Page 48 of Time for You
Daphne watched Henry sleep while the coffee maker burbled, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath. There was something about his words the other night that she couldn’t shake. The way his voice had roughened as he spoke about walking away—he’d made a choice like that in his life, she was sure of it. It wasn’t his profession, although the revelation that he hated it had been a surprise, too. There was a lot more to him than he let on, that much was for sure.
Henry shifted on the couch but didn’t open his eyes, so she poured herself a cup of coffee and walked out onto the balcony.
The sun was rising behind her, and the city below was limned in gold. It was still cold, but it felt good, bracing. She wrapped her handsaround her mug and remembered the warmth of the tea last night, the care he had taken with her.
What if I didn’t have to do this?The idea was terrifying and freeing all at once. Maybe there was something out there that would fit her better, something that wouldn’t keep weighing down on her like a piece of granite on her chest. But finding that, eventhinkingabout it, was like looking at the sun. It hurt, and that hurt went deep.
But she couldn’t stop contemplating it, like pressing on a bruise to see if it would still hurt the same way each time.
And at the same time, it felt like she could breathe finally. She was surfacing after a long time holding her breath, and the oxygen felt so good, so intoxicating, she couldn’t get enough of it.
Behind her the door slid open, and without even turning around, she knew it was Henry. Ellie, even at her quietest, was too ebullient to move that silently. But Daphne still couldn’t bring herself to look back at him, too afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. Probably not judgment, but perhaps pity, and that was even worse.
“You must be cold,” he said, his voice pleasantly gravelly.
Daphne shrugged, her forearms propped on the railing. Henry approached, and something soft and warm brushed over her shoulders—the blanket he’d had on the couch. It felt good and smelled even better, like him. Daphne clutched it closed at her neck like a cape and risked a glance at him.
Henry was looking out over the city like she was, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. He took a sip, saying nothing.
“Did you sleep okay? The couch couldn’t have been very comfortable.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Modern couches are exceptionally comfortable. I was quite all right.”
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said, dragging her lower lip between her teeth.
Henry looked sideways at her. “On the contrary, my lady, I think I did.”
“You haven’t called me that in a while,” Daphne said over the loud, insistent thumping of her heart.
“Yes, well, I thought it prudent.”
“Why?”
Henry sipped his coffee without answering right away. “To remind myself.”
He was sending clear warning signals, the signs practically flashingstop pushing, let it go, but she couldn’t. “Of what?” The warmth of the blanket was melting into her, driving away a chill she hadn’t noticed.
“Of how dangerous you are for me.”
The words hung in the early-morning air. “Dangerous?” She tried to smile and play it off like a joke, but she couldn’t. Her mouth was too dry, her throat too tight.
“Aye. Dangerous.” His Scottish accent got thicker at times like this, moments when whatever it was between them started to take shape. He stole another look, one that dragged the remaining air from her lungs. “You know that.”
“Do I?” she asked, and at his arched eyebrow, she shook her head. “I mean it. I’m not doing anything on purpose.”
He huffed again, but he didn’t sound amused. “It may not be on purpose, but that doesn’t make it less dangerous to me.”
“How?” She turned to face him and touched his forearm. He was in a T-shirt and his skin was chilled in the early-morning breeze, but it still scalded her palm. “Henry, I know—actually no, I don’t know, but I think there’s something here, between us. And I know it’s different where you come from, but there’s nothing wrong with us having feelings. Or—acting on them.”
Henry’s eyes flashed. “That’s what you think this is about?”
“Um, yes?”
He shook his head and looked away. “I’m not that naive, Daphne.” There it was again, her name on his lips, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m a grown man. I understand what it is I’m feeling. And I’vespent long enough here that I know things are different. That doesn’t change anything.”
“Why not? We’re adults, and there’s no shame in what we’re feeling.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. She was still touching him, and he’d gone still as a statue, but he wasn’t moving away. “Because—being with you, Daphne, I can’t come back from that. I cannot walk away, not when I’ll have to, and I cannot leave my family alone and unprotected without me. They need me, but if I so much as kiss you, I won’t be able to. I know that.”
