Page 67 of Love ad Lib
Self-loathing turned his stomach. He needed to get out of the wardrobe and find somewhere else to hide. Somewhere he couldn’t associate with her. The door to the bedroom opened and he froze as someone entered.
They walked to the bed and… sat down?
He peeked through the tiny gap in the wardrobe door to see Libby sitting on the bed, her shoulders slumped as she stared at her phone. She stifled a massive yawn, then pressed the screen and held it to her ear.
‘Hey Claire, it’s me. I hope you’re all asleep. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve arrived. It’s—’
Henry opened the door.
Libby screamed and threw the phone at him.
‘Sorry! I didn’t want to listen to your private conversation.’ He raised his hands to show he wasn’t carrying an axe.
She started laughing, her hand pressed to her chest. ‘Jesus, Henry, you scared the bloody life out of me.’
‘Sorry.’
Libby retrieved her phone. ‘I need to leave another message before Claire thinks I’ve just been murdered.’ She put the phone back to her ear. ‘I’m alive, I just got startled by Henry hiding in a wardrobe. There’s a perfectly logical explanation, I promise. We were playing sardines. Google it or I’ll explain tomorrow. Love you, and love to Harper.’
She smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and she ran towards the wardrobe and climbed in, shutting the door behind her.
‘Libby—’
‘Shhh!’
Henry held his breath, but whoever it was walked on.
‘I never knew sardines could be so exciting,’ she whispered. ‘I think they’re now my favourite fish.’
He smiled. ‘How are you doing? Today must have been a bit, er, intense.’
‘Are they always like this?’
He hesitated. ‘No, not really.’
‘Phew.’
‘Um…’
‘Yes?’
Henry sighed. ‘They’re usually worse.’
Libby giggled and he felt her hand on his. She squeezed. ‘I like everyone I’ve met so far.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t sound so sceptical. What matters most is their intentions, and everyone loves you.’
He didn’t know how to reply. She was right.
‘Especially Jasmine.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you found me first and not her.’
She squeezed his hand again. ‘You’re a catch, Henry Foxbrooke. Own it.’
