Page 45 of When We Were More (Aron Falls #1)

T illie

I’m restless in bed, tossing and turning, trying to force myself to fall asleep.

I’m thoroughly exhausted, yet sleep evades me.

I close my eyes and breathe in and out slowly, counting my breaths to calm my body as much as possible.

The problem is that my mind keeps drifting.

I’m beyond frustrated. I want to slip into sleep and not be aware of anything.

I want to forget this evening because it’s upsetting me.

I need to disappear into oblivion for a few hours.

The truth is, I’ve screwed up.I let myself get into this situation with Henry, lying to both of us that being friends with him would be enough.

I want to be that woman. I’d love to be able to partake in a physical relationship without letting it grow into something deeper. But I guess I’m not capable of that.

The ringing of my security camera system trills through the quiet air, startling me.

It’s probably another raccoon on my porch or a coyote or fox running across the backyard.

Normally, I wouldn’t check unless it happens again, but I’m wide awake and my efforts to fall asleep are shit, so I pick up my phone and peek.

My heart pounds in my chest when I see Henry, sitting on my cedar swing, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head held in his hands. He’s staring down at the floor of the porch.

It’s January and he has his suit coat off and his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. He’s going to freeze.

Still, I don’t get out of bed yet. Like a creeper, I watch him. He scrubs his hand through his messy hair. A twinge of sadness strikes me because I’m reminded that I love it when his hair is messy like that.

He stands and paces across my porch. He says something to himself, then climbs down my porch steps and walks toward his truck. My stomach falls. He’s leaving.

I’m about to turn the live feed from the camera off when I see him stop.

He talks a little more to himself before he turns around and climbs back up the steps.

He walks to the door and raises his fist to knock, then stops himself.

I watch as he rests his forehead against the heavy wood, his flattened palms on either side of his head.

He pushes himself off the door and sits down, with no apparent regard for his tuxedo pants, on my dirty porch steps. He leans his upper body against the railing and stares out between two balusters into the darkness of the night.

There’s no movement for long enough that I worry he’s fallen asleep.

Shit, the man’s going to freeze to death.

I begrudgingly climb out of my toasty bed and grab my robe from the bathroom.

I walk downstairs, and Henry doesn’t stir when I open the main door.

But when the screen door makes that faint, squealing sound, he glances over at me.

Neither of us says anything while we stare at each other.

Finally, I step back and wave for him to come into the house.

“Come on, you’ll freeze to death out there.”

Henry lifts his gaze to meet my eyes, and that’s when I see how distraught he appears. More than I could tell from his body language earlier. He’s got circles around his eyes, and the light that is usually shining in them is absent.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to find a man frozen to death on my front porch tomorrow morning. So, yes, come in, Henry. Either come into the house or go home.”

I turn and walk to the kitchen, not waiting for him. I throw some coffee beans in the grinder, and when they’re ready, I make a pot of coffee.

I’m a bit surprised when Henry doesn’t show up in the kitchen after a minute or two. I wait there until the coffee finishes brewing, and I pour a cup for each of us. If he’s left, I’ll lock up the house and go to bed. If he’s still here, I think we’re going to both need something to perk us up.

As soon as I near the doorway to the living room, before I can even see into the area, I know he’s still here. I can sense it, as ridiculous as that sounds.

Henry is sitting on the couch, reclined against the cushions, with his head resting on the back of the sofa. He’s staring at the ceiling.

“Where are the girls?”

“They’re staying with my mom tonight. I’m not positive, but I think my mom’s boy—I think Leo might be staying there, too.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Honestly, I’m trying hard not to think about it. I don’t have the bandwidth right now to delve into that.” He sits up and stares over at the coffee. “Thank you for this,” he says quietly.

I hand him a cup and we sip from our mugs in silence for a few minutes. A few feet separate us on the couch, and neither of us makes a move to lessen the distance. Not physically, or emotionally.

When it gets to the point that it seems like we’re going to sit here silent all night, Henry speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice filled with shame.

“For what?” I peer down into my cup, unwilling to look at his face right now, afraid of what I’ll see there. I take my index finger and trace the pattern on the mug while I wait for him to answer.

“Hell, a lot of things. But mostly that I acted like such an asshole tonight.”

“Which part?” My voice is quiet, and it betrays my hesitancy in asking. I glance up at Henry, and he studies me with his head tilted. I bite my lower lip, nervous.

“I’m sorry because I saw you standing at the door when you first came in, and I didn’t immediately walk up to you and apologize for earlier.

” He pierces me with his eyes, and I don’t think I could turn away if I tried, if I wanted to.

“That I waited too long and let Jake be the one to greet you and tell you how gorgeous you looked. That when he took you to his table, I didn’t come and get you and ask you to come to mine.

To the seat I had saved for you. I’m sorry that I stopped over to your table and acted like an asshole. And…”

He hesitates, leans forward, and takes a sip of his coffee, then clears his throat. “For…”

My eyes are on him now.

“For what happened under the table?” My words are quiet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t hear them.

His eyes change, desire flashes in them for a split second, then something else. Something I can’t quite name. He scoots over nearer to me, close enough that our legs are touching.

We hold eye contact as he raises a hand to my cheek and cups the side of my face. My heart races.

“No. Not that. I’ll never be sorry for touching you, wanting you.” He pauses and uses his free hand to tuck a strand of hair that’s escaped its messy bun behind my ear. “I’m sorry I was drunk and, most of all, I’m sorry you had to see her. ”

Ipull away from him at the reminder. I stare down at my hands and pick at my peeling nail polish. Then I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“It’s okay, Henry. You have a past. But you didn’t tell me she was the acquaintance when everything happened with her at your mom’s party. Was that on purpose?”

“Yes and no. It came to mind that I should tell you, but not immediately. I was too worried about finding you that night, and then it never seemed like the right time. It felt weird, and I didn’t want to hurt you. She’s in the past, and it was nothing.”

“You don’t owe me anything. But… butmaybe we should officially end this, say the words. If you want to move on, that’s?—”

“No.” Henry moves lightning fast, and his hands cradle the sides of my head while he brushes his thumbs across my cheeks. Still, I avoid eye contact. “No, Matilda. Look at me, please.” I shift my eyes to meet his request.

“Henry—”

“No. I don’t want her. I want you. Only?—”

“She’s beautiful, Henry. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted?—”

“Damnit, Matilda. I. Do. Not. Want. Her. Yes, she’s objectively attractive, but you’re fucking stunning. I still don’t understand how you don’t see it. I’m always going to choose you. Always. Even if you don’t want me, there will be no one else.”

My eyes burn with hot tears that want to fall.

“Henry, what are we doing here? This is… it’s?—”

“I mean it, tiger. You take my breath away.” I stiffen as the memory of her telling me he had a nickname for her, too, floods back into the forefront of my mind.

“Did you call her kitten?” I hate that my insecurities are noticeable from my shaking voice. Henry rears his head back and gapes at me.

“What?” His forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“She told me you called her ‘ kitten.’ Did you?”

I assume he’s going to accuse me of being jealous or ridiculous, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes soften, and he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. Then he pulls away and gazes at me again.

“I promise you that I never had a nickname for her. Not for any woman before you.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Sorry I asked.”

“Hey, don’t ever be sorry for getting what you need from me.

If you need to ask me a million questions, go ahead.

But know that the first time I saw you, I knew I’d never see another woman more gorgeous than you for the rest of my life.

I’ve never met someone who instantly captivated me like you did.

It’s you, Matilda. It will always be you?—”

I don’t let him finish and silence him with my mouth. The kiss is cautious, hesitant at first, but then it explodes into more. So much more as we both kiss each other like it will be the last time.

Maybe it will be. I force the thoughts and concerns out of my mind.

Before I know it, I’m straddling Henry, and my hands have found their way into his hair.

I weave my fingers through the thick, dark strands, and he moans.

As if it’s no effort, he holds me under my thighs and stands.

He walks toward the stairs leading to my bedroom, and since he needs his eyes right now, I rest my head on his shoulder to keep from kissing him.