Page 50 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)
CONRAD
T wo weeks have come and gone since Thanksgiving and thankfully, Henry wasn’t upset by how much Margaret played up our fake relationship in front of my friends.
He actually had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard when I told him about the kiss and wanted us to reenact it for him for the full effect.
I told him, and Margaret in my car on the way home from dinner, that I would never be kissing her again.
It was gross enough the first time seeing as how she’s more like my sister than my friend.
He and I fell into a good rhythm once he returned from London.
Every few days we would alter whose place we would stay at.
On the days we stay at his place, he would sneak out early in the mornings to teach his class, shower at the studio, and climb back into bed with me for a few more hours.
When we were at my place, he, Annie, and I would go for a long walk after dinner and spend the evening on the couch cuddled up talking until we fell asleep and eventually moved to the bed.
The weather has cooled off significantly now that it is two weeks before Christmas and with the studio opening in a little over three weeks, everything from here on out is fine tuning and finishing details.
The computers, monitors, and other various pieces of tech were delivered yesterday so I’m here to make sure it’s all set up and that everything I’ve built for him works at the studio like it does at home.
“Do you need any help?” His voice is low as he rests his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my torso and holding me close. I’m standing at the soon-to-be front desk installing all the programs he’ll need to use once the studio opens.
“Henry, come on.” I try to shake him off and nervously glance around the studio, eyeing the construction workers who are flitting around like bees, hurriedly trying to get everything done.
“What?” he whines and pulls away to look at me. His eyes follow my line of sight and he scoffs. “Oh, please, they don’t care. They’re not even paying attention to us.” He takes another step closer and drops a hand down to my hip but I instinctually bat it away.
“Henry, seriously. Not here. Not now. Not in front of other people.” My words are firmer than I meant for them to be. I know I hurt him when he takes a few steps back and crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking at me like I have just spat at him. I close my eyes and take a steading breath.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, extending a hand for him to take. He glances at my outstretched fingers and then at me before reluctantly taking my hand. “I didn’t mean it like it came out.”
He chews on his bottom lip and I can see the gears turning in his head—like he’s considering if I meant what I said or not.
I know he’s right to be upset with me. He’s doing his best to give me time to be more comfortable with this and I can only imagine what that’s like for him.
I want to try and do what I can to make him comfortable just like he’s doing for me.
After a moment, he takes a similar breath to mine and shakes his shoulders, resetting like he likes to do.
Flashing a small smile, he takes my hand and places his other hand in its rightful place on my waist.
“I know you didn’t and I’m sorry for pushing you. I’ll be better about public displays. It would be easier to control myself if you weren’t so cute,” he compliments with a wink.
“And I’ll be better about how I ask for things. It would be easier if I weren’t such a perpetual grump.” I shrug.
“I don’t know, you weren’t a grump last night when you had your?—”
“London,” the burley voice of Henry’s contractor butts in, cutting him off before he recounts our evening activities.
He tries to pull his hand from mine to respect what I want but I don’t let go.
I want him to see that I’m trying to give him what he wants just like he does for me.
He gives me a shy smile and takes a step closer to me before looking back at his contractor.
“Hardie.” He attempts to mimic the deepness of the man’s voice but it comes off sounding more like a prepubescent boy. I snort and quickly cover my face with the back of my hand to stifle my laughs.
“How can I help you, sir?” he asks in his normal voice.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m here with a status update,” the burly man says. Beads of sweat are sliding down the side of his face and there is a thin layer of dirt and dust on his arms.
“Lovely, carry on then.”
“Well, the main studio, locker rooms, and front reception area are all done. The upstairs studio space is about eighty percent there and is on track to be completed just before the end of the year. We’re just waiting on the wallpaper you picked out and a few fixtures to come in.”
“I ordered all of that weeks ago, what’s taking so long?” Henry’s eyebrows furrow in the center of his face and I almost reach out to smooth them out like he does to me.
“Backordered. All of it. I checked the delivery date and they should be here by Christmas but you never know. With the shipping delays caused by the holiday season, it could be a few weeks.”
Henry throws his head back and groans. “Okay, that’s alright. If they don’t come in time we’ll just have all the classes down here until that space is ready. Thank you for the update.” Henry reaches out and politely touches the man’s arm who nods in thanks before walking away.
“Ugh, that’s so frustrating,” he mumbles under his breath as he begins to pace in a small circle.
He rarely gets worked up but I realized when he is, his go-to tell is his pacing.
I don’t even think he notices himself doing it, he’ll just start walking in circles and will eventually stop moving once he’s self-soothed.
“It’s just a little backordered fixtures, no stress. It’ll all be fine.” I try to calm him with my words but he continues to attempt to wear a rut into the brand new floors.
“I just want this opening to be perfect. Everything else is set and we were planning on announcing new classes at the opening that can only be held upstairs to drum up excitement but if the space isn’t ready we won’t be able to do that and?—”
“Sweets.” I hold him by the arms to try and pull him out of his spiral. His eyes lock on mine and I can see the anxiety raging behind them. “It’s going to be amazing. You know how I know that?”
He doesn’t say anything and instead just looks at me doe-eyed and shakes his head slowly. His bottom lip is hanging open the smallest bit and again, I want to reach out and trace it with my finger.
“Because it’s you and you’ve put your whole being into this place.
I’ve watched you pour yourself into this studio the last three months and I know you’ll continue to do so even after it’s open.
You’re amazing, and this place is the embodiment of you which means by default it’s going to be amazing. ”
“But the fixtures…” he tries to whine but I shake my head, not letting him spiral any more than he already has.
“Will get here when they get here. Remember? It’s like you said, we can’t always be in control of things like we wish we could be.
” I swing our hands between us, trying to get him to smile.
“For now, why don’t we go back to my place and you can lie on my chest and do that tapping thing that makes you feel better?
Then later we can recreate last night if you want to,” I offer with a gentle smile.
When his own smile starts to grow across his face, I know I’ve won him over.
A few hours later, he’s lying on my chest like I promised he could with his ear pressed to my breastplate, listening to the sound of my heart beating.
I’ve done some research on the impact of listening to someone’s heartbeat after he said that it soothes him and sure enough, there are studies out there that show that listening to someone’s heartbeat can reduce levels of stress and anxiety in the brain.
Not only that, some article I read said that listening to someone’s heartbeat can produce the same if not deeper connections to another person than eye contact does.
I don’t care what science says, if it helps him relax and calm down, I’ll let him do it whenever he needs.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s being lulled to sleep by the steady thumps behind my chest.
“Just this, you, us,” I reply easily and honestly. My fingers are roped through his hair and twirling small pieces of it between my fingers.
He tips his chin up and rests it on his hand which is pressed into my chest. “And what about this, me, us?” His green eyes catch the light and twinkle as he looks at me. My hand falls to his cheek and he nuzzles himself into it. As I look at him, I can’t help but smile.
“Just how happy I am because of you. The last few months have felt like this crazy confusing blur of uncertainty and just letting things happen. Before you, I never did that. I never just let things happen. But because of you, I just…I feel lighter. Like the hard stuff isn’t so hard anymore.
And even the hard stuff feels doable because I know I have you to help me through it. ”
His smile grows as I speak and he turns to kiss the inside of my palm. “I am with you through it all, love. Whatever you need, I’m here for you just like you are for me.”
“I’m really glad you ran into me at the coffee shop and then lectured me about standing up straight,” I tease, knowing good and well that bringing up our initial encounter will annoy him.
“I stand by the fact that you ran into me.” He starts to raise his voice, getting heated just at the mention of it.
“I don’t think so, here in America?—”
“The only thing I care about how things are done here in America is how you do me,” he teases, climbing up my body and pressing his lips to mine. It doesn’t take long before we’re a frenzied mess of needy hands and hurried kisses.