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I rise to my knees, straining for more, and he does too, circling his arm around my waist and pulling me toward him. We fit together as perfectly this way as we did yesterday on his sofa.
“Paige.” His voice is low as he murmurs my name against my throat, sending a new shower of sparks down my spine.
What is happening?I don’t care as long as it doesn’t stop.
There’s a sound intruding from somewhere until I finally register Evie’s plaintive, “Mama?”
I freeze. Henry’s hands go still.
“Mama?” She’s calling me from her room, and I realize she’s been coughing. That’s what was trying to penetrate the fog of . . .
I slip from Henry’s grasp as he settles back onto the couch, and I duck into Evie’s room to find her coughing again.
“My throat hurts,” she says.
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll bring you some cool water. It’ll help.”
I dart into the bathroom and fill the cup I leave for her at night. She struggles upright and drinks it all before sinking down to her pillow again.
“Better,” she says.
“That’s good, Eves. I’ll refill it and leave it for you in case you cough again.”
She nods, already more asleep than awake. I do as I promised, letting the cup fill slowly as my mind races, clear now that I’m beyond the effects of Henry’s . . . smell?
Pheromones are the pirates of common sense.
When I walk back into the living room, Henry is standing behind the sofa, as if he’s only been waiting for me to come back so he can leave.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, panicked.
“You’ll be fine.” His eyebrows draw together. “On your date. With Lulu.” I’m borderline babbling, but I need us to reverse course,fast. The only plan my scattered mind can come up with is to play this all off.
“My date,” he repeats.
“Right. With Lulu.”
“Leigh.” His voice has gone very flat.
“That’s what I said. You shouldn’t have any problem. The party is this weekend, right? Friday.”
He watches me for a couple of seconds. I’m not sure what he’s looking for. Maybe evidence that he didn’t imagine those few minutes on the couch. But whatever he sees, he nods.
“Yes, Friday.”
“Remember, black button-down shirt, gray slacks. I’ll text you a picture of some shoe choices. And some conversation starters. You’ve laid the groundwork, so it should be pretty easy to find a natural opening to ask her on a date.”
He gives me another long look. “That’s what you think I should do.”
I nod like a bobblehead. “Definitely.”
He nods. “Cool.”
A hideous yowling followed by scratching sounds on my front door fills the awkward lull.
“What in the world?” I start to move toward it, ready to do battle with anything messing up my gorgeous new paint job.
“Wait,” Henry says, turning to open it. “I think that’s for me.”
