Page 54 of Painted Truths

Tapping gently, remembering what I'd witnessed the last time I'd entered the same door uninvited, I hear his voice call from within.

"Come on in, Olivia. Make yourself comfortable."

I cross the threshold, and my smile widens as I sit down in the seat across the desk from Henry's own. "Thank you for inviting me."

He makes quick work of divvying up several different types of Thai food and, after handing me a plate that holds way more than I would ever manage, he sits back in his seat and tucks in.

He handles his chopsticks the same way he does everything else in his life; like he was born to do it.

We eat in silence for several minutes, avoiding eye contact until the words I’ve been anxious to say tumble from my lips.

"Thank you. For… for the roses." I blush at my stuttering. "They're beautiful."

He raises his eyes to mine, pinning me with an intensity so blinding I have to force myself to hold his gaze. "They can’t compare to how exquisite you are."

Unable to last under the ferocity of his gaze, I drop my eyes to my food and push it around my plate, suddenly not in the least bit hungry.

Lifting my head to meet his steady stare again, something inside me shifts as I remember the newly empowered Olivia, and she refuses to be intimidated by him or anyone.

"So, Thai food. Is it your favourite?" I'm drawing inspiration from his emails earlier, and he well knows it.

His lips twitch imperceptibly as he answers. "Well, it's the safest choice when you plan on having company."

"Is that right?" My eyes narrow as my chin tilts upwards in rebellion, and I ask, "So you ordered enough for two, and I'm invited at the last minute. I’m your second choice, then?"

Sitting forward in his chair, he places his food on the desk before steepling his fingers and resting them under his chin as he observes me in silence for several long beats. At the same time, I hold his gaze unblinkingly, wearing my insolence proudly, until his words send my head spinning, along with my undeniably obsessed heart.

"Peaches…" He waits a moment. "You could never be anyone's second choice. You're spectacular inside and out. Anyone who doesn't know that immediately is a fucking idiot."

His tone is matter of fact, his greens shining with authenticity, yet I can’t stop the fleeting thought that I obviously wasn’t spectacular enough to make him stay on the night we met.

We sit with our eyes firmly on each other, not eating, not speaking, barely even breathing, until he asks, "So. Any plans this weekend?"

And just like that, the moment has passed, and I can breathe again as I feel the tension slowly ebb from the room.

"Um, yeah, actually. I do." His jaw ticks, something I've seen him do when he's fighting speaking his mind, but I surge forth, undeterred. "I'm moving today… into my own apartment. I'll be living alone for the first time in my life. I've been with my friends since my parents died."

"I meant to tell you how sorry I am. For your loss." He pauses, as though unsure for the first time since I walked into the room. "Do you mind me asking what happened? I… I know a little about losing parents."

"Umm, no, it's okay. They died in a house fire two years ago."

His face crumples in sorrow.

"I'm so very sorry. A sudden passing can be hard to accept.”

“I felt relief more than anything.” My hand flies to cover my mouth, having not meant to voice the words that had lain dormant deep inside my soul, never to be spoken aloud.

Henry’s intense gaze holds mine for a beat before he speaks again. “I can relate.”

My eyes widen as, almost by its own volition, my hand drops from my mouth. “I’ve never said that out loud before—but it’s true. My immediate response was relief. Relief at not abiding by their prehistoric way of living; their holier than thou bullshit that I never bought into, especially after Holly’s death. My parents loved me—in their own way, but they loved their religion and their standing in the community more than they ever loved their kids.”

Henry hasn’t moved a muscle as he takes in my word vomit. Old habits die hard, I guess.

“My own father died three days after I met you. Our relationship was… fraught, to say the least, so I can empathize with what you’ve had to overcome." He stops in contemplation. Indecision plays swiftly across his handsome face as he debates whether or not to share the next words that come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry too.”

At his confused look, I continue. “For your loss. I’m sorry.”