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“It’s been so long since I was just happy. Stupidly happy,” I say. I pull back to find him watching me with his very serious Henry face, cobalt-blue eyes dark and serious. “Thank you.”
“Does it make you a little sad?” he asks.
Like a wine connoisseur, he hears every note in my voice.
“Did I sound sad?” I tilt my head, like I have no idea why that could be.
“I’m happy, too,” he says softly. “But nothing about my happiness feels stupid.”
Something twists in my belly, spikes of joy and grief, sharp but good.
I’ll always have this feeling to remember, I tell myself.
The car drops us at the front of Locke headquarters under the Locke-blue flags emblazoned with the Cock Worldwide logo.
We link hands and go in through one of the array of highly redundant doors—the double ones this time, held by a doorman. We cross the enchanted five-story-tall lobby dominated by the giant jagged rock with shimmery water cascading down it.
I’m wearing bright colors again—an orange flowered top with blue pants and sparkly heels, more spoils from one of the high-fashion pop-up shops in the Hamptons that Carly and Bess and I hit.
But the clothes weren’t entirely their idea—I realized that, looking in the mirror this morning. The bright colors and sparkles are Vonda’s style. It feels good, like I’ve busted out of some sort of shell. Or maybe like I’m home.
I’ll always have that, too.
Henry cages me in his arms against the elevator wall as we ride up. The elevator has become one of my favorite kissing places, a stolen window of privacy.
And for just this moment, things feel like a fairy tale.
Henry growls when we reach the top floor. He’s in a brown suit and a maroon tie with tiny black owls on it. Carly and Bess bought it for him as a thank-you gift. I knotted it for him this morning.
He grabs Smuckers’s flowered carrier.
“You don’t have to—”
“If you think I’m not man enough to carry a flowered dog carrier that looks like a purse, you haven’t been paying attention, baby.”
I snort and poke him in the side.
We get out and cross the expanse of corporate grandeur. People have already assembled in the glass boardroom chamber. I hate to be out of our magical private bubble, but I love seeing him back in his habitat, back in the place he so loves.
Smuckers rides happily in his flowered purse, the picture of dog cuteness in his Locke-blue sequined dog bow tie.
Henry grabs the handle of the glass door and holds it open for me, gazing down at me. The air between us crackles.
I practically glide in. I turn to say hi to the other board members.
And the world screeches to a halt.
He’s beefier than I remember, with a thicker neck than back in Deerville.
I tell myself it can’t be him. It can’t.
But the blond hair is the same, and then he smiles that smug smile.
My hands go numb. An icy clawing steals up my back, up my neck. Saliva fills my mouth, like I’m really and truly going to puke.
It’s my body, reacting to what my mind can’t comprehend.
“Henry, Vicky.” Brett stands, smiling like the cat that swallowed the flock of canaries. “I want you to meet our new leadership consultant, Denny Woodruff.”
