Page 3 of Lessons in Forgiving
The shadow that moved across Henry’s face was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Like it was nothing, he put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and said, “That’s right, sir.”
I smiled, too, because I knew Dad’s favorite thing about Americans was that they regularly called him sir.
“You a fan?” Henry asked.
And I’d never had a particular problem with my family’s bluntness, but when Juan Castillo shook his head and went on to say “Not really”—language barrier or not—I wished they had a filter for moments like these. The smile on my face fell.
I expected the same reaction from Henry. But instead of offended gasps, insults thrown, and my little lie revealed, his smile seemed to be genuine. “Yeah.” He snickered, sounding relieved more than anything. “Me neither.”
And then they bonded.
For a solid fifteen minutes, it was obvious to anyone in our vicinity that my dad knew the guy beside me—or his father, for that matter—better than I did. But as long as Mom had a smile on her face, seemed delighted by the conversation and wasn’t catching on to my lie, I was happy.
When my parents finally headed outside, the idea to take me back home with them seemingly all forgotten about, my sigh was so loud, it carried through the corridor. “You might’ve just accidentally saved my ass,Henry.”
“Well,Paula.” I could hear the grin in his voice. I didn’t have to look at him, and in fact, my eyes were still glued to the double doors that just closed behind my parents. “Always happy to help a friend out when she’s…” He trailed off, hoping I’d fill in the blanks. “When she’s what, actually?”
“Oh, you know.” I waved him off halfheartedly, my own smile audible. “Just trying to convince her parents she has a raging social life two days into college, before they change their mind and make her go to school back home.” I realized then that I was speaking about myself in third person, which was probably weird. Weirder than my explanation.
So, I cleared my throat, finally glanced his way, and gave a sheepish shrug when our eyes connected. “No biggie.”
“Of course.” The amusement in his voice made me hopeful that speaking about myself in third person hadn’t been as off-putting as I’d feared. “Should’ve guessed that one myself, actually. My bad.”
To really look at him, my head craned upward. He’d tamed his light brown hair in a casual-enough middle part, white T-shirt tugged into tailored pants and fitting snugly around his biceps. I blinked once.
I’ll be damned. Just my luck; Henry Pressley is irrefutably and undeniably… hot. Mind-blowingly gorgeous.
And I’d just spoken about myself in the third person to him.
When my eyes snapped back up to his dark green ones, he raised an eyebrow comically. “For what it’s worth,” he mused. “I think my performance might’ve changed their minds.” He nodded in the direction of their departure, though his gaze stayed fixed to mine. “Hope I’ll see you around?”
And I had a feeling I would.
“Here’s to hoping.”
CHAPTER 2
NOW
Two things occurred to me at once.
1. I was chasing my editor out of the building—something I definitely shouldn’t be doing.
2. I should, however, really work on my cardio.
“Ed, please!” Between labored breaths, it was all I got out, hoping I’d catch up to the man responsible for my entire future career before he would make it out of the building. “You know I need this,” I added. “More than all of them. You know I do.”
Instead of looking back at me, realizing I was right (and giving me the damn article), Eddie just shook his head. Continued his way down the stairs like he wasn’t crushing a piece of my would-be career with every step.
When he started taking two at a time, he muttered, “I’m sorry, Paula.” Half-heartedly, more focused on shoving the large wooden door open to escape into sunny freedom. “Really—”
Which was when I’d fully intentionally jumped the last four steps to throw myself in front of him. I only winced slightly when he bulldozed into me, and we almost went down on the stony ground in front of the building.
“Jesus Christ.” Eddie dusted off his beige sweater once he caught his footing. “Really?” He shook his head in so much disbelief, his blond hair flopped left and right. When his eyes leveled with mine again, and all I could do was blink at him, he took a deep breath. “Look, I know you want this story,” he said, unsure what to do with his hands—if he should comfortingly pat my shoulder or keep them swinging at his sides or scratch hishead. He decided on the latter. “But I can’t give it to you. It’s too important, and after everything that happened last year—”
I could not hear about my failures again, so I quickly cut him off.
“Eddie.” A hesitant laugh. “Ed. Look. You don’t understand.” I swallowed thickly. “I need this article to graduate!Anyarticle!”
