Page 29 of Lessons in Forgiving
Henry nodded; elbows propped on the table between us. He seemed pleased. “In a good way. It’s refreshing to see Wren smile every now and then, and no one does it like Laila Levison.”
I hummed in approval, and my eyes drifted onto my phone for the first time in a while.
45:16, 45:17, 45:18.The seconds ticked by like my heart hadn’t just stopped.Forty-five minutes?It couldn’t have been that long. There were literally five useful minutes in the entire exchange.
“Mierda,” I cursed. “I’m supposed to be the one asking questions, Henry. You’re supposed to do the talking.” A groan bubbled in the back of my throat. “No one is asking for a cover profile on Paula Castillo, shunned college journalist.”
Henry huffed, the epitome of calm, cool and collected. The opposite of me. Then, tilting his head, he asked as if it didn’t mean anything, “What if I just prefer listening to you?”
I tried desperately to come up with a response that wouldn’t embarrass me. So the seconds ticked by, and in the silence that lingered, I’d come to the conclusion that Henry Pressley was making this difficult for the sheer sake of his own amusement.
“And they should,” he added.
“What?”
“They should want to write a profile on Paula Castillo,unjustifiablyshunned college journalist.”
I laughed, mostly to override that feeling wreaking havoc in my stomach. “And who would read that?”
“I would.”
He could not keep having this effect on me. I tried not to nervously giggle, instead clearing my throat with a finality that would hopefully stop him from… doing whatever it is he was doing. Flirting, maybe. For whatever reason.
Henry mirrored me. “Alright, Paula Castillo,” he said. “What do you want to know? We have about ten minutes left.”
My eyes jumped between him and my questions, an incredulous look on my face. “Go on,” he urged. “We’ll make them count.”
I took a deep breath, then nodded once. “Ready for a speed run?” I wiggled my notes in the air between us.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
CHAPTER 12
NOW
There was a drastic difference between my best friend and me. When my alarm rang at six on a Saturday morning, I reluctantly forced myself out of bed. Maeve, on the other hand, had just gotten back from her morning run. “You have to be possessed,” I grumbled begrudgingly, watching her close the front door.
For the first time in my life, I regretted not liking coffee. Still, I forced another sip down my throat. “Ah,” I winced, leaning against our kitchen counter for support. “Battery acid.”
Maeve laughed as if it wasn’t still the middle of the night.
She took a sip from the water bottle previously strapped to her waist and shook her head. “This.” She gestured toward herself. “Is normal. But seeing you up at the crack of dawn, drinkingcoffee.” She stressed. “Leads me to believe you’re the one not in your right mind.”
I groaned, and it took all the energy I could muster this early in the morning. “I feel dead. Do I look dead?”
“Yes.” She didn’t even look at me. Taking off her running shoes, she asked, “What are you up to?”
My nose twitched at the thought. “The gym.”
Maeve whipped her head in my direction, scrutinizing me as if I’d just told her I’m going to the moon. “Henry’s profile?” she guessed. Correctly, of course. Then, unnecessarily, she added, “Like that?”
I glanced at my sweatpants and the oversized T-shirt I’d thrown on in desperation ten minutes ago. I couldn’t have found the energy in me to care what I looked like, even if it was my ex-boyfriend I was meeting.
“It’s gym appropriate,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Honey.” Maeve shot me a pretend-pitiful look, her lip twitching in amusement. “You wouldn’t know gym appropriate if it was an eight-wheeler and ran you over.” Maybe not.
“I’m not the one working out,” I clarified. Henry was. And perhaps that prospect got me to take another sip of coffee. I grimaced before I went on to say, “There’s no need to make my outfit a whole… thing.”
