I find a few candles in the nightstand drawer, but no matches or lighter.
I sigh.
I guess I’ll have to ask Henry.
I pad out of the master bedroom to find him still in the living room, lying on the couch with Zach on the floor beside him.
He looks peaceful. Sort of. But more than that he looks beautiful. His hair tousled, his eyes staring at the ceiling, the corded muscles of his arms, the tendon in his neck.
“Henry?”
He sits up on the couch. “Storm’s sitting right on top of us,” he says.
“Sounds like it.” My voice is even. Barely.
I sit on an armchair because the couch seems too close. The air between us is heavy and charged. I hate that it’s like this with us, like we don’t know what to say to each other.
“I found some candles in the drawer of the nightstand, but no matches or lighter.”
“Kitchen,” he says. “But don’t light a candle if you’re going to sleep.”
“Of course I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a moron.” I don’t mean to get uppity, but I do anyway. “I thought I’d go through my notes.”
He scoffs. “So much for a relaxing weekend.”
Fuck him. I should get up. Storm out. Go back to the bedroom and study.
But I don’t.
I stay, sitting in the armchair. Silent.
He breaks first. “Why didn’t you come?”
The question lands low, right in my gut. I don’t look at him. “Because you told me we had no future.”
Thunder cracks.
His breath changes. One of those tiny shifts you feel more than hear. He doesn’t talk for a long beat, and in that time, I manage to conjure up every possible thing he could reply with.
“Okay,” he says finally. “Fair.”
It’s not a lie. I also stayed because of the seminar. The opportunity. But the more I tell myself that’s the reason, the more I know that if I felt Henry and I had a future, I would have bolted to his side.
And I both love and hate myself for that.
I rise. “I should get some sleep.”
My phone buzzes with a text. I’m pretty sure it’s Angie. I haven’t texted her since I told her, still in my car, that I’d arrived safely.
She knows. She did all of this. And while I appreciate the thought, right now I don’t want to talk to her.
I look at the phone.
But it’s not a text from Angie.
No pressure. Just checking in. Still would love to meet for coffee if you’re up for it.
Lance.
