Page 33 of Lessons in Forgiving
“How come?”
“Oh.” Henry waved the question off, diverting his gaze again. “It helps me relax.”
Which was about the most absurd statement for someone like me, who wound down with a good movie or a bubble bath. Not a five-minute-mile paced run.
“Plus,” he added. “Around that time, other… forms of cardio fell out of my routine. So I had to substitute.”
“Other forms of— ?” I caught myself just in time.
Other forms of cardio. For about a year now.
When he looked back at me—still sprawled across his treadmill and shirtless, by the way—I knew we were talking about the same thing.
Other forms of cardio.
“Surely—” I cut myself off again.Surely you’re still participating inother forms of cardio, I wanted to say. But that wasn’t where this conversation should go. Even if I really wanted it to.
So, instead of asking how often, how many, and which girls he’d slept with since we’d broken up—and if he would be so kind as to share both first and last names, as well as social-media handles—I said, “That makes sense.” And moved on.
Like any self-respecting journalist would.
Henry talked me through his workout split, set and reps as he went along with his exercises, then explained why he opted for exactly those. Just watching him felt exhausting, but he got through the entire thing and still had a smile on his face.
It was past nine by the time we walked out into the parking lot.
Like Maeve had said, it was warm enough for leggings and the oversized T-shirt I’d changed into aftermyvery demanding workout.
“I’m usually a little quicker,” Henry said, eyes drifting away from his watch.
“Oh.”My fault, obviously. “Sorry. Did I mess up your schedule?” I didn’t think even a natural disaster would make him divert from his holy agenda of the day, but maybe…
Henry gasped, clutching his chest. “I’m offended.Really,” he stressed. “You should know me better than to suspect something so criminal.” Clearly overplaying his part, I guessed he really wouldn’t divert from his schedule for anything.
He’d planned for the extra time. Of course he had.
“What’s next?” I asked, watching Henry open the passenger door. He waited for me to climb in, and I thought out loud when I guessed, “A protein-heavy breakfast?”
Maybe his schedule was still buried somewhere deep in the back of my mind, because after he shut my door and jogged to the other side of the car to open his, he sported a wide smile.
“So you do know me,” he drawled as he slid behind the wheel.
He was clearly pleased by the fact, but in the few seconds between getting in and starting the car, his mood sobered. “If you don’t want to come to my place, though.” With a glance at me, he turned the key in the ignition and got the car rolling in a silence I wasn’t sure was deliberate. “If you’re uncomfortable, or, I don’t know, it’s too weird or personal for you. I’d completely understand. I can pick you up after.”
And it seemed for the first time since our… collaboration had started, Henry fully grasped the position I was in. Really, this was the first time he’d kind of acknowledged that we’d broken up at all. Sure, teasing comment here and there, but never anAre you okay?orI’m sorry.
Probably because he wasn’t. Which was fair enough.
“Is it for you?” I asked. My gaze stuck to the passing buildings. “Weird, I mean. Or too personal. Both?”
Henry laughed as softly as my tone had been. “Never.”
I could feel his attention flicker to me, but I didn’t meet his gaze. Kept my eyes glued to the window, scared of what he might see if I looked at him now. The raw emotion, the vulnerability.
“I just want you to be comfortable. I never considered what this might—” He hesitated. “After everything. You know? Sorry about that.”
I scoffed, finally turning toward him when that weird, hollow feeling in my chest transformed into something else. I couldn’t quite grasp what it was until I spoke.
“For what? Breaking up with me?”Ah, that feeling had turned into disdain. I could hear it in my tone.
