Chapter 2 #2
I take a deep breath and turn away before I can second-guess my decision. This was supposed to be a quick interaction. A drink, a conversation, and a polite goodbye. Instead, I was about to take a man who made my heart hammer way too easily back to my place. Alone.
So much for cooling things off.
“I’m going to go ahead and apologize for the mess now,” I mumble, trying to jam my keys into the lock.
“I’m sure it’s in much better condition than my place. I’m still living out of boxes and most of my stuff hasn’t arrived from the city yet.”
“The city? Do you mean New York City?”
“Yeah,” he says, following me into my dark home. “Shoes on or off?”
The question catches me off guard. I was used to Colt stomping through our old home with his muddy work boots. When I turn on the light and wince at the unruly state of my living room, I say a silent prayer before answering. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you feel comfortable doing.”
Henry takes that as an invitation and toes off his loafers that somehow weren’t affected during the wine spill debacle. He neatly places his shoes near the door, and it makes something tighten in my chest.
I gesture toward the hallway. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall and then I can throw your pants in the wash.”
He nods, but he hesitates with a sheepish smile instead of heading toward the bathroom. “I just realized I don’t have anything to change into. I’m going to run upstairs and change really quick.”
I nod slowly in understanding. I had almost forgotten he lived upstairs. When he makes his timely exit, I collapse onto my couch and throw my head into my hands. I let myself hover in that position for a fraction of a second before bouncing into action.
Henry had already been exposed to the worst of the mess, but the people pleaser in me wanted to tidy up before he came back down.
I walk over to Milo’s play corner and start tossing toys into a pile.
With my son’s tiny tractor clutched in my hand, I realize Henry doesn’t know I’m a mom.
Panic flares, followed by relief. Maybe this could be a good way to establish boundaries and splash some cold water on the very real heat blooming between us.
I’m lost in that thought when Henry returns. When he reenters the room, I’m surprised to see he changed into another pair of slacks, not opting for something more comfortable like I would have suspected.
“You were a little dressed up for a dive bar, don’t you think?” I say, thinking back to earlier tonight.
Henry responds with a deep laugh that feels like a drug. “When Knox told me he was taking me out, I was not expecting the Rustic Inn.”
“Okay, now I’m certain you’re not from around here.” I smile and take the pair of soggy pants hanging from his arm. “I liked your outfit though. Most of the men around here do not know how to dress themselves. They wear the same pair of jeans until the crotch rips out.”
“It wasn’t too pretentious?” he mocks, following me to the kitchen.
My entire face heats up at the reminder of our second meeting of the night. I busy myself by searching for the stain remover in one of the cabinets. “Again, very sorry. And I’m sorry about the pants. I would have paid to have them dry cleaned.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone this concerned over a spilled drink.”
“I know. It’s just your pants are very nice. I hate to think that I’m the reason why they’re not perfect anymore.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing perfect about me,” he jokes. When I turn, I briefly catch his eyes pointed at the ground and his smile deflated into a straight line. When he notices my stare, his face snaps back into a gentle and welcoming smile.
“It might be too soon, but how about a glass of wine?”
Henry mockingly places a hand over his heart, and his face contorts in pain. “The pants aren’t even cold yet, Emma.”
I bite my lip, trying to conceal a laugh that feels too intimate amongst mere strangers. I shake my head and grab two glasses out of the cabinet, pouring us both a generous glass. He accepts the gesture with a nod, and I excuse myself to throw his pants in the washer.
When I return to the kitchen, Henry is leaning against the counter, swirling his wine while deep in thought. He looks comfortable in the warm glow of my outdated kitchen, and that makes my heart sink.
“You don’t have to keep fussing over me, you know.”
I join him and lean against the counter with my glass of wine. “Fussing?”
“Yes. You’ve apologized countless times, and you’ve gone above and beyond to make sure my pants were okay.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of wine. “I’m sorry for being a good neighbor.”
“There’s another apology,” he says with a wink. My body reacts before my mind and decides a blush is a good response.
Before the moment dips into a cloak of awkwardness, Henry changes the subject. “So, Emma, tell me about yourself.”
I tilt my head at the question. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask, but it’s been so long since anyone has asked me to talk about myself. People usually ask me how Mi is doing or how Colt is.
“There’s really not much to say,” I admit with a sigh.
“That can’t be true,” Henry says while examining me with his eyes. “Fine then. Tell me the story behind the tattoo behind your ear.”
My hand flies up to my right ear as I trace the outline of a hummingbird I had tattooed there when I was eighteen. I often keep it covered by my hair, so I’m surprised he noticed it.
“I used to love hummingbirds when I was younger. My nana had a bunch on her front porch, and when my mom and I moved to Honey Grove, she let me take one with us. I used to sit on the front porch for hours when my mo—” I pause for a moment, debating the next sentence.
“When I was bored and just watch them go crazy at the feeder. The humming sound of their wings made me feel at peace in some weird way. It’s hard to explain. ”
Henry smiles at my answer and reaches his hand down to slightly lift his pant leg. There, on the lower side of his outer calf, sits what looks like a Wonder Woman symbol.
“Wonder Woman?”
He lets out a small laugh that ripples through his entire body. “No, it’s actually the symbol for the band Weezer.”
“Really? Like the band that sings that song about Beverly Hills?”
“Yes,” he says with a glint in his eye. “I’m surprised you knew that.
I got it in college when they were one of my favorite bands, and I thought I was being edgy.
Most people do think it’s the Wonder Woman symbol, so sometimes I’ll humor them and say I got it for my mamá. I like your story much better though.”
I smile and shake my head. If only he knew the real story behind my tattoo. But that was a story for another time.
“Okay. Tell me something else about yourself,” I say, digging a little deeper.
I could easily push him out of the door and tell him I’d return his pants some other time, but I was enjoying the ease of our conversation.
And as long as he stayed a respectable distance away, we might even be able to be friends.
Henry takes a slow sip of his wine but keeps his eyes connected with mine. “I moved to Honey Grove for a fresh start.”
I expect something light and humorous, but the sincerity of his answers catches me off guard. “A fresh start?”
His lips curve into a relaxed smirk. “Yeah.”
I’m tempted to ask for more information, but I stop myself. If he was going to tell me, he wouldn’t have provided such a lackluster response. Then again, it wasn’t like I was an open book. Maybe he had his reasons. I knew I did.
We stare into each other’s eyes for a second too long, and the air shifts between us. It feels charged and heavy—ready to unleash at any moment.
Henry steps closer. He’s now in the bubble that makes it hard for me to picture him as a friend. He’s so close that I can’t imagine what my hearing is like without the incessant pounding in my ears.
I surprise myself by keeping my feet planted in place. When he reaches out, I don’t flinch. I close my eyes, and he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, exposing my tattoo.
“Hermosa,” Henry whispers. I can’t remember the phrase from two years of Spanish class in high school, but his eyes say everything.
My breath catches when his fingertips lightly graze my cheek. I lean into the feeling of his softness—a stark contrast to what I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Emma,” he says. My name sounds like an invitation, beckoning me to close the gap between our bodies.
My eyes flicker to his lips, considering the invitation. All I have to do is lean in. It would be so easy, and I know it would feel so good. Maybe for a moment, I could forget all the reasons I shouldn’t do this.
But then the universe delivers its second sign of the night when Henry’s eyes wander over to the only picture hanging on my refrigerator. The skin around his lips pulls taunt, and unease clouds his eyes. It’s enough to pull me out of my daze.
I step back and let out an awkward cough. Henry follows suit and attempts to cut the tension with a light laugh.
“Well,” he says, his voice hoarse with something that sounds a lot like regret. “Umm, I think we should—umm, I should call it a night.”
I nod, kicking myself for letting my guard down so easily. “Yeah. Right. I’ll make sure to get your pants back to you once they’re done drying.”
“Thanks, Emma.”
I walk him to the door, my feet heavy and ready to give out at any moment. Henry lingers for a beat, his mind fighting a battle I hope doesn’t win. Finally, he nods, accepting defeat.
With a longing sigh, he slides on his shoes and says a final goodbye.
It takes him two minutes to finally cross the threshold of my home.
It takes me another five to finish my wine and plop down on my bed, fully clothed.
When I roll on my side to close my eyes after a long night, my vision connects with the photo of Milo on his first birthday covered in cake.
And then I realize this is the first night in a while that my mind hasn’t been consumed by my son or my divorce.