Page 24 of Isla

"Are you going to camp while you're in Scotland? I've heard there are a ton of great spots."

"You've never been?"

I shake my head. "The pub took up too much of my time."

"Once Dylan and Theo can run the pub by themselves, I'll take you camping,” he promises.

"That sounds nice. I'll ask Jack if we can borrow his stuff." Henry sits down, and we both take a steaming mug, sipping tentatively. It's rich, chocolatey, and divine. "I want you to make this for me every morning," I groan, taking another sip.

"Just say the word, and I'll be here every morning to make it for you," he rasps, winking.

I nearly choke on the intensity of his gaze. "That may be moving a little fast, lover-boy."

"Would it, though? Life is short, Red."

I've always hated being called Red, but somehow, when it comes from him, it's different.

"Don't like the nickname?" he asks, reading my mind.

I bite my lip. "The opposite, actually." The orange glow from the flames caresses the planes of his face, deepening the dimple in his chin, darkening his eyes to a bluish-black. My fingers itch to run through his hair at the nape of his neck where it curls against his skin.

He studies me back, stars in his eyes. Without saying a word, he pulls grabs his guitar and picks out a melody, humming under his breath.

"But this love is brave and wild. And I never saw you coming. And I'll never be the same," I sing softly, recognizing the tune.

He picks up when I stop. "This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight." He pauses as tension sweeps us into its current. "These are the hands of fate," he sings acapella, setting his guitar on the deck, the baritone of his voice sliding over me like silk.

"You're my Achilles heel."

"This is the golden age of something good and right and real." He beckons to me, patting his thigh.

I straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. "And I'll never be the same," I whisper, laying my head against his shoulder and sinking into the safety of his embrace.

11

Iwake up disoriented the following morning. I must have fallen asleep in Henry's arms at some point last night. The last thing I remember are his lips brushing my forehead as he tucked me in. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the fog. Yesterday seems like a dream. Better than any dream I've ever had, if I’m being honest. I turn over to look for my phone and see a note propped up to it on the nightstand.

Thankyou for a day that will be the one I compare every other to. xoxo -H.

I squeal,kicking my feet, grinning like I've lost my damn mind. This can’t be real. Why does it feel like I've known him forever? Why am I acting like a fucking teenager in love for the first time? Whoa. Where did the L-word come from? I huff, annoyed with myself, and glance at my phone, then scramble out of bed. I’m half an hour late to meet Theo at the house to work on the bike. I dress in layers, puling on bike shorts, jeans, a tank top, a long-sleeve shirt, and a sweatshirt, finishing it off with my boots and some chapstick. I rush out the door only to run smack into Theo.

"Fuck!" he holds a mug away from me, steaming coffee sloshing over the edges and dripping down his hand.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." I try to take it from him, but he holds it out of my reach. He brushes past me, setting it on the coffee table along with something wrapped in foil. "Are you okay?" I ask, grabbing his hand to look for damage.

"Do you really care?" he asks, the muscle in his jaw working.

I drop his hand, his words scalding me. "Of course I care! Do you ever wake up on the right side of the bed? Because I don’t know how much of this I can take.”

"Are you always late?" he volleys back, his eyes dark.

"I had a late night," I say, the excuse sounding hollow to my ears.

"Yeah, I saw. Are you going to climb into my lap, too?"

"Why are you such a fucking asshole?" I ask, picking up the foil packet and throwing it at his chest. He catches it easily.

"Because I'm jealous, Isla."

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