Page 67 of Lessons in Forgiving
“Of course.”
CHAPTER 27
NOW
What happened in New York, stayed in New York.
And Henry and I took our agreement from last night very seriously. No stray touches, no accidental brushing of fingers or hands or hips. Just Henry, always at least five feet between us.
Until his hand had slipped from the armrest between us to my leg, thirty minutes into the flight. He’d been asleep for twenty of it. I’d tensed, tried not to let my eyes trail from the document I’d been updating with the weekend’s material, and pushed through.
Pushed through the way his touch scorched through the fabric of my jeans.
Friends, I’d reminded myself. We’d slipped into old habits last night and shouldn’t have. We both agreed we would try.
To forget. To stay away from each other.
From behind the wheel of his car, I could feel his gaze on me, just briefly. We’d almost made it back home.
“Thank you,” he said unprompted. My brow furrowed. If anything, I should be the one thanking him. Right? Despite that hiccup last night, I’d gotten great material and even greater connections over the weekend. Stuff I’d never have without him.
“For what?”
He shrugged. “Coming with me?” It was a question more than anything else, and I wasn’t quite sure if he knew the answer.
“You didn’t even want me to come,” I pointed out with a snicker, my head against the window as we rolled past street names I was starting to recognize.
“That’s—” He contemplated, hesitated. For a second, I thought he might’ve been close to letting his guard down, to saying something without thinking thoroughly about it first. Unheard of! “Not true.” He settled on. “It was nice, you know? Having you around. Even if you weren’t supposed to be there.” He frowned at that.
“Henry Parker Pressley!” I gasped, lips twitching despite myself. “Did you just admit that things can be good even if you haven’t planned for them?”
He stopped the car next to the curb and threw me an exasperated look. “I’m being serious,” he pressed, not really looking the part. “I’m glad you came.”
Henry got out of the car to jog around it, then opened my door. And when I watched his smile grow, suspecting I was the reason for it, I couldn’t help but think I’d made a good choice.
With the profile. With going to New York. With beingall in—whatever that meant.
Those were the first good choices I’d made in a while. After a string of bad ones (or just onereallybad one), that put me off ever making them again.
I came to a halt by the walk-up to the house, beckoning him to hand me my stuff. Reluctantly, he let it slide to the ground by my feet. Frowning, his eyes snapped up to mine. “The bag’s really not heavy,” I argued.
“Still.”
My eyes rolled theatrically, but I smiled. “Thank you.” Remembering his words in the car, I added, “I’m glad I came, too.”
And I really was. Not just because it’s what had left us standing so close now, I had to tilt my head up to connect our eyes. Something glistened in the green of his.
Henry huffed, the sound hesitant. He was aware that this was the moment he should turn around and get back in the car. Where I should wave goodbye and get inside.
We did neither.
And although I wasn’t sure what I’d wanted instead, I knew that Ididn’twant to move. That I didn’t want to miss the proximity of his tall frame or the soft smell of citrus the breeze blew my way.
Despite what we’d said last night, I didn’t want him to leave. Maybe it was the way the sun played in his hair, the way it almost seemed a dark shade of blond in the light. The way he squinted, nose scrunching and lips quirking. The way he seemed likemyHenry, just for a moment.
I diverted my eyes quickly. My cheeks were at least a shade darker when I finally turned my head and Henry cleared his throat like he didn’t know what to do or say next, either.
I wanted to screamLeave!but I didn’t really want him to.
