Page 34 of Say You Will

“No doubt.”

A tap on Bronwyn’s doorframe, and at Bronwyn’s call to enter, Henry, himself, stands with one hand in his pocket. Nodding to me brusquely and adjusting his glasses, he says, “Your hair looks different. Nice. Good job.”

My insides turn to pure, delighted mush, and I pat my fishtail braid self-consciously. “Thanks.”

Bronwyn’s voice drips with warning. “Henry.”

He looks back at her. “Yes?”

Glancing my way, Bronwyn shakes her head at my sunny expression, visibly shores herself up to keep her mouth shut, and mutters, “Never mind.”

Henry turns his attention back to me. “I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me this evening. We can discuss your newposition and your requirements for an apartment. I can look into some possibilities based on your needs.”

For a moment, when he asked me to dinner again, I lit up inside like I was full of the lightning bugs we once caught together on a summer trip to Blackwater. But this isn’t an invitation to a date. It’s about my new job and finding me a place to live. I rejected his marriage proposal. Now he’s being friendly. Totally makes sense. It’s what I asked for. What I want. Sheesh.Get it together, Franki.“No—Yeah.” I take a slow breath and try again. “Yes. I would love to have dinner with you and discuss plans to get started on my job.”

When Oliver trots over to sniff him, Henry crouches and pets his back. Unimpressed, Oliver puts his nose in the air and pitter-patters his way back to me. When he reaches me, he stretches the entirety of his long body across both of my feet and gives Henry side-eye. The message is clear.“Mine.”

Bronwyn, apparently unaware of the interchange between Oliver and Henry, huffs and twists her lips as she looks down at the sneakers lying on the floor near her feet. “Must be nice to leave the house. Except for traveling from the hospital to here, I haven’t been outside in weeks.”

“Are you up for it? I’ll help you with the stairs if you want,” Henry says.

She nods. “I need it. Just for ten minutes or so.”

Henry must notice her hands shaking at the same time I do because we both find ourselves kneeling in front of her and reaching for her sneakers simultaneously.

When we go for the same shoe, my fingers brush his, and we still. Henry’s gaze takes mine captive, the sparkling twilight depths hiding . . . something from me. His lashes fall briefly, then Henry dips his head, picks up the other sneaker, and holds it out to me. “Trade you.”

I’m crouched directly in front of Bronwyn’s right leg, but I have her left shoe. It’s the silliest thing in the world that his eyes on me and the way he’s offering to swap shoes has my heart racing and a giddy sort of happiness rising in my chest.

He’s so close I imagine I can feel the heat of his body sinking into my skin.

There’s no reason for us to touch when we make the swap, but Henry’s fingers coast over the back of my hand when I pass him mine.

Henry is tall and lanky, and his hands suit the rest of him. They’re lean, but strong, with long fingers and wide palms. Masculine. Capable. The hands of a surgeon or a pianist.

I noticed last night that several scars litter his knuckles, and my gaze falls on them now. The worst of them is a broad, silvery-white slash across the knuckle above his ring finger. Most of those scars happened after I left for Europe, but I knew some of what he’d been doing before I left.

I have the insane urge to tell him everything will be okay. It makes no sense. He’s not in pain or in trouble, but my heart hurts at the sight of them.

He kneels in front of his sister, carefully fitting her foot into her shoe and tying the laces.

Henry’s hands tell the story of two men. One capable of heartrending kindness and one of unspeakable brutality.

He saw that his sister needed care, and he’s providing it.

Janessa would roll her eyes and say something about the bar being in hell for me being impressed by that, but anticipating another person’s needs isn’t something most people do.

Bronwyn squirms. “This feels a little weird guys.”

She lightly shoves her brother away. “I appreciate the help, but I don’t need the ladies’ maid treatment, especially not from both of you at the same time.”

Since we’re done tying her shoes anyway, we both move back. Henry rises, then offers to help me to my feet.

I place my palm against his as I stand. Henry doesn’t let go afterward. Instead, he holds on, twining his fingers through mine and staring at our hands with an intent expression on his face.

“Henry,” Bronwyn says quietly.

We both glance her way. She looks down at our hands, then back at her brother, giving him a frown and the tiniest shake of her head.

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