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She’s right. I did. After trying formonthsto make her talk to me, I gave up. I couldn’t stomach her rejection. I couldn’t stomach the thought that her thoughts about me were adverse when mine were filled with longing and attachment.
“I miss you,” I tell her honestly. “I think about you.”
She doesn’t say a word. Not an acknowledgment that she feels the same way. Not a single reaction that lets me believe she thinks about me too.
“My friend.” She points at the bar again distractedly. “She’s waiting for me.”
Stepping from the curb, she takes a single step before pausing, her body stiff in indecision.
“Henley,” I whisper.
Turning back, she throws herself into me, hugging me tightly. “I miss you, too.”
I let her embrace filter into my soul. I’ve felt cold for so long, craving moments just like this. I let her warm me, thawing the hardened wounds she caused two years earlier.
Hands around her waist, I pull back from her grasp toreallylook at her.
Her freckles are still there, scattered like artwork across her nose and cheeks. Her hair is shorter, not by much, but the change is there. It’s still the same rich dark brown. Her eyes hold a spark, a glimmer of happiness and freedom.
“You look good, Squirrel.”
She blushes at the nickname. “Still unimpressed by the rodent-inspired endearment.”
I ignore her comment, too consumed with looking at her.
It’s scary and exhilarating at how easy you can fall back into old habits. Having my arms around Henley doesn’t feel out of place. Not even in the dark and glacial streets of Glasgow at midnight. A place we ventured to for escape only to find one another. It feels right. Like a limb I’ve been missing. A part of me that’s finally returned.
“Some would call this fate,” I murmur.
She laughs nervously, the warmth of her breath tickling my frozen cheeks.
“I really do need to go,” she tells me. “Bridget promised me just one more drink.”
“You know how I feel about promises.” I drop my arms reluctantly as she steps out of my embrace. “You already believe her,” Itsk.
“Lucky she can only leave me sleep-deprived and not with a broken heart.”
I grin. “Can I see you again? Tomorrow?”
She takes longer than I’d care to answer. Doubt forcing her gaze away from mine. I’m convinced she’s about to say no. That she’s ready to reject me without an explanation.
“Yes.” She finally whispers the word. The single syllable a dirty secret, one she doesn’t want to admit aloud.
“I can meet you here?” I gesture to the empty street.
She nods. “Nine? I’ll show you some spectacular grass to photograph.”
“It’s a date.” I smirk.
A slice of guilt twists at her face. “Bye.”
I wait until she’s across the street. “Henley,” I call. She turns her body, expectation alight on her face.
“Can you give me one minute?” I ask loud enough to be heard from across the deserted road. “It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. Give me sixty seconds to look at you?”
I see the indecision in her posture and the way she pulls at her bottom lip nervously. But she gives in to me after a brief pause, turning completely.
We’re standing on opposite sides of the cold and vacant street, our eyes anchored and breathing mirrored.
