Proving Paul's Promise(62)

“Oh, the tea is for in the morning. Tonight, we’ll have popcorn and a movie.” His eyes twinkle. “I’ll let you sit in the massage chair Faith got me for Christmas.”

I raise my brow at him.

“Oh, fine, I’ll sit in it.” He waves a hand like he’s swatting the idea away.

“Henry,” I say softly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Never doubted it,” he says sternly. “I’m a lonely old man. Come and keep me company for a day or two.”

“Are you sure?” I watch his face closely to be sure he’s one-hundred-percent certain he wants me to go with him. What stares back at me is that he does. Wholeheartedly. He wants me.

“I want to hear everything,” he says. “I adore a good love story.”

I snort. “What about a bad love story?”

He looks sad all of a sudden. “There’s no such thing,” he says. Then he grins. “I’ll let you pick the movie.”

I go with Henry, because there’s really no place I’d rather be right now.

Suddenly he turns to me and says, “Do I need to go and bash Paul’s head in? He didn’t do anything stupid, did he?”

I laugh. “No. I just needed some time.”

“Time is the only thing we can’t grow more of,” he says, his gaze wistful. “Just keep that in mind.”

I will. I really, really will.





Paul

It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. Friday has been gone for five days. Sure, I know where she is. Henry called me. But he also warned me that he would bash my head in with a baseball bat if I dared to even knock on his door. He’s a sweet old man, but I think he was serious.

I know Friday has talked to Emily and Reagan, and she had lunch with Matt one day this week. But none of them would tell me what happened or what was said. They’re all f*cking traitors in my book.

Friday hasn’t even been to work all week. I have no idea what she’s doing, but she’s not talking to me, that’s for damn sure. I deserve it. I know I do. I should have talked to her instead of taking the choice out of her hands. She’s a f*cking adult. I should have waited for her to say she was ready. She had opened up to me about her kid and my f*cking heart soared and I knew she had a problem. I thought I could solve it. But I should have let her do it herself. She has every right to be mad. I just hope she settles it soon because I miss her like crazy.

Not having her in my shop every day makes me feel like somebody has stolen my heart right out of chest. She’s not flitting around, charming people, or drawing anything beautiful that makes my customers smile.

She’s just gone.

I pull out my phone and text her really quickly.

Me: Hayley has a recital tomorrow. She wants to know if you’re coming.

I wait with my fingers poised over the phone.

Nothing. I get nothing.

I lay it down on the bed and pound my fist into my pillow, jamming it into a ball beneath my head.

Suddenly, my phone dings, and I reach for it like I’m an addict reaching for a fix.

Her: Don’t use Hayley as collateral.

Me: I’ll use anything I can.

Quiet. No response.

Me: Please forgive me. Come back home.

Her: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Me: I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.

Her: What time is her recital?

Yes! Thank God!

Me: Seven. Will you come?

Her: I’ll come. But only because Hayley asked me to.

I take a deep breath because I suddenly can. I feel like the belt that was wrapped around my chest just loosened.

Me: I’ll take you however I can get you.

She doesn’t send more messages and my eyelids are getting heavy, so I send one last message.

Me: I’ve been taking care of people my whole life. My job was to solve everyone’s problems and make sure that everything was okay. You weren’t my responsibility, and I should have realized that. I want you to be my equal, not someone I have to take care of. I promise not to do that again. And when I make a promise, I mean it. I’ll talk to you and listen when you talk. I won’t always do what you want. But I’ll try not to steamroll you again.

She’s not going to reply. I knew that before I sent the message. I tuck my phone under my pillow, just in case she does, and I close my eyes. I dream about her red lips and that perfect smile. And for the first time all week, I don’t wake up grasping for something I don’t have.





Friday

Henry keeps strange hours. It’s two in the morning, and he’s down in his shop working on clocks. Faith was here until around midnight working with him until her husband, Daniel, came to take her home.

I skip down the stairs and stop at the bottom. Henry has spread out pieces of a clock, and the tiny gears are all over the table in front of him.

He grins at me and shakes his head. “My Nan used to skip down those stairs just like that. She brought me coffee and snacks because I sometimes got so engrossed in my work I forgot to eat.”

“What are you working on?” I ask, handing him a cup of coffee.

He takes a sip and smiles at me over the rim. “Thanks,” he says. His eyes twinkle. He motions to what’s in front of him. “This clock is not cooperating,” he says. “It’s a stubborn bastard, but I refuse to let it win.” He laughs and picks up a tiny gear and shows it to me. “Do you see that? Sometimes it’s the smallest things that can set off a whole slew of symptoms. You have to dig really deep to find it, and you almost have to dismantle the whole thing. But if you’re willing to dig deep enough, you’ll almost always get there.”