Chapter 3 #2
Not sure what to say, I just nod my head and watch him walk to the door that leads to the basement. As soon as he’s out of the room, I let go of a weary breath. My fingers glide down the smooth fabric of my leggings as I stare blankly at the space he just occupied.
What is wrong with me? I haven’t felt this aware of someone in a long time and it terrifies me.
I slowly shift my neck, working out the kinks and clearing my mind. Forcing myself to focus on anything else, I start cleaning up the discarded towels from the floor and toss them into the laundry basket by the door.
Before I can fully compose myself, I’m interrupted by heavy footsteps making their way back up the steps. When Henry emerges from the basement, I try to fight the overwhelming feeling that I don’t want him to leave.
“Thank you for fixing my sink.” I smile.
“I don’t know if I would call that fixed, but that’s what my dad said to do until he could get to it,” he says with a smirk.
“Yeah.” I laugh awkwardly. “If I would’ve known that was all you were going to do, I would’ve done it myself.”
His smile drops slightly, and my heart starts thumping against my ribcage. “I—uh—that’s not what I meant. You were very helpful.”
He flinches at my quick save. “It’s fine. No hard feelings. I’m sure you would’ve done a much better job.”
There’s a beat of silence between us that I attempt to fill with a smile. I wanted to ask him all the questions I didn’t get to last night, but I couldn’t. I feel like a little girl with a crush who is too chicken to talk to the boy she likes.
Henry looks down at his hands tangled in front of him before looking up at me again. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I feel like I left in a hurry, and it made things awkward.”
The apology catches me off guard. “I thought apologizing was my thing?” I ask, surprising myself with the cheeky response.
His eyes light up with approval. “I figured I’d give it a shot.” Henry chuckles. “Anyways, that’s not how I wanted the night to end. If I’m being honest, seeing that photo of you and your son on the fridge freaked me out.”
I’m not sure how to respond. My eyes hover on the photo of Milo and me he’s referring to as I grip the edge of the counter.
It’s a photo of us at Wren’s family farm, happily sitting in the grassy area in front of the main pasture.
Milo was making a fuss because he wanted to pet one of the cows on the other side of the fence, but of course, his mean mom wasn’t letting him run right up to a bull three times the size of him.
I didn’t like the way my words burned at the back of my throat. I never regretted Milo, except for this moment when I wanted something I couldn’t have.
“Freaked you out?” I echo, not sure what else to say.
“Mierda. That probably wasn’t the right way to say it,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “I panicked because I wanted to kiss you last night, but then I realized we’re basically strangers.”
The confession lingers between us, but it doesn’t surprise me. I wanted to kiss him too. Regardless, hearing him say it out loud sends a fresh wave of longing up and down my spine.
I sigh and bow my head, knowing what I had to do next. “Henry, I think it’s a good thing we didn’t kiss last night. The truth is, I’m a single mom who just got out of a six-year marriage, and I’m not ready to kiss strangers yet.”
Henry lowers his head, and an unmistakable wave of sadness radiates off him. “I get it.”
I exhale, trying to ease the guilt of disappointing someone else in my life. “But I do like you, Henry, and I would love it if we could be friends.”
He chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I think I can handle that.”
Relief hugs my body, but there’s something else. An ache that I don’t want to overthink or try to understand. For now, friendship is safe.
Still, it’s hard to ignore the disappointment that washes over Henry’s features. He only lets the feeling settle for a moment before forcing his features back into a tight mask accessorized with a smile.
I clear my throat, desperate to shift the conversation but eager for him to stick around. “Do you want some coffee?”
Henry nods and follows me into the kitchen. At first, I expect him to reject my invitation and return to his apartment with his tail tucked between his legs. But he doesn’t. He stays.
As I move around the space, pulling out mugs and starting the coffee maker, I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. The air feels charged, much like last night, but I dismiss that feeling and try to break up the static as I hand Henry his cup.
“So, you’re a mom?” he asks, settling across from me with a fresh cup of coffee. I offer him cream and sugar, but I was right when I pinned him as a black coffee kind of man. I hold up my head in triumph.
“Yes.” I smile. “Milo is my son. He is turning two in a few months. He’s been hell on wheels since he learned to walk.”
“He’s cute,” he observes, and my heart soars. “I’m guessing he is with his dad now.” The statement comes out more like a question as he looks around the apartment for more clues.
“Yep. My ex gets him almost every weekend. It’s been a difficult two days without him,” I answer truthfully. This moment with Henry in the kitchen is a rare time when I’m not missing my baby. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so,” he answers, shifting in his seat. “Go easy on me though.”
“If you’re Mr. Cooke’s son, why don’t I know you? I’ve lived in this town for most of my life, and I feel like I should remember you.”
“Maybe I’m easy to forget,” he jokes with his hands tightly grasping his mug.
“But my dad moved back here after he split with my mamá. I stayed in Pittsburgh with her and didn’t visit Honey Grove often except for a few summers here and there.
This will be the longest I’ve ever spent here.
I’m on a short sabbatical from my job teaching at a university in the city, and I plan on staying until the end of summer. ”
“Fancy,” I instantly respond without thinking. I try to recover and say, “What do you teach?”
“I’m an English professor,” he says without skipping a beat. Wren was dead on about the hot professor vibe. I could now add that to the long list of things I found attractive about my new neighbor and new friend.
“Really? I’ve heard you use Spanish a few times, so I wouldn’t have guessed that.” I laugh, instantly cringing at my own words.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “My abuela moved to the U.S. from Puerto Rico when she was a kid so she taught me everything I know. I mainly speak in Spanish around my mamá, but I still use it for small things like curse words and words of endearment.”
A cold chill runs up my neck, recalling last night. I immediately pivot. “Oh, okay. That’s cool that you’re an English professor. I’m actually taking an English class this summer.”
“You’re in school?”
Now, I’m the one who shifts in my chair uncomfortably. “Yes. I started taking classes a while ago, but I—umm—never finished. You know life and all.”
I give him the short and easy answer, but there’s so much more to say. I decide not to burden him with the roller-coaster that was my early twenties.
“I think it’s great you’re going back to school,” he says with a genuine smile. “What are you studying?”
“I was a psychology major, but I’m thinking about switching to something else.”
“Yeah, it’s tough to choose,” he observes. “I changed my major three times when I was a freshman. I didn’t even decide I wanted to pursue academia until I was twenty-seven.”
It was hard to say, but Henry had a calming presence.
I usually felt awkward talking about my decision to go back to school.
I already felt so out of place in my class, being the only twenty-five-year-old.
Everyone else was so young. They looked like they should be freshmen in high school, not college.
“Twenty-seven? How old are you?” I ask plainly before mentally smacking myself on the forehead.
“Twenty-nine,” he says confidently while leaning back in the chair. “I know I don’t look a day over twenty-one.”
I laugh at his attempt at a joke. He didn’t look old, but I could tell by the way he carried himself that he was older. He seemed like a guy who had his shit together.
“That’s so crazy. I was just about to guess twenty-one,” I jest.
His dimples peek out as his smile stretches across his face. Silence hovers between us, but this time it’s comfortable.
Unfortunately, our new friendship session is cut short when I hear a small click before the front door opens. I jump to my feet when my ex-husband comes bouncing through the door with Milo in his arms.
“Hey, Em. Sorry for barging in, but Mi,” he pauses, and his eyes snap to Henry, who is also on his feet now. “Who is this?”