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“Abbi?” Henry’s deep voice booms from the penthouse entrance.
“In the kitchen!” I call back, my heart skipping beats, both in excitement and apprehension.
“You’ve got five seconds to take off your clothes before I bend you over the counter and—”
“Look who’s here!” It’s nearly a scream, my voice up several notches with sudden panic. In hindsight, maybe my plan wasn’t the best idea after not seeing him all week.
Henry appears then, freezing momentarily as he spots Violet, mid-flip with a pancake. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I had no idea you were here,” he says slowly. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Henry blush, but his cheeks are flushed red.
“Obviously not.” She wrinkles her nose as she returns to her pancakes. “I guess we’re not eating at the counter. Is the table safe?”
He shoots me a “Thanks for warning me” look.
“Welcome back.” I overcompensate with a wide smile. “I hope you’re hungry!”
* * *
“So that’show you two ended up here, in matching pajamas?” Henry asks between mouthfuls. Violet may be messy in the kitchen, but she makes perfectly round and tasty dollar pancakes.
“Yeah. The first half is due on Monday. We worked on it last night. I think I’m halfway done?” She says it like it’s a question rather than a fact. “As for the matching pajamas, that was all Abbi. Your fiancée is odd.”
“What? I liked them! The material is so soft!” I emphasize that by smoothing my palm over my sleeve.
Henry smirks. “It’s a little early for Christmas, isn’t it?”
“Christmas?” Violet peers at her pajamas, not understanding.
I laugh. “They’re red andblue, Henry.” To her, I explain, “He has a hard time with blue and green.”
“Huh. Really …” She cocks her head and looks at him as if this tiny bit of information is fascinating.
“Why?” Henry pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Do you too?”
“Nope. I’m normal.” She bites off a piece of her bacon.
Henry snorts. “You like your school?”
“It’s fine.” She shrugs, chewing. “It’s school.”
“Violet is playing the Queen of Hearts,” I chip in.
“Who’s that?”
“You know,Alice in Wonderland? Girl falls down a rabbit hole?”
“Oh. Right. A fairy tale.” Henry frowns, and it dawns on me that Crystal McGuire was probably too busy spending her husband’s money and embezzling from a children’s charity to read bedtime stories to her kids. “So you like acting?”
“I guess.” Another shrug. Did I shrug so much when I was her age?
Henry studies her for a long moment as she eats. “Your mother was involved with the school plays at Hartley.”
Violet nods. “She used to put me in drama camp every summer. She insisted I had natural talent.”
“She played the piano.” He says this more to himself, as if his memory is jogged.
