Page 35 of The Heartbreak Hotel

Henry’s text is three words: Are you drinking?

I look at the empty cosmo glass in my hand. I was planning to stop now, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Will you come here if I am?

The three dots appear on-screen. Disappear, reappear.

Yes , he says.

I bite my lip. Next to me, Willa wraps Lucy in a hug and sways both of them back and forth.

Then yes.

If it’s possible, Henry looks even more out of place in Ophelia’s than he did that very first day at the house.

No leather jacket; certainly no costume.

He shows up in jeans and his leather boots, a thin wool sweater, his hair combed back.

I’m stupidly relieved to see that he shaved.

The un-bachelorette party is still squirming on the dance floor, but I’ve carved out a Lou-sized notch of breathing room on a barstool; when Henry steps through the door and starts scanning, I raise my arm in the air.

His eyes land on me, and a weird thing happens to his body—like a static shock, or a misstep where you manage to catch yourself before you fall.

A twisted mix of fear and relief. It scares me, how well I can already read him.

How much time I’ve already spent learning what his movements mean—the tug of his lip between his teeth, the rise of his shoulders, the scrunch of his brow.

Henry cuts through the crowd without hesitating. When he’s near enough I reach for him, bring his face close to mine so I can speak right into his ear. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls back, casts his eyes over mine.

I say it again, dropping my hands from where they’ve landed on his chest—just in case he doesn’t want this, just in case I’m already overstepping.

But Henry picks them up, wraps them back around him, moves into my space so his hips part my legs and my back presses to the bar.

He dips his head so his lips are at my ear and says, simply, “Thank you.”

“I could have stayed in that bathroom with you forever.” I spread my fingers across his rib cage, hold him to me. “I should have. I’m sorry.”

“Forever?” he says, pulling back far enough to meet my eyes. Behind him, the room is a blur of colored lights.

“I mean.” I breathe a laugh that shudders on the way out, shaky with relief. “You know what I mean.”

Henry pushes hair out of my face. “I was thinking a bed would be good, next time.”

I bite my lip, swallowing a smile. When I stand, it brings me flush against his body. “Dance with me.”

I make to pull him into the fray and he stops me, all five fingertips flexing into my waist. “I’m sorry, too,” he says.

His eyes flick back and forth over mine, like he wants to be sure I’m paying attention.

“I was trying to sort out my feelings, but I shouldn’t have—” He stops, swallows. “I should have texted you back.”

I blink, a bitten-off smile making my lips twitch. “You should have,” I agree. His thumb has found its way under my shirt. “I was losing my mind, not hearing from you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. He dips his forehead so it lands on mine, closes his eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“ This? ” I ask, tipping back so he has to look at me. His eyes flutter open, and he draws a deep breath. Been with someone , I think he’s going to say. He looks embarrassed.

“Talked about how I’m feeling.” Henry swallows, his eyes flickering away from me before coming back again. “Or processed something with someone else, instead of just…here.” He lifts two fingers to his temple. “It’s not an excuse. I’ll get better.”

I smooth my thumb between his eyebrows, run my hand into his hair, and settle my fingers around the back of his neck. He leans into my palm and I want to work him open, know every feeling he’s ever had.

“How are you feeling now?” I ask.

Henry smiles, shy, and tugs my hips against his. “Relieved.” His gaze dips to my mouth before rising back to meet mine. “You?”

I kiss him once before saying, “Like I want to dance.”

Henry laughs, glancing around. Lucy and Co. are too many cosmos deep to care that I’ve brought a man into our midst, or even to remember that I’m here at all.

“This music’s awful,” Henry says.

He’s right—it’s still an impossible cacophony of house music and bluegrass, twangy strings and booming bass. But when I pull him away from the bar he comes with me, and in the tangle of the dance floor he winds both arms around my waist—a Henry-shaped bubble in the chaos.

“Did you drive here?” he asks me, nearly a shout over the music.

“No!” I have one hand wound around his neck, one pressed flush to his chest. “We took the only rideshare in Estes Park.”

Henry nods, glancing over the crowd like he’s trying to figure out who we is.

“Wait,” I say, standing still so I can get him in focus. “Is that why you came? You thought I’d try to drive myself home?”

“I came,” Henry says, dragging me back into a sway, “because I have this new ailment where I feel sick if I haven’t seen you in a few days.” I mash my lips together to keep from smiling, and Henry ducks close to my ear again. “But maybe I wanted to drive you home myself.”

“You’ll have to take all of us,” I tell him, leaning back and gesturing around the bar.

Henry tips his head to the right, where a man in leathers is sipping a Coors. “Even the guy in the Harley jacket?”

“No, just the jilted bride and her five drunk friends. We’ll squeeze.”

Henry shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips, and dips his chin to kiss me. “Fine,” he says. “One condition.”

I wind my arms around his neck, pressing our bodies together in the dark. “I’m listening.”

Henry’s fingers spread wide and warm over the small of my back. “I always go to Florida, the first half of November. Help my parents for a while.”

First half ? I feel my mouth going pouty. It’s the cosmos—it’s the damn cosmos—but I can’t help it when I blurt, “But I just got you back.”

Henry’s eyes find mine in the dark. They glint, crinkling up in a way that’s so pleased I’m almost glad I said it.

He dips his mouth to my ear. “Spend Thanksgiving with me, when I get back.” The words are soft—nervous—at their edges.

When I pull back to look at him, he’s watching me carefully.

There’s something so vulnerable in the tense line of his mouth that I tip forward without thinking to soften his lips with my own.

“Is that a yes?” His words, right against my mouth, are so quiet I nearly miss them. He meets my eyes, and his face splits into a smile when I nod.

“It’s a yes.” A yes that pings inside me like a shiver, rattling. Yes.

Henry tugs me closer into the warm wall of his body. “Good,” he says, and starts to move us in time to the music. The shiver only grows when he brushes his lips against my ear and whispers, “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”