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The longer I stood out in the hallway, the more the prospect of entering seemed daunting. Was this the time to come clean about Stella? After Friday, this moment seemed inevitable.
But come on. Did it have to benow?
No, I decided. It didn’t have to be now. I could just walk in, pretend he wasn’t there. As long as I didn’t face him full-on, he wouldn’t recognize me. Right? Probably not.
Hopefully not.
Swallowing hard, I pulled the sheet over my head, effectively shielding my school uniform. Even if he didn’t recognize me as Stella, I couldn’t help but remember the other day at Le Petit Bateau, spilling water everywhere. Would he recognize me from there?
Why was Destelle destined to be forced into awkward situations around him?
Drawing a deep breath in, I turned into the room, definitely on the brink of having a heart attack.
Harry had his back to the doorway, thank God, so he didn’t notice me enter. Paint supplies littered the ground, cans opened, extra brushes at the ready. The room itself looked like it’d been primed, and even one coat of paint looked as if it had been layered over the red walls. It probably needed only one more coat.Dear God, please let it be only one more coat.
Without a word, I snatched up a paint roller, taking advantage of Harry’s turned back, and started on the wall opposite. I held my breath, physically unable to breathe in or out until—
“Oh, hey,” Harry said, surprised. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m Harry.”
Yeah, I know, and I’m freaking out.“Destelle,” I returned, not turning.
“Destelle. That’s a pretty name.”
If he’d hesitated, I didn’t notice it. No recognition at all, which honestly surprised me. Stella and Destelle sounded so similar. But wait, another weird feeling worked its way through me. He said it was a pretty name—was he flirting with me? As Destelle? My Stella side felt offended.
And whoa, wait. Hadn’t he said the same thing about Stella? What, is that his go-to phrase?
I tried to fight a frown, but I wasn’t sure it worked. “Thanks.”
“I like your sheet.”
Now I definitely was full-on frowning, accompanied by burning cheeks. “Thanks.”
He fell quiet for a moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. My body wanted to turn to see his face, but I forced myself to stay still. “I’m going to turn on some music from my phone, if that’s okay,” he said eventually. “Any particular song you want to hear?”
I almost asked him if he had any country music on his playlist, just to see how he’d react. “No.”
We lapsed into unbearable silence then, ornearsilence, as he put on a song by Outside Inclusion. One that I absolutely loved, but there’d be no humming or toe-tapping.
With the silence, the air felt ten times thicker than before. I could almost taste the paint in my mouth, and I held the roller almost limply, the sheet scratchy against my skin.This is fine, I told myself, drawing in soothing breaths.This is fine.
I kept waiting for Harry to say something, but he didn’t. I looked over my shoulder, but he minded his own business, totally engrossed in swiping his roller along the wall. Or maybe just pretending to be that way.
Apart from the faint music coming from his phone and the sticky sound of a paint roller along a wall, the church basement was quiet.
I could do this. It was a little awkward, but Harry had no clue what was going on. So, as long as I kept to one wall and he stayed at the other, it’d be fine.
Except, when I turned around to reload my roller with paint, Harry turned at the same time. And we locked eyes.
I froze like a deer in headlights, watching as that crease from Saturday night returned between his eyebrows.
I practically tripped on the hem of the sheet when I moved to load my roller up, letting my curls fall over my profile.Bawk-bawk, my thoughts taunted me, but I couldn’t do it. Stella had been a secret for so long that coming out made me feel sick with nervousness.
“You know, you look familiar,” he said, and suddenly the paint roller felt several pounds lighter. “Can’t place where, though.”
“Hmm.”Don’t look up, don’t look up.
Pushing to my feet, I turned back toward my wall, looking at the section I’d already painted but not really seeing it. Even though I tried to hear, I couldn’t tell if Harry rolled his own brush into the paint. He wasn’t walking across the plastic covering the floor either. I fought the biggest urge to turn around and check, to see if he watched me. Adamantly, I told myself I didn’t want to know.
