Page 25 of Speechless

This riveting, one-sided conversation has been going on for about an hour.

Poor Rowan. “I take it all back. You’ll getallthe peanut butter when I get home, okay?”

I’m not sure why this internal pep talk is needed, but sadly, it is.

I have no idea what to wear tonight, or how much effort I should put into this dinner. I’m a grown woman for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be freaking out over a simple dinner, no matter how handsome Henry is.

I strip off the shorts and tank top I have on. It’s obviously too casual for dinner. Then I pull out my tiny makeup bag hoping I have at least one mascara that’s not completely dried up, and a blush that’s only partially cracked.

It’s a crush. A silly littlenothingcrush. It’d be strange if I didn’t have a crush. Henry is objectively gorgeous. And so tall.

I’m not blind.

And I can’t forget about his music. The same music that I would consume through a vein if possible. The same music that I’m ironically listening to now, in the hopes that it will relax my nerves.

Most recently divorced women are clueless about how to act around men, right? I can’t be the outlier here. And if I am, I’m pretty sure I blame Jack. Ugh. I toss a few more dresses on to the bed.

I wish Sarah were here. She may not be my favorite person at the moment—understatement of the century—but this sort of situation is where she shines. I know she’d pick out the perfect outfit that would be flattering and still look effortless. She’d cover my face in makeup that would make me look naturally beautiful. She’d immediately switch out my playlist for something we could dance to, and then tell me how hot I am while I’d jump around on the bed. I think about calling her again but considering she hasn’t responded to anything since I left Boston, I decide against it.

I take a deep breath and try to settle my thoughts. I throw on a simple sundress and squeeze Rowan a bit too hard.

“You’re right, pal. I’m freaking out over nothing. It’s not like Henry is interested in me anyway. And even if he was, it’d be too short-lived to matter.”

* * *

“What doyou like to listen to?”

He’s only being polite, making conversation on our drive to dinner, but Henry asking me this question has me in a breathless fit of giggles. I might be living at his house, but it still feels bizarre to be doing something as mundane as picking a radio station withHenry Turner.

“I think you know the answer to that. Car, airport, bedroom”—why the hell did I say bedroom?—“it’s always you I’m listening to.”

“Oh.”

Luckily he seems about as nervous as I do. He doesn’t say much during the short drive after that, mostly just asks what kind of sushi I like.

When we arrive at Nobu we’re instantly seated on their impressive patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It’s clear Henry planned this meticulously, because the sun is just starting to set. It’s that perfect time of night when the clouds look like every flavor of cotton candy. Even the ocean is glimmering with shades of lilac and bubblegum. And it’s all set ablaze in a stunning tangerine glow.

Henry and I are both gazing into the Pacific, when our waitress comes by and asks him if we’d like something to drink. She’s tall with olive skin and dark shiny hair—very pretty; probably an aspiring actress or influencer. She’s smiling at him in a seductive way that looks like an invitation. I wonder how often women behave like this for him, if it’s always this easy. I wonder if I look like a child compared to women like her. I silently applaud myself for wearing a dress tonight, even if it fits more like a swim cover-up.

He stares up at her and I brace myself for some flirtatious conversation to begin, but instead his face suddenly goes slack. I see his eyes start to dart side to side, up and down. What is he doing? His lips part briefly but then they’re sealed, no hint of movement. Moments pass but he never says a word. I’m not sure what’s happening. She rolls her eyes and leans her head forward as if to say “hello in there” but he’s frozen.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll come back.” She drops her voice but there’s still a clearly audible “freak” as she walks away.

My eyes turn to Henry but his face has gone completely blank.

“Are you all right? Can I help?” I keep my voice as breezy as possible, but he just stares back at me.

Nothing.

I try holding my hand out for him to take but I’m not even sure he notices the gesture.

Is he having a panic attack? He seems calm, but also . . . not? I want to help him but I have no clue how.

Then I see the waitress coming back and start to panic a bit myself.

“So, anything you’d like to ordernow?” She’s looking at him with open mockery and I want to smack her. I silently urge Henry to say something, just to get rid of her. I start to speak up but he holds up a hand toward me, wanting to handle this himself.

A few more beats pass. He’s just staring at her, and of course, she starts to laugh. It comes out as a cackle and I instantly imagine her as some evil Disney villain. I’ll definitely be using her as inspiration later, but she’ll be much less pretty in my words.

---