Page 59 of Weekends with You

“I’m flat three here,” he said, fumbling with a key. “Feels like a bit of a step up from two at home, doesn’t it?” He swung the door open and I stared into his apartment, letting my eyes adjust to his new place. Three large windows lined the far wall, a single pillow sat on the sofa, and a small collection of takeaway containers cluttered the kitchen counter.

“Sorry, er, I wasn’t expecting company.” He swept the containers into the trash and pushed his hair behind his ears. “Can I get you anything? I don’t have much to offer, just, er, a few beers, and I can pull together beans on toast? I don’t have a toaster, but I can do it fine in a pan.”

“A beer and beans on toast sounds perfect,” I said, partially because he seemed stressed and I was trying to be agreeable since, and partially because I had been so nervous, I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was starving.

“Roger that.” He got to work in the kitchen with his back to me, hardly saying a word. What the hell was going on? If I were back in London, we’d be FaceTiming right now, probably laughing and flirting and having a ton of things to say. Now, radio silence.

Maybe we were both just out of practice seeing each other in person. That was probably it. We’d spent the past few weeks getting comfortable behind our phone screens, so now it was hard to readjust to being together in real life.

“It’s a nice place,” I said, if only to fill the silence.

“Thanks. You still had the address from when you mailed me the memory card, I’m assuming?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I hope that was okay, but if it isn’t, I can just—”

“No, no,” he said, interrupting my rambling. “I’m glad you’re here.” He handed me a beer and returned to the stove without another word.Liar.

I must have adjusted my position on the sofa a thousand times, trying to find a way to feel less out of place.

“All right?” he asked.

“Fine, thanks.” Was this how the weekend was going to go? We were just going to say “all right?” back and forth until I left? I decided to make a move, fearful of what would happen if I didn’t.

I took a large swig for a little liquid courage, then joined him at the stove. I resisted the temptation to put my hand in his back pocket, since this wasn’t a teen movie and I was an adult woman in the real world, so I rested my hand on his back instead, pretending to examine the toast in the pan.

“Looks good,” I said.

He became stiff as a board, relaxing only when I removed my fingertips from his spine.

“Good,” he said. “How long did you plan on staying?”

Before I got here? The whole weekend. But now, since you’re acting like I’m an alien, just long enough to book a flight home,I wanted to say.

“Just a day or two,” I said instead, shooting for casual. “Look, Hen, if I’m imposing, I can find a place to stay instead.” I put my beer down and took a step or two in the direction of the door, hoping he’d stop me before I got there.

“No, you just got here,” he said, as if the only reason for me to stay was so I didn’t have to get back on a plane right away. I raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. “Why don’t we go out for a drink?” He slid the food onto my plate and leaned on the counter, watching me. “Eat first, take your time, then we’ll go.”

Okay, we were going to get a drink. That was promising. We were warming up. I wasn’t yet ready to move my suitcase from the doorway, but maybe by the time we got home from the pub, I could at least unpack a toothbrush.

We walked just around the corner from his apartment, down the tree-lined sidewalk, under streetlights just beginning to cast their glow. If the air between us weren’t so dense, it might have been a beautiful March evening.

An emerald vinyl awning with faded gold lettering hung above the door, which Henry held open as he ushered me in. The bar was a bit more upscale than the pubs we frequented at home, and I looked down at my sneakers, feeling a bit out of place.

He signaled the bartender as soon as we sat down, hardly giving me a second to flip through the cocktail menu.

“Uh, a gin and tonic, please,” I said, sensing the bartender’s impatience.

“Two, please,” Henry said. I spun my stool to face him, buthe kept his eyes trained on the bartender. Maybe this wasn’t as promising as I’d thought.

“Can we also have the tab, please?” Henry said when the bartender delivered the drinks.

“Got a hot date?” I asked.

“I do, thanks for asking.” His chuckle when I snapped my head in his direction loosened the knot in my chest, if only for a minute. I rolled my eyes, trying something that resembled normalcy.

He settled the tab, then drank half his drink in one sip, eyes closed. I opened my mouth to ask what was really going on, but he beat me to the punch.

“Listen, Luce,” he started, meeting my eyes for what might have been the first time since I arrived.

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