Henry pulls open the door, and when he sees me, he grins.
My heart lifts.
He looks like he very recently stepped out of the shower. His chestnut hair’s damp, and there are spots of water across his gray T-shirt, like he threw it on without bothering to towel off completely. He’s wearing chino shorts, and his feet are bare, revealing flip-flop tan lines, an attribute that’s so very Florida. I smile, thinking of my own perpetually striped feet.
“I was just heading over to see you,” he says, waving me inside. “I wasn’t sure you were ever gonna come this way again.”
“Oh, Henry. Like you could get rid of me so easily.”
He shuts the door, then snags my hand. “You’re assuming I want to be rid of you,” he says softly. “And that’s where you’re wrong.”
He kisses me, a gentle press of his mouth that feels likeI’m really glad you’re here. It’s a shame when he draws back—such a shame that I loop my arms around his neck and hug him close, breathing in his soapy scent, finding comfort in his height and his solidity. He holds me like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing.
Tears of relief well in my eyes.
I should’ve come sooner.
“Do you want to do the apology thing?” he whispers, hisbreath moving the hairs at the back of my neck, making me shiver. “Or should we just agree that the last week’s been shit and arguing isn’t worth our time?”
I smile. “Let’s go with the second one.”
He reaches up to unwind my arms, then takes my hand and walks me to the couch. I curl up beside him, feeling better than I have in a long time. I might not have found a new job yet, and I can’t look my sister in the eye without a rush of resentment, but Gabi and I are okay. Henry and I are okay.
Life is okay.
Henry
She tells me about making up with Gabi, which she hasn’t mentioned in any of our sporadic surface-level texts over thelast few days. I’m frustrated with myself, knowing that this huge thing happened in her life and I was too stubborn to be around for it.
She traces her fingertips over my palm, sensing my aggravation. I relax as she tells me about the slow mending of her most important friendship. She doesn’t delve into what fractured it in the first place, but I’m so happy to see her happy, I resist the urge to pry. When she asks if I want to go to Hudson’s—one of the lesser dicks, she reminds me—tomorrow night, I tell her I’m in.
Then she asks what I’ve been up to. I give her the rundown: running, studying, keeping track of my dad. “Oh, and I readDelphina,” I say, like I’m only just remembering.
She pops upright. “Shut up.”
“What?” I shrug. “I did.”
Her gaze narrows. “The first book?”
“Yeah. And then the rest of the trilogy.”
She looks genuinely shocked.
I laugh. “You’ve gone on about how good the story is. What’d you expect?”
“Uh,notthat you’d read them,” she sputters. She swats at my chest. “So? What’d you think?”
“Unputdownable,” I say honestly.
“Ha!” she chirps, grinning. “Iknewyou’d be into them!”
I’m into you, I think.
Six months ago, I was sure I was in love. Maybe I was; maybe love comes in many forms and varying degrees. What Whitney and I had was intense and exciting, scary in a way I don’t need to experience again. It’s different with Piper. Our relationship is also intense and exciting and a little scary, but a lot less taxing. Arguing with her sucks, but making up doesn’t feel like surrendering.
I can’t go back to Spokane.
The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity.
