Page 40 of Riding the Curve

The surprise in her sweet voice makes me chuckle. “Well, I believe it was you that said I can’t be eating food from the vending machine, so I made sure to buy some groceries.”

Her eyebrows rise as she walks casually back toward me. “Highly presumptuous to buy me food and expect me to cook it for you.”

“I didn’t mean you had to cook for me, I just—I know how much a good meal means to you, and⁠—”

Before I could finish, she closes the gap between us and pinches my mouth shut. “Relax, Em. I know you’re getting up there in age, but you do remember what a joke is, right?” She snorts. “I’d be happy to cook with you anytime.” My eyes widen, but she doesn’t release my lips. Her fingers tug lightly, pulling my head down to hover just inches away from hers.

“And yes, I said with you, not for you. If I’m cooking, you’re helping.”

Rocking back on her heels, she releases me with a smirk. Speechless, my gaze follows her path to the bed, her shoulders silently shaking with mirth. Seeing this old version of Henley peeking back through makes my heart swell.

I would take any version of Henley any day. But this version, full of sass and smiling brightly, is my favorite.

To distract myself, I turn my focus to unpacking her suitcase. “Well, how about I start unpacking?”

She turns and nods as I begin to sort her clothes and other random items, like books and pictures frames, that had been stuffed inside. After a few minutes, I find her still paused at the bed. She’s wearing an expression I can’t figure out as she slowly smooths over the dark green bed set I’d picked out for her.

When I saw it in the store, it reminded me of her and that familiar shade of Converse that always adorned her feet. Grabbing a small black bag out of the luggage, I glance up to see her lashes flutter toward mine, revealing glossy eyes. Her lips tilt upward and her eyes twinkle with a silent appreciation until they roll down to the bag that I’m holding.

“Oh, I’ll take that!” she shouts, flying across the gap between us. Except, on her flight, the tip of her shoe catches the edge of the carpet and she collides into me.

We careen to the floor, and she lands on top of me with a heavy thud. The contents of the bag scatter around us, except one that smacks me directly in the head.

“Shit!” I curse, rubbing my forehead with one hand while examining the offending piece of plastic in the other.

Henley’s eyes widen in terror on top of me. That’s when I realize what I’m holding in my hand. My girl has a little pocket rocket. A smooth, bright pink one. My chest rumbles with laughter, bouncing Hen’s mortified body up and down. Like a cheetah, she snatches it out of my hand with lightning speed, scrambling off me in the process.

I’m still laughing as I leisurely roll myself back up. Hen paces around me, picking up all the scattered items and darting into the bathroom to shove them into a drawer. Quietly, I follow behind, leaning against the doorway to watch the show.

Her face is fifty shades of crimson as I press my fist against my mouth, holding in my amusement. There’s something adorable about her when she’s all flustered like this. But right now, it’s doing something more.

I swallow deeply, unable to peel my eyes away from her. The short denim shorts she’s wearing have so many rips and holes in them, giving me a glimpse of what’s beneath. Teasing me with hints of her olive skin. Her oversized band T-shirt has shifted from the fall, exposing her shoulder and the elegant slope of her neck. My gaze wanders even further up to her messy bun that flops around with each of her rapid movements, and suddenly I’m imagining what it would feel like to have my hand wrapped around the hair within it.

I groan inwardly. This woman is going to be my undoing.

“That was—It’s been a long time, so I—” she rambles.

“You deserve to feel good.”

Her mouth slams shut and she reaches out to steady herself on the counter.

That’s my cue to get the hell out of here before I lose all self-control. “I’m going to head out, text me if you need anything.”

Pushing off the wall, I head toward the front door as quickly as my legs can carry me before I change my mind. Her voice halts me in my tracks just as I reach the front door.

“After my shift at the bakery, I’m going out with Harper and our friend from college, Melody. She’s a bartender at the Rusty Spur.”

I turn around to find her rocking on her feet in the bathroom doorway. Hen twirls the end of her hair around her fingers, something she only does when she’s nervous. “You . . . uh, could come and join us if you want? I mean, only if you don’t want to be alone.”

She glances through her lashes, and I know right then and there I can’t turn her down. Even if I really should. “Sure, I’ll meet you there. Just text me when you get there.”

A smile blossoms on her lips. I finally leave, pulling out my keys.

I need a drive.

CHAPTER 16

Emerson