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She smiles first. A soft grin that presses her dimples in deep.
I smile back. Because of course, I would. She’s Henley, the puppeteer to my happiness.
17
HENLEY
“Where are you going so early?”
Dropping my phone into my bag, I lean over Aaron—still curled on his side with his eyes closed in slumber—to kiss his temple.
“Coffee with friends.”
Opening a single eye, he smiles sleepily at me. “Tell whoever it is, I said hullo.”
My gut twists uncomfortably. “Will do.”
I’m a liar.
A cheat.
A girl born into deceit. A woman, whether I cared to admit it or not, who had adopted that same persona, comfortable in her dishonesty.
“We’re on shift together this efternuin.” Aaron yawns, his accent thicker in sleep. “Stay again tonight, and we’ll walk in together.”
His suggestion is innocent enough, but I find myself agitated all the same. Shame will do that to you, though.
“I swapped my shift,” I bite out unnecessarily, my irritation projected unfairly.
He frowns. “Why?”
I laugh nervously. “What are you? My mother?”
“Och, I hope not.” He sits up, his bedsheet bunching around his waist.
In the month or so we’ve been dating, I’ve never been inflamed by Aaron’s presence. In fact, he’s always had a calming effect on my edgy disposition. I met him on one of the first nights I arrived in Glasgow. I asked for a job, he asked for a date, and that was that.
He was handsome. And funny. And kind. He put me at ease, and I knew the moment I could take a full breath that I’d made the right decision. Leaving home was harder than I imagined it would ever be. Considering my upbringing, I was certain I’d fly out of my mother’s house without having packed a bag. But when the moment of truth came, I felt panicked. Jacinta, and Derrick for the time he was around, werealwaysthere. It felt as though they’d watched every breath I’d taken. They were a security blanket. I just didn’t know it.
His calming effect has morphed in mere seconds. A pleasant relief to an annoyance I feel overwhelmingly inconvenienced by.
“Sure I can’t convince you to be a few minutes late?” He waggles his dark eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “A few minutes?”
“Love, you left me without last night,” he teases. “I’m a man starved.”
I throw a cushion at his face. “I might see you tonight,” I lie.
“My cock mourns what could’ve been.” His voice follows my exit, and I work to bury the self-reproach festering in my stomach.
I should’ve just been honest.
I’m meeting up with the boy who used to be my best friend.
Who, whether he calls for the title or not, remains that person for me.
My heart seizes at the mere thought of him.
