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I take a minute to change. I’ve been in my work clothes too long and they probably smell like paint and sweat. I swap them out for soft leggings, and I’m reaching for a T-shirt when I hesitate and grab a sweater instead. Not like it’s sexy or anything. It’s a soft wool blend V-neck I found thrifting, and it happens to make my eyes look more blue.
I slip it on and walk over to Henry’s, this time going from my back door to his.
He opens it at my knock with a look of mild surprise. “Something wrong with my front door?”
“There’s too many cars going past, and I’m peopled out today.” I walk past him into the living room. “Where did they all even come from?”
Henry blinks at me. “Didn’t you put it on the town Facebook page?”
I frown, then groan. “Yeah, when you were being difficult. I forgot about that.”
“I wasn’t being—” He breaks off at a look from me.
“Anyway,” I say, settling myself into the sofa and tucking up my knees, “I was promised cocoa.”
“Coming right up.”
He’s back in less than a minute with two mugs, one of which he hands to me before settling on the other end of the sofa.
I take a sip and give a happy hum. “This is really good.”
He shrugs.
I take another sip and watch him over the rim of my mug. “Anyone ever tell you that small talk isn’t your strong suit?”
His lip twitches. “I hardly need to be told that.”
“So you know.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you like small talk?”
“Takes too much energy.”
That is such a quintessentially Henry answer that I laugh. “How many miles do you run each week? Ten? Twenty?Thirty?” He nods. “Thirty miles a week but small talk takes too much energy.”
“Different kind of energy.”
I drink more cocoa, noticing again how silences feel okay with Henry. He never tries to fill them like they make him nervous, and with him, I often don’t feel the need to either.
“I get that,” I say after thinking about it. “Some days are physically demanding in the store. Lots of bending and lifting and hauling. And some days are so busy with customers that all I do is answer questions and help them all day. Guess which ones make me more tired?”
He smiles. “I don’t have to guess.”
“Then I’m going to sit here and not say anything.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
I give him a half-hearted glare and settle farther into the sofa, sipping the cocoa, enjoying the flavor, listening to the silence.
The silence . . . “You don’t have any Christmas music on.”
“I definitely do not.”
“This is more of your war against Christmas?” I tease him.
“No war against Christmas. It’s just not my thing.”
