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Henry nods. “Always.” He drops a kiss to my head before returning to the task at hand.

I hear the clicks of the gas lighting, heating up a pan, and text Hannah back.

Norah

I’m okay. I’ll see you in the morning

Her response comes immediately.

Hannah

???!???!?!?! HENRY?!??!?!!!!!

Norah

Hannah

I fucking told you bitch!!!!

I put my phone back down, smiling.

“So, when do I get to see this letter?” I ask as Henry places the buttered bread down on the pan.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t play coy,” I say, raising a playful eyebrow. “I would bet just about anything, given certain information that has come to light over the last few hours, that you still have it somewhere.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He turns back to the sizzling pan on the stovetop.

“You’re really not going to give me the letter?”

He smirks at me over his shoulder, then flips the sandwiches. “When do you fly back?” he asks instead.

“The day after tomorrow. What about you?”

“Well, now I’m flying back then too.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Norah, I want to fly back with you. Is that okay?”

I nod as he turns off the burner, shaking the sandwiches out onto two plates.

“Fine,” I reply in a singsong voice, “but if you sit in front of me again and ruin another favorite sweater of mine, I swear—” I don’t get to finish the sentence as his lips descend on mine, hot and slow.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he says into my mouth before he pushes me a plate with a perfectly golden grilled cheese on it.

My stomach roars at the proximity to food, and I rip open the Lactaid pills with enthusiasm that nearly matches Henry and the condom wrapper. He laughs as he slides onto the barstool next to me.

“Ormagawd,” I say, mouth full and happy.

Henry smiles. “You’re very easy to please.”

I whack him gently on the arm, his biceps flexing under my touch, even through his sweatshirt.

“Eat your sandwich.”

We chew in comfortable silence until there’s nothing but crusts left on his plate. I feel overwhelmed, watching Henry steal glances at me in my periphery. I reach over, grabbing the crusts, just like I used to when we were little.