I finally kissed him, and it felt right. Yet, a dull ache lingers somewhere deep with the regret of not letting him insooner. I thought I was protecting myself, but the bitterness of wasted opportunities is too strong to ignore.
My car closes in on his when he pulls up to the stop sign. The stray dog happily pokes its head out of the backseat window of Henry’s car, momentarily distracting me.At least someone’s having a good time.
I should be panicking, and this should feel overwhelming, but instead, I feel a bundle of nervous excitement humming beneath my skin. I tried keeping my distance from Henry, but we couldn't stay apart. We were like two magnets, impossible to keep apart. Every time I told myself to keep him at arm’s length, there he was—kind, patient, and sincere.
A loud honk sounds behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. I hadn’t realized Henry had already turned the corner. I press down on the gas and follow, my heart hammering against my chest.
Still, doubt presses against my mind. We haven’t talked about anything, and there is still so much up in the air. I need to keep my head on straight until there’s a bigger conversation.
We'll drop off the dog, make some polite conversation, and go home.Then,once we sit down and talk things through, I can let myself believe this might actually work. I needed to know the logistics before moving forward.
No matter how intoxicating the idea of letting go feels, it’s not enough to push the thought of Milo and all my other responsibilities away. I’m still a mom, and Henry is still a man who is leaving at the end of the summer.
It takes us a total of twenty minutes to drive to Henry’s dad’s house on the other side of Honey Grove. It was the perfectamount of time to calm myself down before the awkwardness ensued.
Thankfully, the stray that bounds out of his Prius is enough to keep our kiss off of front-page news.
I laugh when the large black lab bounds out of Henry’s backseat, its tail wagging furiously as it sniffs the unfamiliar driveway. He looks distraught when he inspects the backseat of his otherwise clean car.
“And this is why I’m a cat person,” Henry mumbles.
I peek behind him, and sure enough, I see a bunch of muddy paw prints decorating the interior of the small area. “Wow, that’s rough, and that’s coming from the mother of a toddler.”
Henry turns toward me with a smile I wish he’d keep to himself. The kind of smile that makes my stomach do cartwheels out of thin air. It’s hard not to miss the feeling of his lips when he looks like he wants to reach out and grab me.
“Noted,” he says, brushing his hands in his jeans. “Next time we find a stray, it’s going in your car.”
The wordsnext timefuel the electric current sweeping through me. “Ha, good luck. You’ll have to fight Milo for backseat privileges.”
We share a quick laugh, which feels like a nice reprieve from the charged and unresolved feeling I can practically taste in the air. After a few moments, the laughter dies down, and I’m anxious to fill the space with something.
“Does your dad know we’re coming?”
Henry’s smile fades slightly, his gaze flicking to the front door. “Yeah. I called him on our way here.”
His tone is casual, but something about the tightness in his posture tells me he doesn’t feel comfortable here. Henry told me a little about him and his dad losing touch when he was a teenager, but it feels like there’s more to the story. Before I can press him further, the dog lets out an excited bark when the front door creaks open.
George Cooke fills the door frame. For a second, I almost forgot that Henry’s dad is also my landlord. I have to do a double-take to make sure. Being here as more than just a tenant feels strange. It’s like stepping into a story that I have no business being a part of.
If I hadn’t known George was Henry’s father before, it would have been easy to tell now. Henry and George both wore glasses that concealed eyes with my new favorite shade of amber. There are a few more similarities here and there, but it’s hard to ignore my favorite part of one man on another.
“Hey, Dad,” Henry replies, devoid of the warmth I’m used to hearing from him.
“Hey, Son,” George says in an upbeat tone, the complete opposite of the man standing beside me. “Hello, Emma. How’s the sink working?”
“Hi, Mr—George,” I stutter, remembering that he asked me to use his first name when addressing him. “It hasn’t given me any issues. Thank you for fixing that.”
“No problem. I want to make sure you and Milo are comfortable there. I hope Henry hasn’t been giving you any trouble,” he says with a glint in his eyes.
I know he’s joking. It’s something a father and son are supposed to do, but the way Henry’s stance locks up tells me that this isn’t that kind of relationship. I smile at George and say, “Henry has been a perfect gentleman. He’s been very helpful, too.”
“Oh, really?” George says, with a suggestive flare to his tone. Heat rises to the balls of my cheeks when I feel Henry’s eyes on me. When I notice his shoulders begin to relax, I decide it’s worth the embarrassment.
“Yes,” I clear my throat, “I’m taking an online college course, and he’s been tutoring me.”
“That’s great,” George says, flashing me a big smile that feels all too familiar. Thankfully, our rescued stray decides ithas had enough of sniffing the driveway and runs up to George, who is still standing on the front porch.
“And who’s this little guy?”
