Page 38 of When We Were More
“Judging by that signature, it’s not clear who paid your bill, is it?”
I wiggle away from his touch, and almost immediately miss it. I take a few steps away from him.
“You can’t go around paying women’s bills.” I reach into my handbag to see if I have enough cash to cover what he paid.
“Matilda, please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was only trying to do something nice, to give me an excuse to come talk to you.” My head whips up to look at him, and I narrow my eyes as I stare into his, looking for some hint of deception.
“You paid my bill so you could come talk to me? It doesn’t appear you have a shortage of female companionship over there with your friends. It’s a Friday night, and you’re a youngish, single guy. There are lots of beautiful women hanging around. I’d probably hedge my bets with one of them.”
I reach for my scarf that’s hanging over the back of my chair, and as I’m pulling it off the back, Henry’s hand covers mine.
I still.
“I don’t want to be over there. I want to be here. With my new friend.”
There’s a smile on his face, but there’s also something in his eyes that I can’t quite place. I want to laugh at myself that I’m thirty years old and so inexperienced that I haven’t learned how to read a man’s expressions by now.
“Stay and have one more drink with me.”
“Why?”
He grins again. “Because perhaps I got used to your particular brand of sass over the last six weeks, and I miss it now that we finished the job.”
I laugh, sure that he can’t mean that. Truth be told, though, I’ve also missed the banter with him.
“One drink, Matilda. Please.”
There’s no smile on his face now, and I can read the look in his eyes this time. It’s a plea, which is strange. Why this man would want to sit with me when he has all those other options is something I don’t comprehend.
Surprisingly, I hear myself answer, “Only one.”
I see Henry glance over his shoulder, and within seconds, our server is at our table with another glass of the wine I was drinking, and what looks suspiciously like whiskey or some other liquor in a glass for Henry.
I look up at him incredulously.
“Seriously, you arrogant ass? You already ordered the drinks? I think all that female attention you were getting over there has gone to your head.”
“I don’t care about them. I’m choosing to be here, with you, because it’s what I want.”
My mouth immediately goes dry. My heart pounds in my chest. I chastise myself for reading more into this than what he says. It’s his choice of words that get me, that he said he’s ‘choosing’ to be with me.
Before I know it, he’s pulling a chair out for me. Though inside I’m awkward about it, I don’t make a big deal because I don’t want to come off like a whack job.
“How is the new kitchen? Did you get to cook Thanksgiving dinner in it?”
“I did. It was nice. Lester came—he owns the hardware store in town—and my friend Ruthie came as well as her sister, Sally.”
“Sally? That’s my babysitter’s name. She’s not a spunky late sixties woman who wears matching track suits every day, is she?” Henry laughs like we couldn’t possibly be talking about the same woman.
I pull out my phone and open a selfie we took on Thanksgiving, then hand it over to him.
“Is this her?”
“Holy shit. You had Thanksgiving dinner with my babysitter? I don’t understand.”
“She’s my friend. They’re all my friends.”
Henry bites at his lower lip.
