Page 6 of Speechless

He covers my hand with his over the armrest and I feel a bolt of electricity course through my body. His hand is so warm, I soak up every bit of comfort it provides. My eyes flutter closed as I breathe in, then out.

I can’t remember the last time I was touched like this.

His fingers gently squeeze mine and I turn toward him but keep my eyes down, hoping the early signs of tears have vanished.

“I’m sad to hear you needed it, but I couldn’t be happier that it helped you. Are you all right now? Want me to hum a tune for you?”

“I’m okay. Sorry, this is so embarrassing. I don’t usually get choked up talking to strangers on airplanes.”

“Well, I’m not a stranger anymore, am I?” He whispers loudly, “Henry, remember?”

I laugh and it comes out awkward and partially through my nose. He’s charming and I’mme, unfortunately. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to have any trouble remembering your name. I see it everyday on my phone.”

“I don’t actually think I’ve ever met someone who listens to my scores for fun. Some of the producers I work with don’t even want to hear a bar unless it’s already scoped for a scene. I’ll have to write something special for you when I get home.”

My gaze travels from our hands to his eyes, but I don’t see a single hint of mockery.

“Do you live in LA?” he asks. “Maybe you could come see the studio sometime, meet the rest of my team. I really don’t deserve all the credit.”

“I . . . no . . . I . . . well . . . fuck.” Do I live in LA? How do I casually mention that Rowan and I are currently homeless? I don’t even know if I’ll want to stay there. Maybe I should just roam the airport and book a flight somewhere new, try the whole starting over thing again someplace else. I have money. My last book is still selling well, probably because it was a Reese’s YA book club pick. I could go anywhere, I suppose. I could go to Europe, try the wholeEat, Pray, Lovething. No, falling in love sounds miserable. I don’t think I’m quite ready to deal with that kind of disappointment again. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

Shit, he’s looking at me like I’m losing it again.

“Sorry. Honestly, I have no idea how to answer that question. Iwasmoving to LA today. My friend begged me to come live with her after I, well, after I became single again.” I offer a tight smile that hopefully sends the message: Please don’t inquire further. “But she just called to let me know her plans have changed, so, I guess I need to decide what’s next for me. I don’t even know anyone else in LA.” I laugh but it comes across more pathetic than aloof.

“You know me.”

Every time he speaks it feels important, like he chooses each word with care. It must seem like the complete opposite listening to me, the girl who never stops talking. Even when he stutters, his words seem meaningful.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask.

“Pardon?”

“You said you have a sheep dog too?”

“Oh, right. His name was Mo—Motown, technically. He passed away several years ago. My parents got him right after they got…well, I was quite young.” His voice sounds wistful.

He’s still looking at me and I’m suddenly very aware that he’s still holding my hand. It hurts to sever the connection, but I do it anyway. I miss the warmth instantly and desperately want it back. I decide to give Rowan a long pet instead.

“Mo and Row—I bet they would have been friends.”

4

Henry

This isthe longest conversation I’ve had with a stranger in maybe my entire life. It feelsincredible.

I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I haven’t frozen once since we got on the plane. I wonder what happened to her. She said she’d had a tough time recently but didn’t share any details. She also mentioned she’s single, but it definitely didn't feel like an invitation. More like the opposite.

After she let go of my hand, I could sense she needed a moment to herself. She closed her eyes and has been in and out of sleep for the last few hours, so I’ve been keeping Rowan company. I must have spoiled him with attention considering his head is now permanently stuck to my lap. I look over to her and see something twinkling in her hair.

“Lucy?” I know I should leave her alone, but I can’t help myself. It feels too good talking with her.

“Mmm?” She turns her head toward me while still leaning back in her seat. Her eyes open drowsily, and I imagine this is what she looks like first thing in the morning. The image of her lustrous hair splayed across the pillow and her body tangled in sheets creeps into my head.

“I’m sorry to wake you.” I’m not, but it seems like the right thing to say. “It looks like your necklace may have gotten tangled in your hair; can I help?”

She looks down and nods, sleep still visible in her eyes.

---