Page 53 of Lessons in Forgiving
CHAPTER 22
NOW
I woke up on Henry’s shoulder, corners of my mouth wet.
It’s funny how life worked sometimes. Here I was, unable to get an ounce of rest last night and spending twenty dollars to metaphorically hold Henry’s hand through his first flight, only to sleep through the entirety of it. And Henry probably still ended up with that drool on his hoodie.
I wouldn’t know, I was too afraid to check.
To add to the humiliation of that, I’d woken up with a stomach so empty, it felt as if I hadn’t eaten in a week. Which made me realize I’d been so occupied with complaining about the black coffee, I’d forgotten about breakfast.
And now, on the bridge, I remembered—“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, throwing a desperate glance across my shoulder. Henry stopped beside me.
The blonde flight attendant sported her best customer-service smile, wishing each guest a good day and thanking them for flying with her airline. All while she was completely oblivious to the fact I hadn’t paid for that seat. “I forgot to—”
But Henry nudged me along gently. I turned to him, honestly a little frantic, because I hadn’t paid, and that poor girl would probably lose her job because of it—because ofme. His smile felt a little too easy. A little too knowing.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, as if it was that easy. As if he knew what I was talking about in the first place.They were going to fire her for this!I wanted to scream. “I took care of it.”
I deflated. Like a balloon and his words a needle. “What do you mean?”
As in, he charmed his way into notpaying? I could see it. Hehadbeen dubbed the talk of the plane.
“She came over with the machine, like halfway through the flight. Since you were passed out.” He glanced my way, amusement glimmering in his green eyes. “And I didn’t want to wake you, I just paid it.”
I blinked up at him. Once, twice. “You were not supposed to do that.”
I’dbeen the one who wanted to dohima favor. Now, not only hadn’t I been there for him for the flight, I hadn’t even paid for the seat. Henry had essentially paid to be drooled on. One glance at his shoulder revealed the damp patch and confirmed my fear.
“It’s nothing,” Henry assured me. “Besides, Heather thought we weresooooocute together.” He didn’t try to hide the teasing tone in his voice. In fact, it was on full display. Paired with a matching smirk and a cocked brow. “How couldn’t I pay for my girlfriend’s seat? When she wanted to sit next to mesobadly?”
It wasn’t just my little white lie being revealed that brought color to my cheeks, but the wordgirlfriendout of Henry’s mouth. It reminded me of when that had been true, when he’d hold my hand and kiss my lips. My stomach dropped at the thought, and I groaned.
“Fuck off”, I huffed, only half joking. “Here I was trying to do something nice for you.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest like I was five years old and hadn’t gotten my way. “And this is the thanks I get?”
We—Icontinued stomping out of the airport, while Henry navigated us, only stopping outside the terminal’s sliding doors with a snicker. His eyes searched the parked cars. “What?” I huffed, and I wasn’t proud of the tone in my voice. “Can’t find your driver?” Mocked pity laced my voice, and I pouted to really sell my point. “It’s almost like you can’t just throw money at things and expect them to work.”
Alright, yes, maybe I still wasn’t over those twenty dollars and tried to compensate massively for the fact that I’d drooled on my ex-boyfriend.
His eyes sliced to mine at the remark, a puzzled glare in his expression.
“Theygotusa driver,” he said slowly, amending my very unserious guess. He looked across his shoulder one last time before nodding in the same direction. “And he’s right there.”
Black SUV. Matching sunglasses on his big nose and fully suited up, the guy looked like he was straight out of a movie. The way he stood on the curb beside the car, holding a sign in front of his round belly.
Henry Pressley. Paula Castillo. New York Blue Eagles.
I tried to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of my stomach at the way our names looked on a sign. Like they belonged together.
“You would’ve probably already seen him if you weren’t so busy trying to argue.” But Henry smiled as he said the words, and it seemed nothing could get him to argue with me. Nothing could rile him up enough to be mad. Not even my piss-poor attitude.
The driver offered to take my bag, then opened my door, and Henry exchanged a few words with the man in black once I’d crawled into the backseat. He joined me a minute later.
“Don’t tell me what I’m trying to do,” I snapped even before he could close his door.
“I’m not,” he said. “But you know we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you weren’t hungry.”
And the way he still knew me so well was… shocking. Kind of. Another part of me wasn’t surprised at all, and it only irritated me further.
