Page 70 of When We Were More
I smile, thrilled that I was able to give him a special gift.
Henry clears his throat. “This one first.” He hands me a square box. I shake it. “Hey, no cheating.”
“It’s not cheating. It’sguessing.” He steals my signature move and rolls his eyes at me, and it makes me laugh. That gets Layla’s attention, and she ambles over and sits at my side, opposite Henry.
I tear open the paper. When I open the box, I’m staring at a gray sweatshirt that reads “The Ohio State University.” I hold it up and check it out—no armpit hole, so that’s good. When I glance over at Henry again, the heat in his eyes is unmistakable.
“Now you can get rid of that one fromhim.This one even has a small hole there—” he points out a hole the size of a nail head near the bottom “—since you’re fond of the other one with the huge hole.”
This is the kind of stuff men do in the romance novels I read when they claim?—
“If you’re going to wear a man’s clothes, they’re going to be mine.” Henry’s voice is low, and he speaks close to my ear. I should get pissed at the possessive words, but I’m not. My body likes them, and my heart likes them, too. I’ll have to unpack those thoughts later. Or I can shove that down into my subconscious like I’ve done with a few other things lately.
Layla breaks the moment when she taps my forearm. “I told Daddy he should get you a new one. Not give you used up clothes.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “Men.”
“It’s okay, Layla. I love it.”
Layla claps her hands together. “Okay. Let’s do the other one.”
Henry reaches for the second package, and I notice the care he takes with moving it. I’m just as careful when he hands it to me, and I set it on my lap. When I open it, I’m stunned, unable to take my eyes off the image in front of me.
The vintage black and white framed photo is of my farmhouse, likely back right around when my great-grandpa built it. I take my finger and touch the center of the glass where a man and woman stand posing, with a child between them. My eyes are moist when I turn to Henry.
“Is that my grandmother?”
“It is.” His voice is soft, hushed, and his eyes bore into mine. We stare at each other. What does it mean that we both put such thought into our gifts?
“Daddy told the man at the shop that if there was a picture of your house anywhere in the world, he wanted the man to find it. Good job, Dad.” Layla pats him on the back, and Henry and I both chuckle. “Then, when the man said it would be hard, Daddy told him it doesn’t matter what it cost, he better find it.” Henry’s cheeks are dark pink now. I suspect he didn’t want me to learn that part.
“Well, thank you for helping him. I love all my presents.” Layla reaches in to hug me, and I wrap her in an embrace.
“I’m gonna go play now. Don’t forget Daddy’s hug, Tillie.” With that, she’s back on the floor playing with her new presents near where Lena plays with the new stacking toy I bought her.
“Well, should we listen to her?” Henry looks at me with one eyebrow raised, and somehow it makes him even sexier. Damnit.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. Iwantto hug him, which is exactly why it’s not a good idea.
“I think we’d better not. We should probably reserve physical touch for when we take advantage of thebenefitsportion of our friendship. To keep boundaries clear, I mean.”
A frown flits across his face but is gone as quickly as it came.
“Yeah, of course. Makes sense.”
Rescue from the awkward moment comes when Lena cries. It’s one of those tired, crabby cries. Henry sighs.
“I should probably get them home and in bed.” Henry rises and goes to Lena without saying anything else.
While he gets the kids ready, I go and package up the leftover chicken nuggets and dessert for them to take with them. I finish by the time Henry is in the foyer with the girls bundled. I hug the girls goodbye, and when Henry takes them to the car, I carry theleftovers out. When he comes back in for their gifts, we stand in the doorway, where we can still see the car.
“Thank you again for my gifts. I love them,” I say.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for mine—and for a great evening. It was nice to have another adult to talk to who isn’t my babysitter, my mom, or one of my brothers.”
That earns a laugh and breaks through some of the awkwardness of the last few minutes. We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Henry walks to the car. When he’s almost there, he turns and looks at me.
“Matilda?”
“Yeah?”
