Page 55 of Time for You
“I want to go on a date. A real date, where we get dressed up and go somewhere nice to eat and split a bottle of wine.” She looked down and away, wondering why the admission was making her blush.
“Why would that make me laugh?” Henry asked.
“It’s just—cheesy. Corny. Outdated.”
“Is it what you want?”
“It is,” Daphne said.
“Then where do you want to eat?”
Daphne clasped the necklace her parents had gotten her as a med school graduation present around her neck and stepped back, her stomach oddly fluttery. They had reservations at a restaurant in the WarehouseDistrict, a new place by some up-and-coming chefs that featured the kitchen in the center, so Henry would be able to watch how they prepared food. Given his obsession with cooking shows, she thought he might like that, and she’d been wanting to try it but hadn’t had an excuse for dropping quite that much money on one dinner before now.
The restaurant itself wasn’t overtly fancy, but since this was her fancy date night, dammit, Daphne had gone for a simple black dress and heels. Dressy but not fussy. She forced herself to stop smoothing her hair back and adjusting the neckline of her dress and just go out into the living room, where Henry and Vibol were bickering over the correct way to tie a tie.
“Hey, Daph,” Vibol said with a half glance her way. “Your man’s almost ready, if he would just. Stop. Fidgeting.”
Henry glanced her way and went abruptly still. Slowly he turned to face her, his eyes dragging up and down her body in a way she could almostfeel. The tips of his ears turned red, and she bit her lip, absurdly pleased that even after they’d slept together, he could get flustered just looking at her. “Are you ready, my lady?” he asked formally, after the silence between them had drawn out long enough that Vibol appeared ready to snap.
“Ready,” she confirmed, and took his offered arm. There might not be much time for them, but she’d be damned if she wasted a second.
Henry eyed the wine list carefully, a vaguely amused look on his face, before ordering a bottle for them to split. Henry had been enthralled when they arrived, delighted to be able to watch the chefs at work, and had torn his eyes away from them only when it was time to choose the wine. He had done a hilarious double take when he first saw the prices, although he had since recovered, mostly because Daphne had assured him she could afford it. When the server was safely out of earshot, Daphne raised her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”
Henry shrugged. “All the dates for the wine are in the past from now, but sometimes it still feels like those years are in the future.”
Daphne considered that. It had seemed like Henry had adapted to the twenty-first century very seamlessly by now, but he was still a man out of time. “What’s it like, though? The past?”
The server returned with the bottle, and they both leaned back, waiting until she’d departed again. “Quieter,” he said thoughtfully. “And darker, although the night sky is brighter. Getting dressed is far more involved, especially for women, and the clothing is a lot less comfortable.”
“But what’s it like for you? What do you miss?”
“My family, of course. And George.” Henry took a sip of wine, playing with the stem of the glass. “There’s fewer demands on your attention there. Makes it easier to be absorbed in work, although harder to be informed. You have so many choices here, so many options when it comes to everything, that I think it’s easy to be overwhelmed, while back home everything is just—quieter. Not necessarily simpler, but quieter.”
“You make it sound lovely,” Daphne said.
“It is—was,” Henry corrected himself. “In some ways. In others, I’m not so sure. People’s lives are freer now, less constricted. Not just women, either. I feel more like myself here, and I don’t think I ever really thought about it that way back then. My sisters would be happier here, and George, too. Maybe even my mother, although it’s hard to imagine her in something like jeans.”
“Have you ever thought about seeing what their lives were like? Looking into it?” Daphne asked. The server set their plates down, and they tucked into their first course.
“I talked about it with Ellie once. But she thought because I’m planning to go back, it wouldn’t be a good idea. Might screw things up, somehow.” He didn’t look up at her while speaking, and once again the specter of his departure appeared between them.
Daphne swallowed over the lump in her throat. “What’s something you’re looking forward to? When you go back?”
Henry paused, gazing over at the open kitchen for long enough that Daphne wondered if he hadn’t heard her question. “The feel of the fireplace in the evening. Modern heating is marvelous, don’t get me wrong, but I miss spending evenings reading in front of the fireplace with my mother and Annie and Mags, hearing the hiss and crackle of logs and feeling the heat when I approach the hearth.”
Part of Daphne wanted to protest that he could experience that in the twenty-first century, that they had fireplaces here, too. But she knew that wasn’t really what he missed; he missed his family, the feeling of comfort that came from beinghome. She couldn’t blame him for that and knew she would probably miss something equally quotidian, if she had accidentally fallen through a time portal. Probably just sitting around with Ellie on a quiet morning, drinking coffee and doing a crossword puzzle. Nothing that on the surface couldn’t be replicated elsewhere, but would never feel the same without Ellie.
“I’m sorry, I’ve made you sad,” Henry said. “I didn’t mean to. This is supposed to be a date, and I’m given to understand these should be light and fun.”
“They’re whatever they need to be,” Daphne said, and then did something that she never would have thought she’d do. She stood up and walked around the edge of the table, bending down and kissing him solidly. A few tables around them broke into scattered claps and nervous giggles, and Daphne straightened, smiling down at him. “I love you, Henry. No matter what.”
Henry tangled his fingers with hers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “I love you too, Daphne. Always.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“And you trust this man?” Henry asked for the hundredth time.
Brittany shrugged. “My cousin said he’s not like, a murderer or anything.”
