Page 92 of Weekends with You

“Depends,” I said, taking the glass from him and returning it to the cupboard. “Are you going to keep me up all night again with your snoring?”

He gasped, swatting at me with the dish towel. “I do not snore, I’ll have you know.” I rolled my eyes, surprised when he pulled me closer to him by my belt loop. “But I might keep you up all night with something else.” He brought his chest to mine, the gentle pressure soothing my racing heartbeat.

“We both have early flights,” I whispered.

“Then it’s a good thing we don’t plan on sleeping,” he said, lips grazing my ear as he spoke. “We’ll be sure not to miss them.” I leaned up to kiss him, and he held me by the jaw, stopping me just before our lips touched. “Come on.”

For the second night in a row, I took his hand and followed him upstairs, trying to keep my breathing steady. As we rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, we ran smack into Rory in the corridor, and the breath I was holding came out all at once.

“Mr. Kennedy, er, Rory, hi, we were just—”

Rory held up his hand, stopping my fumbling for everyone’s sake. “I was just checking a wonky radiator,” he said, using his hand to obscure his face. “You didn’t see me. Please, enjoy your evening.”

The three of us tried to stifle a collective giggle, whichturned into full-blown laughter once Henry and I were in the safety of his room.

“Bloody awkward, that, wasn’t it?” Henry said, flopping onto his back on the bed.

“Could have been worse, I suppose. Could have been Finn,” I said, imagining the scene he would have made if he saw us holding hands and whispering on our way to bed. We both shuddered at the thought. “At least let’s set an alarm while the moment’s temporarily ruined,” I said. “Just in case.”

I felt for my phone, but when I came up empty-handed, I figured I must have left it in my bag downstairs. “Mine’s on the nightstand,” Henry said, recognizing my dilemma. He was stretched out on top of the covers, arms over his head, making no indication of moving.

I reached for his phone to set the alarm, and that was when I saw the email.

No more than a few lines, a preview, lit up on the screen from hours ago. From the Amsterdam Housing Association. I was reading before I could tell myself to stop.

Henry, thanks for getting back to me earlier this week. I’m thrilled you’re still interested in the flat in Amsterdam Noord, and I...

“Do you need my passcode?” Henry asked, probably because I’d been holding his phone for a beat too long to just be setting an alarm. His voice was distant, like it was being carried by the wind from the shore. “Luce?”

“You’re moving to Amsterdam?” I fought to keep my voice measured, dragging my eyes from his phone to his face.

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking at me from under his furrowed brow. “What?”

I tossed him his phone, watching him as he studied the email. His expression was unreadable, so I waited for him to say something, anything, that would make this make sense.

“Oh god, Lucy,” he said eventually, sitting fully upright and rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t signed a lease or anything, I just—”

“Reached out to an agency this week about an apartment?”

“Right, yeah. The venue offered me something more permanent, so I reached back out to the agency. But I’m not sure that’s quite the same as moving, is it?” He reached for me, but I pulled away, putting as much distance between us as possible in the tiny bedroom. What was previously cozy became claustrophobic, the walls pressing closer with each shaky breath. “Oh, come on, Luce,” he said as I recoiled.

“‘Come on, Luce’? Don’t give me that, Hen, I’m not the one who is out of line here.” My voice came out clipped and cold, but there was no sense in trying to fight it.

“Out of line? I’ve hardly done more than send an email.”

“You can be so dense sometimes,” I said. “It wasn’t just an email. It was a job offer and an email about moving to a new city, and you sent it just a few days before you were seeing me? And told me about neither? Timing was shit, don’t you think?”

He fumbled for something to say, but we both knew he wasn’t getting off easy. I’d heard enough excuses, and I needed honesty. He owed me that.

“You’re right,” he said eventually, dipping his head toward his chest. “Timing was shit. Timing of this whole year has been shit, hasn’t it? What am I supposed to do?” He brought his eyes back to mine and I had to take a deep breath to find some resolve.

“You’re supposed to just be honest,” I said. “You said this was only temporary. You told me you’d be chuffed if we couldspend more than two days together at a time. That London might actually have something to offer you, and that you thought you wanted to move but then when it was at your fingertips, you realized it might not be what you wanted after all. What’s the truth, Hen?”

He gathered his hair in his hands, pulled it a little, then dropped it again and pushed it out of his eyes. “Right, I know. I’m not sure this counts as a lie, though, does it? I just, I didn’t think you’d take that to mean I wasn’t still considering leaving.”

“Classic,” I said, waving a hand in the air.

“And what d’you mean by that?”

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