Page 14 of Time for You

“Okay, now that the water’s boiling, you just pour the pasta in, but be ready to stir or it’ll boil over.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Daphne confirmed.

Henry did as instructed, although his face remained dubious.

It was another day where Ellie had to work but Daphne was off, which meant spending time with Henry.

Ever since that day at the library, it felt like something critical between them had shifted, and now rather than dreading it, she was looking forward to it.

Being around Henry wasn’t always easy, but she felt like she understood why he could be so difficult.

Picking apart what was because he was living in an entirely unfamiliar century and what was just him being an arrogant dick was tricky, but Daphne was getting better at it.

Questioning her every suggestion when she instructed him on how to make spaghetti?

That was due to being baffled by everything, including dried pasta and electric stoves.

Haughtily informing her that his cook made far superior dishes back in 1885?

That was, unfortunately, all Henry. Even stranger was that he was growing on her, arrogance and everything.

He was, she had to admit, charmingly interested in new experiences, like the drag brunch Brittany and Ellie had taken him to the previous weekend while Daphne was stuck at the hospital.

“Tell me, Daphne,” he said, and there was still the slightest hesitation before he said her first name, like he had to remind himself of what to say. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Milkshakes,” she said without thinking. They hadn’t introduced him to fast food yet, although he had seen mentions of it in his diligent movie watching.

“Is that something I—we could make?”

“Not the ones I love. We’d have to go out and buy it.”

“Would you take me?”

“Like, now?”

He smirked, and she felt a familiar, if faint, flare of irritation. “That would be wasteful, seeing as I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.”

“You’re cooking?” she teased, earning herself a grin. “I thought we were cooking.”

“You’re merely supervising,” he said with a haughty sniff.

“How about dessert, then? We eat the spaghetti, and then go get milkshakes?”

Henry grinned at her again, so warmly and genuinely Daphne had to look away.

It wasn’t warm enough yet for the local ice cream stores to open—that wouldn’t happen for another month or so—but the spring evening was pleasant enough that having milkshakes from a national franchise that nearly shared Henry’s last name while sitting outside wasn’t terrible.

The patio was small, mostly full of families with little kids and a handful of teenagers celebrating it being Friday.

Henry was a little confused by the straw at first, and then irritated by how difficult it was to drink a milkshake through one, but eventually he got the hang of it (or enough ice cream had melted to make it a little more drinkable).

“And these are common?” he kept saying. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Daphne said with a genuine smile. “You should ‘invent’ these when you get back to Edinburgh; you’d make a fortune.”

“I know I’m penniless here, but I am quite wealthy back then,” he said teasingly. “Besides, I have now watched three movies about time travel, and if Marty McFly has taught me one thing, it’s not to meddle in the past.”

“Fair enough,” Daphne said, taking her cup and his to go throw them out. An older man wandered out of the bar down the street and caught her eye, giving her an uncomfortably lecherous once-over. Daphne turned away, but rather than keep walking, the guy stopped.

“Aw, come on, smile,” he said, and Daphne rolled her eyes. The man snapped, “Hey, I was talking to you.”

Daphne didn’t flinch, but Henry was at her side so quickly it was as if another portal in the space-time continuum had opened up.

“Do not speak to her like that,” Henry growled, and the man—a skinny white man in a suit, probably somewhere around fifty and clearly not used to being told what to do—stopped in his tracks.

Henry pressed his advantage, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

“Do you always speak to ladies like that?”

“Henry, it’s not—” Daphne protested, but he kept his eyes on his target.

“I asked you a question,” Henry said, his voice dipping dangerously. “Do you speak to ladies like this often?”

“I don’t—”

“Then apologize,” he snapped. “Now.”

“I, um, I’m sorry ... miss?”

Daphne nodded and Henry stepped back, relinquishing the man from his captive gaze.

The man scurried— scurried —away, and Daphne took a breath to return her heart rate to normal.

Usually she ignored men like that, preferring to just go about her day as if she’d gone temporarily deaf.

“Are you okay?” Henry asked, now sounding worried.

“It was nothing,” Daphne said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Really, happens all the time.”

“It shouldn’t,” he said softly. They started walking slowly back toward their apartment building, the sun rapidly setting and a chill creeping in. “I thought you said—never mind.”

“What?”

“Can I ask something without you arguing with me about it?”

“Can’t promise that, no, but you should ask anyway,” Daphne said wryly, the brief adrenaline rush of earlier already draining from her system.

Henry huffed out a laugh. “You said that women are more respected now, but that didn’t seem like it.”

“That’s not a question,” she said, and wrapped her arms around herself. She had goose bumps, but whether it was from the loss of adrenaline or the cool spring evening, she couldn’t say.

“A gentleman would never dream of doing that in 1885,” he said. Henry shrugged off his sweatshirt and draped it over her shoulders, ignoring her feeble protests.

Daphne snorted. She fought the urge to snuggle into his sweatshirt, which was delightfully warm. He’s just trying to be polite, she reminded herself. “That’s what you think, but come on, do you really believe that?”

“I would never dream of speaking to a woman like that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, because you’re a decent person. You were decent in 1885, and you’re decent now. But think of the absolute shittiest man you can imagine, and ask yourself if he truly respects women. And not just ladies of your status or whatever, but poor women, too.”

Henry fell silent. “You’re probably right.”

“Who are you thinking of?”

“Jeremy Nash. I went to school with him, and he had a nasty habit of bothering the servants.”

“See? You even knew about him, but I’m betting he never did anything out of line with women of your status, right?”

“You’re right,” he said, brow furrowed. “Did I overstep back there? Should I have let you—what’s that phrase you use—handle it?”

“Usually I just ignore them, because guys like that are cowards, you know? They want the reaction, and they get mad if there isn’t one. And most of the time it’s not worth it. But it was nice, having you stand up for me.”

Henry smiled back at her and grabbed the door handle to their building, raising his eyebrows when she went to protest. “Let me do this, Daphne,” he said softly, and she bit her lip, wondering just how deep she was getting.