25. Henley
Henley
Sage paint flows like a waterfall into the trays spread out on the floor as I sit quietly across the room, completely captivated by the man pouring it.
From the moment he knocked on my door this morning with a coffee and pastries in hand, I’ve been unable to draw my eyes away from him.
There’s this sudden lightness about him, one that I’ve only caught glimpses of since we’ve been home.
As if yesterday’s conversation with his father has shifted his whole demeanor.
We spent most of the morning taping off areas we didn’t want painted and laying out drop cloths in each of the cabins.
Mostly just chatting about what needed to be accomplished today, and making plans for the rest of the furniture being delivered.
Completely avoiding the conversation that we needed to have.
Before we started painting, I sat down to take a break and indulge in a few bites of the cinnamon roll that Em brought earlier. But I’ve unconsciously been spending my time devouring the sight before me rather than my breakfast.
“You going to keep staring, Trouble? Or are you going to get over here and help me paint these walls?” he jests.
“I-I wasn’t staring,” I stutter, dropping the forkful of cinnamon roll into the container, scrambling off the stool toward him.
Satisfaction is written all over his face, stoking flames that redden my cheeks with each step I take.
Trying to ignore his gaze, I reach for the paint roller in his grasp.
“Hold on,” he says softly, pushing my hand down.
“There’s a little bit of icing, right—”
Before I can reach up to fix it myself, his thumb swipes across my upper lip. Rendered speechless, my lip tingles as my gaze trails his thumb all the way up to his mouth. Entranced, I watch it slip between his lips with a satisfied growl that rumbles deep within his chest. “Mmm, delicious.”
Damn this man. I’m hanging by a thread. A very frayed thread.
“Everything alright?” A dark chuckle slips free from Em.
“Fabulous,” I grumble, swiping the roller from his arm and dipping it into the paint.
Shaking his head, he grabs the other paint brush and begins working on the wall beside me. Shifting to the farthest side of the wall, I shove myself into the distraction of work. Before I know it, we finish the entire room without even uttering a word to each other.
With a heavy sigh, I pick up my tray and a brush and carry it into the bathroom. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my playlist. If we aren’t going to talk, at least I can listen to music. Once I find what I want, I pull out my earbuds and shove them into my ears.
About halfway through the song, I can feel a heavy presence looming behind me. Setting my brush down gently in the tray, I turn to find Emerson leaning against the doorway. He points to his ears, and I take out my earbuds and slip them back into my pocket.
“We can’t avoid conversation forever,” he says softly.
“I know.” I blow out a breath and lift myself up on the counter. Running my hands over my face, I speak through my palms. “I just don’t know how to do this, or even where to start.”
Em shifts from the wall and stands in front of me with his hand outstretched between us. “Hi, my name’s Emerson.”
His lips curve upward as I slide my palm into his. “Henley. It’s nice to meet you.”
Leaning up against the counter, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his damp hair before placing it back on. “See, now that wasn’t so hard.”
“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask.
“I race sports cars, Porsches specifically, for IMSA.”
“Is it like NASCAR or F1?” I joke, inwardly giggling at his scrunched forehead. He knows full well I know all of this, but since he started to play this game, I’m going to stay in character. “And what’s IMSA?”
“NASCAR and Formula 1 involve racing cars, yes. But what I do is a little bit different from both.” He laughs, nipping the side of my thigh with his fingers.
Stifling the laughter between my lips, I pretend to act intrigued as he continues to explain.
“It stands for International Motor Sports Association. Unlike the other two, we run longer races and have multiple classes of cars competing together on one track at the same time. Our races can range anywhere from one hundred minutes to twenty-four hours.”
I whistle low. “Twenty-four hours, that’s a long time. You must have great stamina.”
Two can play this game, sir.
Emerson’s brow raises, biting the edge of his bottom lip as he shakes his head. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that, Trouble. I’m no stranger to the long haul.” He leans into my space, enough for me to feel his breath brush against my skin. “I’m an expert at taking my time.”
Between the rumble of his low voice and the insinuation that flies freely from his lips, there’s nothing I can do to stop the shiver that ripples through me.
Playing with the brim of his hat, he clears his throat. “And what is it that you do, Henley?”
“I’m a professional chef.”
“Ah, so a cook?” he smirks.
“Chef,” I say, wiping my eye with my middle finger as he chuckles lightly. “Anything you can imagine, I can create it. The plate is my canvas, and my medium is food.”
“What if I’m imagining grilled cheese?”
“Then I’ll make you a grilled cheese that will blow your mind.”
“Mind-blowing, eh?”
“Yep.” I say, popping the ‘p’ with extra emphasis.
“Hmm, on our next date you’ll have to show off your talents. We can cook dinner together.”
“Who said this was a date?” I hum.
“I did.”
I feign shock by placing my hand over my chest. “It’s very presumptuous to think that there will be another. I mean, we’ve only just met.”
Reaching across, he grips my hand. His smile widens as he lifts it closer to his lips. “As I told you earlier, I’m excellent at the long haul. This race has tested my endurance, but I believe if I stay focused, I may just have a chance at winning.”
I scoff playfully. “Seven years is quite the long haul, for sure.”
“Oh, Trouble, it’s been far longer than that and you know it.” He winks, and my body stills.
Without lifting his burning gaze from mine, his lips caress the back of my hand. A tingling sensation spreads rapidly through my body as I whip my hand back into my lap. How he manages to affect me in such a way, even after all these years, is confounding.
“No wonder you’ve never had a shortage of women surrounding you.” I laugh.
The once playful expression drains from his face as he hangs his head. What I’d meant to be a joke falls flat between us. “I know I haven’t displayed the best character over the last couple of years.”
“We’re adults, Em, you don’t have to explain—”
“I do, because that’s not the man I am.” His hand gently squeezes my knee.
“Racing is not only my passion, it also became a shield for me over the years. When I was behind the wheel, the fear of Mama falling ill again didn’t consume me.
For a few hours, the only thing I could focus on was the road ahead of me.
“For a while it helped. All of us, in fact. It gave me and my Dad so much to talk about and share, time together that I think we both needed. Both of us were silently struggling together. It was nice for us to find happiness in our shared hobby. It was good for Mama, too. It helped keep her spirits up, and gave her things to look forward to, much like those baking lessons she waited for each week with you. She loved watching the races and celebrating every win. But—” He pauses, taking his hat off and holding it between his hands.
“After she passed, my carefully constructed wall cracked right down the middle. Everything I’d been trying to hold onto for years flooded free.
Driving no longer silenced the thoughts.
I started going out to fill the void. Numb the pain.
All I found at the bottom of every bottle was the reflection of my own hollowness. ”
I turn to face him, my palm finding the side of his cheek. His lashes flutter closed as my thumb soothingly strokes back and forth. A warm, calloused palm envelops mine. His cerulean gaze holds steady with mine.
“There are several things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Days that I feel like I don’t deserve happiness. But that’s something I’m working on.” Guiding my hand away from his cheek, he lays it gently over his heart. “You want the truth?”
Slowly, I nod. Nerves coil inside my stomach.
“These past few years I’ve been searching for you in every woman I’ve met.
It was a futile search. Somehow, Hen, you always know when I need you most. Hell, we haven’t spoken in seven years, but the moment you came crashing back into my life you instantly began to help me want to make changes just from your presence alone.
You remind me to keep searching for that light.
You’re the only one who ever made me feel alive.
” He taps the back of my hand lying flush over his heart.
“If I’m honest, this has always belonged to you. ”
There’s a sting forming behind my eyes as I flutter my lashes to keep the tears at bay. Grabbing his hand, I place it against my own heart. “And mine’s always belonged to you.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. That was never my intention.”
A tear slips free, rolling gently down the side of my cheek.
“I’m afraid you’re going to do it again. As much as I want to, the thought of opening my heart to you again terrifies me.” Rolling my eyes up to find his, I see the impact of my words written all over his face.
His jaw snaps tightly shut, the muscle protruding. Deep lines carve into his forehead, and his eyes begin to redden. Gently parting my thighs, he inches his body closer to mine, holding my cheeks between both of his palms.
“I’m sorry I ran all those years ago.”
“Me too.” I whisper between us. “Why did you do it?”
He swallows deeply. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you. I should have been stronger for you. For both of us.”