Page 105 of For Keeps. For Always.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen her anything but morose.” He shrugs.

I watch her candidly.

He sees her happy.

I see her masking.

The dark circles under the eyes.

The lines of irritation and worry etched into her skin like crow’s feet.

Her smile is forced, pulled up in a way that aches her face. I’ve seen it countless times before.

Only difference is, today, I’m the one who put that pain there. I’m responsible for the anguish in her demeanor.

“Another?”

I shake my head, refusing to look away from my girl. “No, thanks.”

I need her to seek me out. To feel my presence in the room. I need her tolookat me.

But she doesn’t.

I’m just another faceless man in the crowd.

My feet approach her with trepidation, knowing our reunion will be anything but pleasant.

I know, like me, she’s exhausted and demoralized by the protraction of our separation. Weary and wanting, I can only hope her relief in seeing me outweighs her hurt.

Shot glass paused at her lips, the blankness in her stare catches me off guard when she finally notices me.

“I thought you might’ve been dead.” She tips the glass back, swallowing its contents on a grimace.

“Henley,” I chide quietly. “I called, you didn’t answer. I sent you an email.”

Her palm hits her forehead. “He sent me an email,” she speaks to no one.

She’s drunk. And angry. A lethal combination that only ends in penitent words.

“Can we not do this here?” I step into her, removing the empty shot glass from her red-hot grasp.

“Do what?” she asks, the dismissive shrug in her shoulders a complete contradiction to the acid in her tone. “Have you explain how you’ve finally arrived,threeentire monthslater than planned, with the only explanation a three-line email?”

I refrain from rubbing my hand down my face in frustration, knowing it would only incense her further.

“Baby, please,” I beg through clenched teeth. “I miss you. Can we talk about this in private?”

Her hand reaches out, moving toward my heart, my breath catching in relief. But the moment passes in a blink. She pulls her hand back in a fist, rubbing it against her chest, silently identifying the pain she feels.

My guilt turns in my gut.

“Henley, I’m sorry,” I whisper.

* * *

She throwsher keys to the small entry table as we enter the bed and breakfast.

“Why do we do it?” She kicks off her shoes, throwing her jacket to the small sofa in the room.

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