Chapter 22 #3
I hadn’t had a crush since I was in high school. Sure, I fleetingly thought men were attractive when they came into the store, and I’d had a string of hookups to pass the time, but all of that had felt bleak.
I couldn’t remember the last good kiss I had, and something told me Henry would be a good kisser. There was no doubt about this. The IPAs Henry ordered for us was probably making my judgment and head a little fuzzy, but I would’ve thought this sober.
He was exceedingly thorough. I bet he’d be the kind of man that would hold my cheek in the palm of his hand.
Maybe sink his other hand in my hair, tugging me closer.
Just a tease of an open mouth before a quick swipe of his tongue against mine.
And if I were lucky, I would elicit a groan from him that’d make everything feel just ten times better.
Henry slid the napkin away from himself, clicking the pen, snapping me out of my haze and wild thoughts.
“So?” I asked.
He took another deep gulp of the second round the bartender brought us.
“Budget. I’m serious.” He pointed at me as I nodded quickly. “But I like these ideas. It’s coming together, Carmella.”
I stilled at my full name momentarily. Only my family and occasionally Julie had ever called me that. But the way my name fell from his lips was nearly lyrical. Reverent.
I smiled widely and raised my hand for the bartender and called out, “Another round.”
Henry and I were drunk.
After the piscos with dinner, the beers we drank while planning, and the celebratory drinks, it was a little inevitable. The bartender kept asking if we wanted another round and we kept saying yes.
Henry ordered a side of fries to keep me from getting completely hammered. I learned pretty quickly being a former football star and six foot something really helped you hold your liquor.
“They’re delicious.” I stuffed a handful into my mouth and he reached for one, but I swatted his hand away. “These are mine.”
Henry laughed and backed off. “Alright, alright, all yours.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” I said. “I know you like New York. In fact, you love it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“There’s so much to like about the city,” I argued. “Just because your feeble mind can’t process it all doesn’t mean that it’s not the greatest city on Earth.”
“Knoxville’s a medium-sized city and Nashville is big, too. I’m not so impressed by late night bars and bright lights.”
“What are you impressed by, then?”
Henry leveled a look with me, his blue eyes steady and clear. “I think I’m most impressed by the people in a city. Whether they’re hardworking, smart, and kind.”
“Oh,” I said into my beer. “And are the people here—?”
“Yeah, some are.”
Trying to push away my feelings, I said, “Yeah, Joey is all of those things.”
Henry barked out a laugh. “Joey is many things, but I wouldn’t call him hardworking. I caught him on his phone while he was supposed to be shelving in Drama and he tried to distract me by talking about ‘The Pina Colada Song’ being a love song.”
I straightened at this. “Wait, I agree with him.”
“Not you, too.”
“It’s romantic!”
“It’s about two people trying to have an affair.”
“No, no, you’ve got to fill in the blanks, Henry.
It’s about two people who are listless, and falling out of love, searching for something new.
Only to discover that something new is also what’s been in front of them the entire time.
It’s messy and complicated, but it’s love.
Why would it be easy? C’mon, you’re on your way to being a reader, you’ve got to have a little more imagination. ”
“I’m a reader,” he said defensively.
“I mean, now. But not for years.”
“For a while, I was a huge reader,” Henry said softly. “It was the thing that defined me for years. I don’t think it’s hard to imagine that I was a quiet kid, and the one thing everyone knew about me was that I liked to read.”
“What did you read?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said. “I had a Kindle in middle school and I used to have to hide it under my mattress like it was a dirty magazine so my mom wouldn’t catch me and make me go to bed.”
“Huh, sounds like it wasn’t the first time you hid something under a mattress …”
He rolled his eyes. “Teenage girls are just as bad.”
“Girls are never as bad as boys. But, I had AO3, so point taken.” Confusion flitted across his face, but I waved him off. “Now’s not the time to explain AO3, but if you’re ever looking for some Sherlock and Doctor Who fanfic, let me know.”
“Anyway,” Henry said emphatically. “My mom kept all of my dad’s old books. She made a library in our living room, all of them on display. When everything happened with Leo and I, I stopped completely.”
“You didn’t have to go that far,” I said quietly. “I’m sure the fight wasn’t that bad.”
Henry tilted his beer back. “It was teenager logic. The fight I had with Leo … Sometimes it was harder to pick up a book and remind myself of all the things I’d lost rather than enjoy it.
I didn’t want my love for reading to morph into wanting the store and have all that distance between us be for nothing.
And when I got to The Last Page … I didn’t want to admit that working at the store was something I could’ve loved even to myself. It was better to live in denial.”
A million questions bloomed in my brain, but I only nodded. “Well, you don’t have to hide it from me. Chances are I’ve read it, too.”
“Oh, I know. I don’t think a single customer has asked for a book you haven’t read,” he said. “The most impressive one was that weird one based on The Smiths.”
I brightened. “How Soon Is Never was kitschy,” I said.
“There are definitely days where I have doubts about staying in one place for forever, but that’s normal in anything in life.
Besides, it just takes one customer gushing over their favorite book to me or one book that I randomly pick out of the stacks and consumes me for me to be reassured.
I’ve had to be there for so many people and books have always been there for me.
No matter the day I’m having, I know I can crack one open and feel like I can finally breathe again. ”
Henry smiled. “No wonder Leo loved you.”
I looked away at that. Would I ever heal from this loss?
I could go days without feeling a wave of emotion when I heard his name, but some days it was too painful.
I had talked to Leo every single day. He was probably the person that knew me best and really loved me for it.
My life felt like a box with holes poked through it.
I could breathe, but sometimes I gasped for air.
Before tears could rise—and because I was drunk, they’d come quickly—I changed the subject. “Why football? You don’t seem the type besides, you know, the obvious.” I gestured to him.
He looked bemused at this. “What’s the obvious?”
“That you’re hot.” Instantly, I covered my mouth. “I’m drunk. Sorry. I mean, I’m sure it’s not a shock. I just babble a lot when I’m drunk and say things I don’t mean. Not that I don’t mean it—”
“I fell into football,” he said, saving me from my misery. I downed the rest of my beer and gestured to the bartender for another. “Charlie was my only friend and he was doing it, so I figured why not.”
“That’s a big why not.”
“Football was all about … strategy and balance. I know from the outside it seems like it’s men just running around hitting each other, but it’s a lot of patience and focus.
When to go for the fourth down and when to kick.
Who to watch and why. I liked that it felt like a brain puzzle more than anything else. ”
“Why didn’t you ever play past college? You seem to have loved it.”
Henry hesitated, his fingers dancing on the bar.
“My mom’s all I’ve got left. I have family I don’t really know, but it was always her and me.
If I went pro, I would’ve been in a different city every week.
And she’s getting older. She … she had a stroke recently and it scared the fuck out of me. I’m not ready to lose her, too.”
“I get that,” I said softly. “I’m sorry. I-I’m really sorry for your losses, Henry. I don’t know if I ever said it when you could believe that I was sincere—”
“Thank you,” he said, interrupting me. “I don’t think you’ve been anything but sincere a day in your life, Ella.” He shook his head, brows furrowed in thought. “You know, some days I think about what I missed out on when I moved to Tennessee. And I’m starting to see it was a lot.”
His gaze snagged on mine. My heart tripped over itself. I think Henry Martin might be the kind of guy people wrote romance novels about. Too perfect but so convinced that his flaws are deal-breakers. It was written all over his face, but none of it was true.
Suddenly, I was too aware of the lack of space between us. We were facing each other as we sat at the bar. Somehow his legs ended up on either side of mine, his knees just barely grazing mine. With the music playing, our heads were bent low under the pretense of hearing each other.
But if I was being honest, and since I was drunk I had no choice, I wanted to pretend like Henry would kiss me. That he would love me back. And truly love me, not just need me. Living in this limbo with him was too sweet, tooth-achingly so.
“I like your accent,” I confessed quietly.
Henry blinked, confused. “I don’t have an accent. I’m from New York, you know.”
“ ‘I don’t have an accent,’ ” I repeated back in a Southern drawl, laughing. He always had a twinge of an accent. And slightly drunk, his voice drawled, leaving no question where he grew up. His words were slow, deeper. “You don’t usually, but the drunker you get, the more it comes out.”
“Oh, I’m not drunk, you are. That’s, what, your fifth beer?”
“And your fifth beer!” I accused.
“I’m bigger than you. One beer to me is like water. Five glasses of beer and add in a couple of piscos to you is like a glass of moonshine.”
“Does moonshine have a lot of alcohol?”
“Moonshine can make you go blind, Ella.”
“So in comparison, the beer isn’t so bad.”
The fries had slightly helped in sobering up and Henry was forcing glasses of water onto me. But none of this stopped me from ordering a sixth drink. I wanted to live in this moment with Henry just a bit longer.
He ordered another beer, too.
Soon enough, though, it was last call. Henry had to basically lift me from the bar chair.
His warm hands wrapped around my waist, holding me tighter than he needed to, and helped me down from the chair.
My shirt lifted and his hand grazed my bare skin.
The room crackled as Henry tightened his grip on me so I didn’t fall backward.
“Which way are you?” Henry asked once we were outside, the air turning chilly at night. He kept his arm around my waist and there was no way I was going to shrug him off.
“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen. I think I need to take the L and transfer to another train. Let me pull it up on my phone and figure it out.”
He frowned. “By yourself?”
“I grew up here,” I reminded him. “I’ve taken the train plenty of times drunk.”
He squeezed my waist. “Doesn’t mean I won’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m at my grandfather’s old apartment and—”
I clutched his arm. “Emily Lickinson. How is she?”
Henry smiled. “You know Emily?”
“I live and breathe for her. I went to Leo’s apartment after he passed and fed her until his neighbor said he’d take over until the family got in touch. I guess that’s you. Emily is precious.”
“She’s a terror is what she is,” Henry muttered.
“She’s delightful,” I countered. “You haven’t given her enough treats, that’s why she’s not cozying up to you.”
He studied me for a second and said, “Ella, I can’t in good conscience send you on the subway like this.”
I scoffed. “I’m a New Yorker, I’ll be fine. Really.”
He shot me a look. “I don’t doubt your capability to be fine, but I want to make sure you’re safe. You know he has an extra room. You can stay there if you want.”
“You don’t mind?” I asked quietly. I hated the idea of being a burden. Of someone having to take care of me instead of wanting to. Because in all honesty, sometimes I didn’t want to take care of other people. “I don’t want to inconvenience—”
Henry cut me off. “Let’s go, honey.”