaking his brown hair with temporary highlights and making him squint. He shrugged.
“I’ve been getting better at prioritizing,” he said, a hint of amusement in the answer. “But that was off the record. If anyone asks, I’ve always been great at it.”
I wasn’t sure if the problem in our relationship had been prioritization generally or just prioritizing the wrong things. I shook my head regardless.
“ If anyone asks ,” I mirrored. “I won’t attest to that.” Pressing the button on my phone, I placed it on the table between us. “And everything’s on the record going forward.”
Once again, Eddie had been right. Scheduling the second interview in a less formal place was doing wonders already. I wasn’t on edge anymore; or at least only an appropriate amount for the fact I was interviewing my ex-boyfriend. It’s like I really was getting my footing, asserting myself. I felt lighter. More confident.
Maybe it was just the full notepad of questions staring back at me like a lifeline, but I’d like to believe I was getting used to conversing with Henry as if I wasn’t one right word away from falling back in love with him.
His green eyes flicked from the phone back up to meet mine. “I wanted to talk to you about that… schedule you sent, actually.”
The air quotes around the word confirmed he did not think it was a schedule at all.
Just because it didn’t have set dates yet? Please .
“Couldn’t imagine why,” I lied. The corner of his lip twitched before he could catch it.
“Paula,” he deadpanned. “It tells me nothing.”
“It tells you some things.”
His head shook, half amused, half exasperated. He was grinning now. Widely. “Not the things I need to know. Like when, and where, and who.” His brows rose with his, unfortunately valid, point. “’Interviewing friends’ isn’t really all that specific.”
“Because we haven’t spoken about when and where and who yet,” I countered. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to ask McCarthy for his opinion, would you?”
Admittedly, bringing up his biggest rival on and off the field was a low blow, and it did nothing to defuse the tension quickly building. He was eager to match my attitude.
He grimaced, tilted his head with a smile that dripped in irony and sarcasm. His next words flew from his lips. “Don’t you just know me so well, Charm?”
The nickname slipped out in the process. I knew it did. He did, too, though he pretended otherwise. Like he’d planned on bringing up every single memory attached to it.
Before I could linger too much on the good ones, I stirred in the opposite direction of that feeling.
“Clearly not well enough, or I’d be in your head, knowing when you’re free and where you’ll be at all times, so that I could get a finished schedule to you without discussing it first. Right?” I inhaled sharply, then noticed I kind of snapped the words.
I was hungry, and I was taking it out on this conversation. On him.
So much for professionalism.
“That would be the dream.” Henry’s brows rose at my tone. “But since that’s very unlikely, why don’t I just email you the times I’m free, and the best days for you to stick around?” Now his lips twitched into a satisfied smirk. I hated that I didn’t hate it. I hated that I kind of… liked it. Missed it. “You know. Like I had planned to.”
My cheeks were bright pink when I nodded. “Perfect.”
The situation was anything but—worse, once I remembered I’d have to transcribe the entire exchange later tonight. Though, while we were already on topic, I might as well get the rest of those pesky organizational details out of the way.
“I’d love to talk to Coach Hepburn, of course. What about teammates, though? Anyone come to mind who could give some insight?”
Henry nodded, thoughtful for a moment before he looked back at me. The force of his gaze on mine, unwavering and focused, suddenly made our surroundings so much more interesting.
No need to look into those green eyes when I could check out the pastries in the display case behind him. I wondered if any of the vegan ones were still available, when Henry said, “Sure.”
I purposely did not look his way, and like the universe was giving me an out, the bell above the door chimed—something else I could focus on that wasn’t Henry. He went on. “I’ll send the names over with the rest. What about—??”
“Athalia.” His sister’s name slipped past my lips when I didn’t really mean it to.
“Yes! That’s what I was about to ask. Are you gonna talk to her?”
My head shook, eyes finally snapping back to him. “No.” Wait, he asked a different question. “I mean, yes. Would love to. But I meant Athalia! as in, she’s just walked through the door.”
Henry followed my subtle nod in her direction, looking across his shoulder to find her at the register.
“Oh.” He glanced at the watch around his wrist. “Makes sense. It’s eleven on a Saturday. She does this sometimes.”
His voice raised slightly with the next words, making sure his sister could pick up on them a few feet away. “Probably just woke up, instead of getting an early start on the thesis she has to hand in next week.” A pointed tone edged into his voice, and although they were twins, Henry slipped into big-brother mode. I didn’t remember him doing much of that.
When she found him in his seat, Athalia gave her brother a wide, teasing smile. Like she knew he had a point, and she was ignoring it on purpose.
As far as I had been able to tell, the twins hadn’t been particularly close.
I only knew Athalia because her best friend was dating one of mine—not because Henry had introduced us. That would’ve meant opening up. To her and to me. It would’ve also meant showing me parts of his life he couldn’t control. Unthinkable .
Her gaze slid to me, and she almost dropped the coffee Jack had just handed her. Henry turned with an eye roll.
She mouthed a ‘ What? ’ in my direction so dramatically, I almost laughed. In the few seconds of silent conversation between us, I’d tried my best to let my expression convey No, I’m not dating your brother. Again.
Miraculously, she must’ve understood.
Her hands raised in mock surrender, in sync with the smirk on her lips. With a wink, she paid and left.
I focused on the man in front of me again.
Who was already looking at me, and only snapped out of whatever daydream he’d been in when our eyes connected. He spoke before I could start asking the first of many wonderfully prepared questions.
“You know, she asks about you an unsettling number of times,” Henry said, driving a hand through his hair casually.
Somehow, it looked better after the fact, which made no sense. His brown hair stood in every which way before he tamed it by sliding another hand down both sides. The perfect middle part was back, and how was it fair that I had to stand in front of a mirror for hours to get my hair decent, meanwhile men could just… ruffle through it once?
His next words were paired with an amused huff. “One might think she misses us together more than I do.”
Which made me wonder: since when had they been close enough to talk about things as personal as our relationship? Me?
“Oh,” I offered. Then managed to squeeze at least one question into our allocated time slot. Henry was a busy man, now more than ever. “How are you guys, anyway?”
“We’re like we’ve always been.” He said it so quickly, the answer must’ve been prepared. Like people asked him about their relationship a lot, and he got used to saying exactly that. We’re like we’ve always been.
Except that now, he hesitated. His brows drew together, and he scrunched his nose in thought. “Better, actually. We’re much better. Even if she’s still… hanging out with McCarthy, and I try not to tear him apart every time I see him.”
Which was every day , I added in my head.
I snickered a laugh. “Hanging out?”
His eyes fixed mine, and a scowl formed on those beautiful lips. “Someone’s in denial,” I added in a sing-song voice, kind of hoping he would snap at me, so I could stop enjoying our conversation on a personal level. Dangerous territory.
“I call it self-preservation.” Unfortunately, he did not snap the words at me. “I’m better off not thinking about them together. He’s better off that way, definitely.”
I barked a laugh. I couldn’t help it. “I wish I could’ve been there to see your reaction. Maeve said she would’ve paid good money for it. The rest of the girls, too.” My nose crinkled in further amusement, and it seemed he couldn’t hold it off any better than I did.
The corners of his lips tipped up, and behind his lips, his tongue traced along his teeth to keep himself from smiling. Failed attempt.
“How is she?” he rasped, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes. “All of them, actually?”
I didn’t mean to go on a tangent about my friends. Really, I was here to talk about him .
Though with graduation looming, I couldn’t help it. Bragging about that major fashion house internship Maeve had lined up in New York, or Riley’s junior role at one of the biggest event planners, which she’d accepted just last week. Laila wanted to open her own animal shelter, for God’s sake! They were all making it big out there, and I just couldn’t help myself.
“Laila and Wren, though. Huh?” Henry muttered absentmindedly, a smile playing on his face.
“The world is so small.”
Henry nodded; elbows propped on the table between us. He seemed pleased. “In a good way. It’s refreshing to see Wren smile every now and then, and no one does it like Laila Levison.”
I hummed in approval, and my eyes drifted onto my phone for the first time in a while.
45:16, 45:17, 45:18. The seconds ticked by like my heart hadn’t just stopped. Forty-five minutes? It couldn’t have been that long. There were literally five useful minutes in the entire exchange.
“Mierda,” I cursed. “I’m supposed to be the one asking questions, Henry. You’re supposed to do the talking.” A groan bubbled in the back of my throat. “No one is asking for a cover profile on Paula Castillo, shunned college journalist.”
Henry huffed, the epitome of calm, cool and collected. The opposite of me. Then, tilting his head, he asked as if it didn’t mean anything, “What if I just prefer listening to you?”
I tried desperately to come up with a response that wouldn’t embarrass me. So the seconds ticked by, and in the silence that lingered, I’d come to the conclusion that Henry Pressley was making this difficult for the sheer sake of his own amusement.
“And they should,” he added.
“What?”
“They should want to write a profile on Paula Castillo, unjustifiably shunned college journalist.”
I laughed, mostly to override that feeling wreaking havoc in my stomach. “And who would read that?”
“I would.”
He could not keep having this effect on me. I tried not to nervously giggle, instead clearing my throat with a finality that would hopefully stop him from… doing whatever it is he was doing. Flirting, maybe. For whatever reason.
Henry mirrored me. “Alright, Paula Castillo,” he said. “What do you want to know? We have about ten minutes left.”
My eyes jumped between him and my questions, an incredulous look on my face. “Go on,” he urged. “We’ll make them count.”
I took a deep breath, then nodded once. “Ready for a speed run?” I wiggled my notes in the air between us.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”