Page 66 of Lessons in Forgiving
Hall Beck University was one of the top schools in the country, yes, but it wasn’t an Ivy. And I think with this article they were trying to… compensate. For their lack of Ivy-status, presumably.
“Henry,” I didn’t look up from my screen, but I could feel him turn away from the coursework on his desk and toward me, cross-legged on his bed that stood headboard against the middle of the wall. “You’re smart and wealthy,” I assessed, only half-aware of what was coming out of my mouth.
He snickered. “Why thank you.” I could see him tilt his head in my periphery, but it wasn’t enough to draw my attention. “It takes a little more than some flattery to get me away from revisions, though,” he joked—like I wasn’t very aware of the fact that nothing could get him out of that chair tonight. Not until he’d go to bed in half an hour: ten PM on the dot.
My eyes rolled, and they finally trailed away from the paragraph I finished reading.
There wasn’t much of his usual neatly styled middle part left. Stray strands of brown hung into his face, and he must’ve driven his hand through it countless times for it to be as messy as it was.The loosely fitted T-shirt that was still snug around his arms drew my gaze to them a little longer. Grey sweatpants were such a rare sight, I couldn’t help but love them.
Domestic, I thought. This version of him was so domestic my heart swelled at the sight.
“My assessment was going somewhere,” I huffed, but my glare wasn’t genuine and the warm smile on my lips gave that away. “You’re smart and wealthy, Henry,” I repeated, and now he couldn’t help grinning either. “Why didn’t you go to an Ivy?”
“Ah,” he hummed. “The new article?”
I nodded, and he explained.
“HBU’s soccer team is better than most Ivy teams. I knew Coach Hepburn. My sister.” Henry thought for a moment, let his gaze wash over me, the way I sat on his bed in an old jersey, hair in a messy ponytail and the bags under my eyes probably deep and dark. And he got up.
Henry Parker Pressley left his work on the desk and walked the two steps over to his bed. “And you were here,” he muttered, took my laptop and placed it on his nightstand. Ignored my teasing protests until he joined me on his bed, coming so close my breath hitched.
It still did that around him. After two and a half years, Henry still made me hold my breath and blush.
I shook my head inches from his. “You didn’t know I’d be here,” I reminded him, but my voice was hushed, and I didn’t sound as amused as I had planned to.
“Intuition.” He shrugged. Followed me when I leaned onto my elbows until he hovered above me. “Maybe I knew without really knowing. Maybe my heart followed yours, and yours followed mine. And now we’re here.”
“I almost went to Brown,” I said.
“Then maybe I would’ve gone to Brown, too.” His eyes flickered across my face, restless, like he couldn’t get enough ofwhat he was seeing. “In every possible lifetime, I’m sure we’d still have met, Paula.”
Suddenly, my article and its research could wait. If Henry could abandon his work to be with me, surely I had to do the same. It was so rare, I wondered how we could celebrate. Several things came to mind.
I giggled. Into his chest. Buried my face in it only long enough to feel whatever color in my cheeks start draining.
“Where’s all this coming from?” And I wasn’t sure if I was asking about his flattery, the sweet words or the fact he had deviated from his schedule to join me in bed. At quarter to ten.
“I miss you,” he sighed into my hair.
I didn’t know why I was whispering. “I’m right here.”
“I know.” His forehead fell to mine, and I could feel his breath against my lips. Could feel the unspoken words between us.
But I’m never reallythere. You’re here, but we rarely get moments like this. When was the last time we weren’t both busy doing something else when we were together?
Henry didn’t say any of it. I didn’t dare to, either.
“Can I ask you something else?” I broke the silence because I couldn’t take it—not knowing what he was thinking. Whether his thoughts were leading him in the same direction.
Henry put a few inches between us, considering me for a moment and probably reading me like an open book. His lips twitched. “One more Ivy League question, Paula. And then we’ll both turn our work brains off.”
I laughed, nodded. “You’re smart and wealthy,” I repeated, and finally managed to get a full smile out of him. The heavy air between us lifted, and I almost exhaled loudly with relief.
“We’ve established that.”
“Do you think I could interview one of your smart friends that don’t go to HBU?” Surely he knew enough people at IvyLeagues to volunteer one of them to me. “Friends that maybe go to Harvard or Yale or Brown.”
Henry kissed the tip of my nose, my left cheek and then my right. He huffed against my lips, and his eyes flicked from them back up to my eyes.
