Page 49 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“Sharon called a little bit ago and said there was a mix-up with the schedules, so she didn’t need me tonight. I just wish I’d known sooner so I wouldn’t have slept all afternoon. NowI’m going to be up half the night.” She shrugged. “Basically have no choice but to watch movies and eat popcorn.”
“I can see how your hands are tied.”
She smiled, chewing on her lower lip as she played with the hem of her shirt. Henry spun away from her and drained his glass dry. Did she have any idea what she did to him? He dumped the cubes into the sink. “So how’s—?”
“Join me.”
They spoke at the same time. Henry had been about to ask about Steve, but he liked Edith’s train of thought much better. “If you want,” she rushed on when Henry didn’t answer right away. “You don’t have to. You’re probably tired. Never mind. I get it if you—”
“What movie are we watching first?”
Her mouth relaxed in a smile. “The Long, Hot Summer.” At Henry’s questioning look, Edith pretended to be in shock. “Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, Orson Welles, Angela Lansbury.” With each name spoken, the tone of her voice became more incredulous. “You’ve never seen it?”
“Never seen it? I’ve never heard of it.”
Edith gasped and clutched her heart. “Well, sir, that changes tonight. Get your leisure pants on and meet me in the living room. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Henry was bone-tired. He hadn’t had more than four hours of sleep any night this week. When he’d left work a little while ago, the only thing on his mind this Friday night was to get to his bed as fast as his weary legs would carry him and not wake up until sometime Sunday afternoon.
So when ten minutes later he found himself reclining on the couch—his leisure-clad legs resting on the coffee table,a bowl of popcorn resting on his stomach, and a beautiful woman resting at his side—he could only figure one thing.
He was falling hard and falling fast. And he didn’t want it to ever end. Somehow he needed to convince Edith to shorten her stay in South Africa. And more importantly, convince her he was a man worth coming home to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Edith lost Henry long before the opening song ofWest Side Storyfinished. To his credit, he had made it through all ofThe Long, Hot Summer. Probably because she forced him to eat another bowl of popcorn whenever he looked ready to fade. But it didn’t look like popcorn or even the thrill of seeing Goldie Hawn inOverboardafter this movie finished was going to stir him awake.
Edith moved the empty bowl from his lap and took in the severe angle of his neck on the back of the couch. No way that was comfortable.
“Henry,” she whispered. When he didn’t so much as stir, she rubbed a gentle hand along his upper arm. “Oh, Henry,” she tried again in a lilting voice.
He inhaled a deep breath and shifted his head but settledback into sleep. The light from the TV reflected across his features and Edith placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. With his dark hair tussled, his lips slightly parted, and a soft whistle coming from his nose with every exhale, she could easily imagine what he must have looked like as a young boy.
However, as her eyes lingered over the strong curve of his jaw to the steady planes of his cheeks, and with his bicep warm beneath her hand and his masculine woodsy scent enticing her closer, she was acutely aware how far Henry was from being a young boy. Underneath the innocent vulnerability of sleep, was a living, breathing man. A very appealing one at that.
Edith yanked her hand back from his arm. She scooted away on the couch and swung her eyes back to the TV, trying to shift her thoughts away from Henry and back to Tony.
He sang about something great coming. Edith rolled her eyes. “Sure, Tony. Somethingrealgreat’s coming for you.” She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. But as the man on the screen kept singing, Edith couldn’t keep her eyes from peeking back to the man on the couch, before swinging back to Tony.
“I’ve spent all my life holding still,” she mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. “I’m tired of holding still, Tony. Don’t you get that?”
“Is that a rhetorical question or do you expect Tony to answer?”
Henry’s groggy voice startled Edith into flinging her bowl of popcorn from her lap. “You’re awake!”
“Hard to sleep when the person next to you won’t stop yammering,” Henry said with a crooked grin.
“Well, it’s hard to watch a movie when the person next to you won’t stop snoring.” Edith picked a piece of popcorn from her shirt and threw it at Henry.
“I don’t snore. And that throw was terrible.”
“Uh, pretty sure you do snore. Been listening to you whistle for the past twenty minutes.” She threw another piece and it bounced off his shoulder. “Better?”
“What do you mean, whistle?”
“Like a grade-schooler playing the recorder.” She sailed a piece past his left ear.
“Please tell me you never play darts for money. And everybody knows whistling is not snoring. Whistling is perfectly acceptable. Some might even call it manly.”
