Page 103 of Rewriting the Story

“And are you the one writing it?” she smirks.

“Why would that matter?”

“Well, I want it to be written well, and if you’re the one writing it, all will be fine.”

I scoff, my cheeks heating up at her compliment. “We’re writing it together, Ames. And it will be messy, chaotic, and beautiful.”

“Do you promise?” She smiles at me, her eyes gleaming under the lights of the paintings.

“I promise.”

40

All I Need to Hear by The 1975

“Didyouwanttocome up?” Henry asks me as I park.

“Oh, I don't have to,” I tell him, not wanting to make anything weird. I know we had a wonderful date, but I’m not expecting anything else from him tonight. I’m still working to make him trust me, and I wasn't lying when I told him I’m willing to work as long as it takes.

It’s only been a month and a half, and I’m sure he needs more time.

“Amelia.” He tilts his head at me. “Stop being weird and help me put these things in water.” He notes the flowers currently sitting in my back seat.

“Okay,” I concede, and the two of us head into his place. There’s a card burning a hole in the pocket of my purse that I didn't include with the flowers; I was worried it was too much.

But maybe I should just go for it and take a risk? Most of the time, the risks I would take didn't actually make me feel nervous—it usually involved me running from my feelings.

This is an entirely different scenario. My throat is dry, this sweater dress I’m wearing suddenly feels itchy, and my palms are starting to get sweaty.

As soon as I step into his space, I feel immersed in another world. Somehow, he has more books than he did in college, and the earth tones mixed with splashes of lighter colors make it seem not too big or too small.

This apartment feels like the most familiar place I’ve ever been. Henry always was a creature of habit, and this apartment reminds me of the one he had back in college—mostly because there are books everywhere. It sort of feels like I walked into a library.

“Hot chocolate?” he asks as he fills his vase with water.

“That sounds perfect.” I smile as I trace his bookshelves with my fingers, eventually seeing the shield he has for every single copy of his favorite book of all time. There’s a few translations of it, some sprayed edges, and his original copy he was nice enough to lend to me back in college.

“You want to read my favorite book?” he asks me, a confused expression on his face.

“Of course I do,” I tell him. “It’s the closest I can get to understanding you on a different level. Unless you want me to poke around in your brain. I’m sure I can arrange something of the sort.”

Then he laughs at me, wrapping me in his arms in the middle of the study room, and I don’t tell him to pull away.

He brought it to me the next morning before he stole my favorite book from my nightstand.

“Here,” Henry says as he hands me a mug, breaking me out of the memory I was in before the two of us take a seat on his couch.

“Do you have a CD player by any chance?” I ask before I can stop it.

“Uh, yeah,” he says as he sets his mug down on the table, heading to another room. I hear him fumbling around for a few minutes before he returns with a pair of headphones as well. “What is this for?”

“Another surprise,” I say as I grab my purse and pull out the envelope, handing it to him. “For you.”

“Wow. First flowers, now a card,” he smiles at me. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Everything,” I say, tears already filling my eyes. “This is merely a fraction of what you deserve, Henry.”

He reads the card before he takes the disc and inserts it into the player, my heart beating out of my chest. He goes to press play, but I grab his hand before he presses the button.