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"What?" I ask, my fear now tinged with a defensiveness that I don't understand. I don't owe this man a thing.
"Nothing. I misjudged you," he says, his tone distant and cold. His eyes are on the floor of the lobby, studying his sneaker clad feet.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, and then he looks up at me, raising his head slowly, like he'd rather not but has no choice. When I see the sadness in his eyes, I feel a small tinge of fear.
"Harry?" I prod when he doesn't say anything.
He takes a step toward me, his hand out, and time slows. His hand comes up to my face, and a swarm of butterflies takes flight inside of me. Their wings beat my ribcage so hard that I'm surprised that I can't hear the reverberations. His hand hovers over my cheek, his eyes searching mine, for what I don’t know. His hand cups my face, my eyes close, and all of the breath leaves my lungs. His touch feels like…relief. And I am rocked with a feeling of happiness, so surprising and acute that it stings.
No one has touched me like this in such a long time. The tenderness loosens the knot I keep tied around my heart. It’s so sweet and feels so good that I close my eyes and savor it. A tear runs down my cheek before I realize I’m crying. don't understand what's happening - my mind is completely blank - but I never want it to stop. He cups my cheek, and I choke back a sob at how right it feels to have his hands on me.
"Harry?" I whisper, my eyes still closed as emotions, memories, and feelings I haven't allowed myself to feel start to seep through cracks that I thought were tightly sealed.
"Why were you going with him?” he asks me. The softness is gone. He’s angry. My eyes fly open, and my tears stop flowing.
"What do you mean?”
"Were you going to sleep with him?" He's watching me so intently, that I can almost see myself reflected in his eyes. I can see the desperation for answers, the hope that maybe he’s wrong.
"Yes,” I whisper.
His hands drop from my face like it's a scalding hot stone, and he takes a step back. His normally expressive eyes are veiled with the shadow of disappointment.
He looks past me, as if I'm not even there anymore. "Have a good rest of your vacation, Emma."
He says “Emma” as if it's an obscenity. And then, like I don’t matter, he steps around me and walks away.
7
Lilly
When I catch up to him, he's standing in front of the elevator, scrolling through his phone. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. Well, I'm about to change that.
"Hey, Harry," I call out as I approach.
He looks up, and when he sees me, he actually rolls his eyes at me and sighs wearily before he looks back at his phone. His dismissal stings something fierce. Without looking at me, he says, “Listen, if you're quick, you can get back to your fuckboy. He's sleeping on a chair right next to the bar."
"So, you're back to insulting me?" I snarl up at him. He doesn't bat an eye in the face of my fury.
"Just returning the favor, Emma." His tone is bored, but he's flushed, his eyes glinting like two flinty pieces of dark topaz as he looks me up and down.
He's angry. Good. I take a step closer to him so we are almost toe to toe.
"So, I was going to fuck him. So what? Why does it even matter? We're strangers! You don't know me, and I don't know you." My voice is raised, but I can't help it. My ears are ringing, my eyes hurt from holding back the tears that want to run free.
He doesn’t take his eyes off his phone.
"Oh, you can tell yourself that. I’m not sure that I even care anymore.”
I suck a breath as words hit me like a slap in the face. He finally looks at
me, the anger in his eyes, fading when he takes in my expression. “You intrigue me,” he says. His voice is pained, like it’s the worst thing that could have happened to him. “In the rare moments where you let your guard fall, I see someone I’m desperate to talk to. I keep thinking, there’s a conversation we’re meant to have.” His laugh is dry and humorless. He rubs the back of his neck in agitation,
“You’re so goddam beautiful. I mean, at least to me you are. I can’t say what everyone else sees when they see you. But if they saw what I saw when I looked at you, they wouldn’t think you were an easy, forgettable fuck. I don't understand why you were prepared to take that drunk, barely coherent idiot to bed. I don't know why you would disrespect yourself like that. I don't know anything." He’s almost shouting now, and hasn’t paused to take a breath as all of this pours out of him. He pauses to take a breath. His anger and his candor render me speechless.
"I won’t involve myself with someone who doesn’t value honesty and who thinks sex is cheap. And since that seems to be your default, I'm done.”
My heart stops and I still can’t find words. But it doesn’t matter. He’s not finished.
