Page 80 of Weekends with You

“I’m not asking for perfection. I’m just asking for effort.”

“I can do effort.” His voice had edges that Oliver’s didn’t, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. He always sounded like he’d just woken up, the kind of rasp that made my hairs stand on end.

“It’s been a long night,” I said, trying to keep my eyes from drifting to his naked torso. “And I also need time.”

“Right. Please, take all the time you need. And when you’re ready, you know where I live.”

I swiped a tear from my face with the back of my hand, settling on nothing more than a nod in response.

“Sleep well, Luce.” He kissed the same cheek Oliver had moments before, then wandered down the corridor and into his room. I watched his back, studying his broad shoulders as he went, the rhythm of his walk, his long limbs, his milk chocolate–colored hair. The way he could bend in the wind like a daisy, stretching endlessly toward the light.

Only, if Henry were a daisy, I would be able to predict exactly what he wanted. And he would never change his mind—he would want the same things, day in and day out, and they would be as clear to me as the summer sky.

But he wasn’t a daisy. He was equal parts enticing and infuriating, and by this time of the night, the only thing strongerthan the pull I felt toward him was the one I felt toward my own bed and drunken, dreamless sleep.

I woke some time midmorning to the sound of a text. Henry’s name appeared on the screen, and I opened the text before I could stop myself.

When you’re up and moving, come to the roof. If you’re keen, that is. (I know we said we needed time, but I’m hoping a few hours of sleep was enough.)

I didn’t answer right away, as I was still blinking through a developing hangover and needed time to process. Another—much more alluring—text came a minute later.

Kidding. About that last part, anyway. And in case you need convincing, there is coffee. Strong coffee. But again, only if you’re keen.

I wished I was more difficult to please, but alas. The promise of strong coffee was too tempting to ignore, so I threw on slides and a hoodie and stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was one giant knot, and the bags under my eyes were so dark, I looked like I’d been in a fistfight.

By the time I’d wrestled my hair into a braid, swiped some concealer under my eyes, and centered myself, I was prepared for whatever I was walking into. I felt strangely relaxed as I made my way up to the roof, possibly since I was sure things couldn’t get any worse.

I held my breath as I pushed open the door, trying to steel myself against whatever awaited me. That same breath hitched in my throat when I saw Henry beside the table, which wasladen with a collection of golden pastries, dewy fresh fruit, and takeaway coffee from my favorite place down the block.

“You’re up,” he said, seeming surprised to see me. His smile stretched wider by the second, so bright it was hard to imagine he’d been so drunk the night before.

“I got a text,” I said, forming a slow smile of my own.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “Kind of the opposite, actually. I’m so sorry for keeping you up last night with my behavior, which was proper shit, I know, so I wanted you to at least wake up nicely. To start this day way better than last night ended, you know?”

“Is this what I think it is?” I asked, picking up a coffee and narrowing my eyes.

“If what you think it is is a hazelnut latte with oat milk, then yes,” he said. “It’s also a peace offering, but the caffeine is more important.”

I took a long, slow sip, letting the coffee warm me from the inside out. I couldn’t be bought, but this was a good attempt. “A peace offering, is it?” I asked, settling onto the couch with a croissant the size of my head. A buttery pastry could convince me to do just about anything, including hearing Hen out, even when he was infuriating. I wasn’t proud of that, but it was the truth. I let the layers melt on my tongue, watching him gear up for what looked like a prepared speech.

“The first of many, I imagine,” he said. “Look, Luce, I know effort goes far beyond a few pastries and a latte. I just want you to know I’m prepared to try. I may not be as good as you are at communication, but that just means I have to put the work in. Which I’m more than willing to do, obviously. Well, I guess it isn’t obvious, or at least it wasn’t, but I hope it is now.”

I contemplated his words, thankful my mouth was full so I didn’t have to respond right away.

“And don’t feel like you need to say or do anything right now,” he said, reading my mind. “Or ever, really. I know I’ve lost the privilege to expect that. Just know that whatever you decide, I’ll be here.”

“With lattes?” I asked, fighting a smile.

“All the lattes in the world, if that’s what it takes.”

“I’m holding you to that,” I said.

“Which means you aren’t writing me off, then?”

I hated how easy it was for him to walk me right into what he wanted. We shared a soft smile, knowing he was right and I’d given myself away before I was willing to admit it.

“I suppose not,” I said, “but only because I get breakfast out of it.”

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