Chapter 20
HENRY ARRIVED LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES AFTER I texted him, so he must’ve already been on his way over. “Okay, is it just me…” I said, recognizing his footsteps as he opened Fair Winds’ screen door. I was busy staring at the kitchen. “Or is something weird?”
My heart leaped a little when I felt his hands on my shoulders, and my breath caught as he spun me around to face him. Our eyes locked. “What?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips. “No hello?”
I felt myself melt into a grin. “Hello.”
He grinned too. “Hi.”
“Kiss me?”
“As you wish.”
“The Princess Bride,” I whispered before his lips could touch mine. “1985.”
“1987,” he whispered back. “But close enough.”
I gasped. “You really do memorize IMDb pages!”
He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
In response, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked afterward.
“Why do you assume something’s wrong?”
I shrugged. “You marched up the stairs like you were on a mission.”
“Well, I really want my anorak back.”
“Henry, I’ve had it less than twelve hours.”
He chuckled, then dug his phone out of his pocket. “I also wanted you to see this…” he said, trailing off as he showed me a text from an unknown number.
If Audrey needs help, it read, you help her, no matter what. Copy?
“Should I call this person?” Henry asked. “It’s concerning that they know your name.”
“No need,” I told him, stealing his phone to message back: Copy.
Henry looked horrified.
“It’s James,” I said. “My cousin James.”
“Okay…” He nodded slowly. “How does he have my number?”
I rolled my eyes. “Take a wild guess.”
It took him five seconds. “Never change, Monica!”
“Exactly,” I said, then took a deep breath. “James knows, Henry. He knows about Fair Winds.”
Henry’s face paled.
“He doesn’t know about the drained account,” I said quickly. “I said I was hustling to make enough for my tuition… which is basically true.”
He let out a breath. “Basically.”
“I also made him promise not to tell anyone. He wanted to come down, but I convinced him not to. He’s just guaranteeing my safety and securing backup for any shitstorms.”
“We have yet to experience a shitstorm,” Henry said, taking my hand. “And if we do, we’ll navigate it together.”
I gave him a bemused smile. “You have a way with words, you know that?”
“Well, I suspected.” He smirked. “Considering I have a Netflix special named after me.”
“Henry Chen, everyone!” I proclaimed to the empty apartment. “Master of the humblebrag!”
Henry rolled his eyes, then gestured around. “The place looks great, but why did you clean it all alone?”
My eyebrows knitted together. “You didn’t get my text?”
“No…”
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” someone said, and Henry and I both turned to see Griff bang through the screen door. His eyes were on his phone as he texted. “My brother and I were throwing the football down by the harbor.”
Oh jeez, I thought. Did I accidentally text Griff?
According to my phone, I had.
How embarrassing.
Though technically, I paid him to help me clean. He was supposed to be here.
“Audrey, what do you need me for?” Griff exclaimed, one eye still on his phone. “I’ve never seen this place so spotless!”
“I haven’t cleaned it yet,” I said through gritted teeth. “My Spidey-senses are just tingling.”
“Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, or Tom Holland?” Henry asked at the same time that Griff finally looked at me. His eyes widened.
“Tate kindly redid my hair earlier today,” I explained. “Based on the polls, I’m best as a brunette.”
“Aw, why?” Griff chuckled. “Are you not fun enough to be a blond?”
Henry clapped his hands. “Keeler, you strip the bed and I’ll grab the towels from the bathroom.” He nodded at me. “You follow your Andrew Garfield Spidey-senses.”
“Tom Holland,” I clarified, and thanked him and Griff before scanning the living room again.
The mantel above the fireplace was good; the ship paintings and fishbowl full of matchbooks were still there.
The driftwood lamp on an end table had a crooked shade, but I straightened it. Someone had probably just knocked it.
What’s your deal? I asked myself, my heart racing. Why—
Something across the room caught my eye—a glazed terracotta pitcher that sat on one of the kitchen’s open glass shelves.
It was yet another souvenir from my parents’ travels; my mom had found it in Tuscany.
It was white with yellow lemons and light-green leaves painted on top of blue stripes and swirls.
Was it “tastefully nautical”? Not in the slightest, but it was pretty and somehow still worked with the vibe.
It also belonged on the living room credenza. Why had it moved to the kitchen?
I crossed the room for an inspection. The pitcher’s lemons were plumper than I remembered, and the leaves a brighter shade of green, but my blood didn’t thicken until I turned the pitcher to discover a new detail. A painted banner across the front that read acqua in Papyrus-looking font.
I must’ve made a noise, because Henry came rushing into the room. “What?” he said. “What is it?”
“This.” I held up the pitcher. “This isn’t… My mom will see…”
“She’ll see what?” he asked, but instead of answering, I turned the pitcher upside down.
Only to see a fucking Pottery Barn sticker on the bottom.
“Oh, shit,” Henry said. “You’re right.”
Sweat beading on my back, I handed him the fraudulent pitcher so I could open a lower cabinet, the one that hid the trash can.
Fair Winds’ policy for guests was to double-knot their garbage bag, but then leave it to me.
The carriage house’s garbage cans were right under the hot shop’s window.
I didn’t want guests to peek into the garage.
Sure enough, Valerie had tied the trash bag, and I took a deep breath before ripping it open and going through the contents.
“You are one intrepid explorer,” Henry murmured as he watched me sort through used tissues, eggshells, cheese stick wrappers, wet paper towels, an apple core, broken crayons, a torn-open Ghirardelli bag, and an empty iced-coffee cup from Rise I didn’t want him to leave.