Chapter 28 #2
“That’s fair. I tried being mean to you for a month and felt sick about it the whole time.”
“I felt sick about it, are you kidding?” We continued walking, quiet for a moment. “If your family needs anything …”
“I can’t make it your problem, too.”
His gaze met mine, steady as ever. “I want your problems to be mine.”
“Anyway,” I said, feeling shaky all of a sudden. Like he read right through me and maybe it wasn’t the first time. Hopefully, one day when I tried to shake off these feelings, it’d actually work. “We’re almost there. Your football days must be way behind you, because you seem winded.”
“You’re basically jogging while you walk. Even with longer legs, it’s hard to keep up with your pace.”
I tsked. “Don’t be jealous. It’s unbecoming.”
The pier stretched along the west side of Manhattan. At the very bottom, near the Financial District and Tribeca, there were golf courses and an entrance to the river where you could take out boats. But just above that was Little Island.
I had stumbled upon this with my friends when I was in college.
On a particularly hot day in the summer, we were trying to find a spot to tan on the pier, but it was jam packed.
It seemed like every New Yorker went here, the Hamptons, or Rockaway when spring warmth morphed into an oppressive summer.
After our initial discovery, I often came back in the spring and summer. I’d sit on one of the benches with a book, letting the wind whip my hair every which way it liked.
Little Island was a man-made island that “floated” above the Hudson River. It wasn’t really floating, but the architecture gave the appearance that the greenery was way above water. In the summers, the park would close down for concerts and exhibits.
As we ventured farther onto the island, Henry said, “Okay. This is way cooler than a Five Guys speakeasy.”
I laughed. “I thought you might like it.”
Little Island was full of patches of grass and trees on one side, and on the other side had a small amphitheater for artists and shows. Walking on the island felt almost like a faux hike as it took you uphill.
“Man,” Henry said. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed green.”
One time, I asked a customer what she loved so much about romance novels. I had picked up plenty, but I’d never gravitated toward that genre over everything else. I was too busy consuming every book in front of me to have a favorite category.
“It feels like you’re falling in love, too,” she had said. “You’re right there with the heroine, hoping the hero laughs or smiles at her jokes. Hoping he’ll kiss her and tell her what he loves about her.”
The guys I had dated or been with hadn’t laughed at my jokes or even made me smile. They’d complimented my body, as if that was more important than intellect or wit. At some point, I’d started approaching romance with a chip on my shoulder and a timer set for just one night.
But right now, I was bursting with pride. Watching Henry’s face morph into a small smile as his eyes move from the trees to the grass to the bushes and flowers at a rapid pace made it all worth it.
We made it to the top of the island, standing at the edge overlooking the water.
The sun had just barely begun to set, the sky turning blue, purple, and pink in gorgeous fashion.
Henry leaned over the guardrail, taking in the coast and the water.
When he closed his eyes to feel the breeze from the water, I studied him.
The slope of his nose, slightly curved at the end.
The beauty mark right by his mouth. The way his thin glasses rested against his nose and every so often he’d push them up without a second thought.
He often started the day with his hair styled, but by the end of the day, once he had run his hands through it a million times as he thought, it came undone.
He opened his eyes and turned toward me. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “I’ve really missed Tennessee, and this is a s slice of home. I don’t know how my mom did it, moving from Tennessee to New York and back.”
“I can’t imagine living in Tennessee,” I said truthfully. “Life just seems so … quiet.”
“Oh, it definitely is,” Henry said. “But I love it. I can breathe and think in a way I can’t here. There’s nothing wrong with quiet.”
“Nothing wrong with busy, too,” I replied. My heart sank a little as he spoke. I knew it would be a long shot, but I couldn’t help but ask, “You don’t think you could see yourself here long term?”
He held my gaze for a few seconds that felt like agonizing hours. “I didn’t say that.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline, hope blossoming before I had the chance to snatch it back. “Really?”
“My mom is a driving factor in my wanting to go back,” he admitted.
“You must miss her a lot, huh?”
“I do. I know that doesn’t make me sound all masculine and tough.”
“Gentle giant,” I supplied.
Henry nudged my shoulder with his playfully.
“I call her every day, just to make sure she’s doing okay.
God, the stroke scared the hell out of me.
I can’t just leave her alone. Sometimes, when I’m walking to the store early in the morning or when we do these little outings, I imagine my life here …
” He smiles and I swear it’s wistful, yearning.
But I don’t let myself read into it. “But my mom has lost a lot. I don’t want to be another thing she loses. ”
It would be a big move, I knew that. Grief and loss weren’t a competition. But Henry had lost so much of his family. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to miss moments with the last person he was closest to.
“I’m sure she’s not alone,” I said, quietly, feeling a little despicable even as I did it. “She must have friends, neighbors …”
“She has a bunco group that she plays with every week. She’s the nicest lady you’ll ever meet. She never yelled and never lost her cool when I was growing up. The idea of disappointing her feels catastrophic.”
That’s what I expected it was like to disappoint Henry.
He’d been nothing but patient with the booksellers.
He was kind and thoughtful. Without a doubt, he’d be my first call if I needed something or was in trouble.
Not only because he was dependable, but because I’d want him to be the one there with me.
“New York will really miss you when you’re gone,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“It’d be impossible for anyone not to miss you,” I said sharply.
I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn to look at him.
I knew what would be waiting for me. Beautiful blue eyes, a strong nose, broad shoulders.
I felt it everywhere, the depth of my wanting.
I hated that every day when I woke up I was excited to go to the store, not because of my love for The Last Page, but because I’d get to talk with Henry.
It was wild how in the blink of an eye, everything could change.
Henry had been a complete stranger in March, but now I felt like he knew me better than anyone else in the world.
How could I walk around New York after he was gone? I didn’t know that showing him all my favorite places would mean he left a stain there, too. It’d sting to walk down a street and remember how our fingers once nearly brushed, but soon the space next to me would be empty.
If you looked at us from afar, it’d seem like we were standing right next to each other. But if either of us looked down, we’d see this cavern all the way to the center of the Earth that neither of us could jump across.
“Well, I’ll certainly miss New York. A lot,” he said, his blue eyes holding my gaze.
“Besides,” I said with a shrug. We leaned our forearms against the railing, looking out at the water. “I doubt the girls in Tennessee kiss as good as I do.”
Henry dropped his head, silent.
“Oh, c’mon.” I pushed my elbow into his side. “We’re not in middle school. We kissed!” I was trying to be nonchalant, but really, I wanted to gauge his reaction. To see if it was all he’d thought about since it happened, too.
He shot me a look, his gaze heated. “Do you really want to talk about this? Because if we do, I don’t know if I can hold back.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. It was a losing game. Even if he were to tell me how much he wanted me, then what? Maybe ignorance was bliss in cases of love and wanting like this. “But you should know, the guys in New York don’t kiss as well as you do either.”