Page 63 of A Play For The Heart
The question comes out harsher than I intended, but I’m on the brink of losing my shit, and I need him to tell me why he has them or else I may have a full-on sad girl moment before 8 A.M. Which won’t be good for anyone.
“For you.”
For me?
My eyes snap from his face to the clothes I’m wearing, then back to his face. Looking at them now, they do seem to fit oddly well and are exactly what I would pick out for myself. If not a little nicer than what I would buy. Realization dawns on his face, suddenly understanding my response.
“I thought—” He scrubs the back of his neck, flustered.At least both of us are flustered now. An even playing field.“Well, I thought you might need something to wear if you ever came over. I bought them last week.”
He avoids my eyes, red tinging his cheeks. He begins to pull at the back of his hair again, a dead giveaway he’s slightly embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable.
It's…sweet.
Honestly, I’m embarrassed at how I didn’t take a moment to think about the situation. Henry would never keep anyone else’s clothes, let alone give them to me. That’s not his style. I feel bad that the thought even crossed my mind. I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, hugging him like my life depended on it.
“I thought they—I’m sorry,” I mutter into his chest.
He leans his chin on the top of my head, pulling me in closer. “It’s okay.”
Emotions suddenly flood through me, and tears start to prick my eyes. I sniffle, attempting to hold them in, but Henry notices. He starts rubbing my back, soothing me. I should be the one soothing him. I just accused him of giving me some other woman’s clothes to wear and instead of telling him how sorry I am, I’m crying.
What is happening to me?
“It’s fine, Sawyer. Promise.”
His promise only opens the floodgates further. I have officially lost it. At this point, I’m not even sure why I’m crying. If we're being honest, it’s probably the wide range of emotions I’ve felt in the last 24 hours.
“Baby, please stop crying. It’s okay.”
I sniffle again, pulling back and wiping away my tears. Henry’s thumb darts out and gently wipes away a tear rolling down my cheek.
“They’re really cute,” I say, referring to my outfit. I really do like it. He picked things out I would choose for myself, not to mention it's super comfortable. The joggers feel like butter on my skin and the shirt is a dusty blue, a color I love. I shoot him a watery smile, and he booms in laughter.
“Glad you like them. Now let’s get you home so you can go to work.”
“You cried?” Nathalie asks, poorly attempting to hide her laughter.
I spent the better half of the morning regaling my night to Nathalie, who jumped me this morning looking for juicy details. I gave her a very vague retelling of the night. She doesn’t need to know the intimate parts about what Henry and I did last night. Against my better judgment, I decided to tell her about the clothing, which I’m currently regretting.
“Yes, it was incredibly embarrassing. Let’s move on.”
I stand from my desk and make my way towards the gymnasium. The children will start arriving soon, so we need to set up all the sports equipment for the kids to play with. I rush down the hallway, Nathalie trailing behind me. I pick up my pace, hoping to shake her so I don’t have to answer any more questions. Unfortunately, she has a few inches on me, and it takes her only moments for her to catch up.
“At least tell me if it was a cute outfit?” I stop and shoot her a look, a mix of exasperation and humor. No one is more invested in the longevity of Henry and I’s relationship than Nathalie. She once referred to us as her Brad-gelina. Which was both a compliment and slightly concerning. She ignores my look and responds to herself. “Of course it was cute. Who am I kidding?”
I huff a laugh, completely amused by the absurdity of her talking to herself. Pushing the door to the gym open, I unlock the storage room and begin pulling out the drawstring bags full of soft foam dodgeballs. Today’s sport is dodgeball, which has to be my favorite day because the kids go wild and will all pretend a ball didn’t just hit them straight in the chest. I have to give them some credit, they put on Oscar-worthy performances.
Kids begin to filter into the gym, full of energy and nearly bouncing off the walls. It's more energy than I’m used to on a Monday. My favorite Mavericks fan comes bouncing into the gym, heading straight towards me. Micah is wearing a new jersey today; one I haven’t seen before.
“Miss Sawyer!” Micah screams as he runs towards me. He crashes into me, hugging me much harder than I thought a seven-year-old was capable of. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“What are you—Why are you thanking me?” I laugh, confused by the greeting.
“I went to the game yesterday!” he yells, so excited he’s nearly vibrating.
“That's great, Micah! But what does that have to do with me?”
I have no idea why Micah is thanking me. I had nothing to do with him going to the game. He should be thanking his parents. I mean, I’ll take the hug any day, but the thanks seem misplaced.
