When I return to the kitchen, Henry is leaning against the counter, swirling his wine while deep in thought. He looks comfortable in the warm glow of my outdated kitchen, and that makes my heart sink.
“You don’t have to keep fussing over me, you know.”
I join him and lean against the counter with my glass of wine. “Fussing?”
“Yes. You’ve apologized countless times, and you’ve gone above and beyond to make sure my pants were okay.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of wine. “I’m sorry for being a good neighbor.”
“There’s another apology,” he says with a wink. My body reacts before my mind and decides a blush is a good response.
Before the moment dips into a cloak of awkwardness, Henry changes the subject. “So, Emma, tell me about yourself.”
I tilt my head at the question. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask, but it’s been so long since anyone has asked me totalk about myself. People usually ask me how Mi is doing or how Colt is.
“There’s really not much to say,” I admit with a sigh.
“That can’t be true,” Henry says while examining me with his eyes. “Fine then. Tell me the story behind the tattoo behind your ear.”
My hand flies up to my right ear as I trace the outline of a hummingbird I had tattooed there when I was eighteen. I often keep it covered by my hair, so I’m surprised he noticed it.
“I used to love hummingbirds when I was younger. My nana had a bunch on her front porch, and when my mom and I moved to Honey Grove, she let me take one with us. I used to sit on the front porch for hours when my mo—” I pause for a moment, debating the next sentence. “When I was bored and just watch them go crazy at the feeder. The humming sound of their wings made me feel at peace in some weird way. It’s hard to explain.”
Henry smiles at my answer and reaches his hand down to slightly lift his pant leg. There, on the lower side of his outer calf, sits what looks like aWonder Womansymbol.
“Wonder Woman?”
He lets out a small laugh that ripples through his entire body. “No, it’s actually the symbol for the bandWeezer.”
“Really? Like the band that sings that song about Beverly Hills?”
“Yes,” he says with a glint in his eye. “I’m surprised you knew that. I got it in college when they were one of my favorite bands, and I thought I was beingedgy. Most people do think it’s the Wonder Woman symbol, so sometimes I’ll humor them and say I got it for mymamá. I like your story much better though.”
I smile and shake my head. If only he knew the real story behind my tattoo. But that was a story for another time.
“Okay. Tell me something else about yourself,” I say,digging a little deeper. I could easily push him out of the door and tell him I’d return his pants some other time, but I was enjoying the ease of our conversation. And as long as he stayed a respectable distance away, we might even be able to be friends.
Henry takes a slow sip of his wine but keeps his eyes connected with mine. “I moved to Honey Grove for a fresh start.”
I expect something light and humorous, but the sincerity of his answers catches me off guard. “A fresh start?”
His lips curve into a relaxed smirk. “Yeah.”
I’m tempted to ask for more information, but I stop myself. If he was going to tell me, he wouldn’t have provided such a lackluster response. Then again, it wasn’t like I was an open book. Maybe he had his reasons. I knew I did.
We stare into each other’s eyes for a second too long, and the air shifts between us. It feels charged and heavy—ready to unleash at any moment.
Henry steps closer. He’s now in the bubble that makes it hard for me to picture him as a friend. He’s so close that I can’t imagine what my hearing is like without the incessant pounding in my ears.
I surprise myself by keeping my feet planted in place. When he reaches out, I don’t flinch. I close my eyes, and he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, exposing my tattoo.
“Hermosa,” Henry whispers. I can’t remember the phrase from two years of Spanish class in high school, but his eyes say everything.
My breath catches when his fingertips lightly graze my cheek. I lean into the feeling of his softness—a stark contrast to what I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Emma,” he says. My name sounds like an invitation, beckoning me to close the gap between our bodies.
My eyes flicker to his lips, considering the invitation. All Ihave to do is lean in. It would be so easy, and I know it would feel so good. Maybe for a moment, I could forget all the reasons I shouldn’t do this.
