Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(54)
“Why is Joy in the pity party?” I ask, reaching to run my hand down her back.
“She’s an empath,” he says.
“Is that so? I’ve had an empath cat this whole time and didn’t know.”
“Uh-huh. The fact you didn’t know is another reason she should live with me,” he mumbles, resting his chin on the top of my head. My mouth opens to argue back, but he quickly interrupts. “I don’t want to hear about Robbie’s alleged allergy.”
“Why do you like her so much? I mean, I love her because she’s my cat, but why do you like her so much?”
“Question time is over,” he says, tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.
“Please, Henry. One more. You promised me round two.”
The three of us lie together on the couch in the quiet of my house. I begin to think maybe he’s ignoring me, or he’s fallen asleep, but then he holds Joy to his chest as he rolls onto his side so we’re almost face to face.
She hates her new spot between us and runs off, settling in her seat on the back of the couch cushions, leaving the two of us stomach to stomach, my nose level with his chin. He looks down as I look up, watching his mouth as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. “Because she’s sweet, and I like her funny little personality. I love when she’s affectionate, and I love that she lets me hold her as much as I want to. She makes me feel calm and I like that she likes me, too.”
“She’s a very good cat like that,” I whisper, because talking loud feels like too much with how close we are.
“She is,” he whispers back.
There’s a moment when our breathing synchronizes and our eyes meet that I think maybe Henry Turner would be an experience I wouldn’t survive. That having him talk about me the way he talks about Joy could devastate me beyond repair.
But then the doorbell rings, letting us know our food has arrived. And I remember that there’s never been a long list of complimentary adjectives that follow when people talk about me anyway.
Chapter Seventeen HALLE
THE ENTIRE ROOM ERUPTS INTO cheers when the Titans clinch the win in the last ten seconds.
I’ve been going to hockey games for years, but there’s nothing like seeing this kind of result, knowing how relieved Henry will be. Aurora is jumping up and down, too, and honestly you’d think we’d personally done something.
Henry told me they’d win if I wore the present he’d gotten me—the present being his jersey. I always feel like I’m comparing, but having fun today with Aurora really feels so different from when I sat with other girlfriends at Will’s games.
We’ve been chatting—okay, borderline debating about which is the better sport—with the guys sitting next to us all game. I have a football family because of Grayson, Aurora’s is obviously motorsport, and the guy who’s name I never quite caught has a brother who’s a baseball player. Thankfully we had hockey to unite us, and as silly as it was, it was fun to interact with new people and not stress about it.
As we pick up our cups from the floor and grab our purses to leave, the nameless guy stops me. “Hey, would I be able to get your number? Kinda wanna debate the whole football-versus-baseball thing a bit more. You seem cool.”
I’m so confused. I look to Aurora, who just gives me a look that says, well?
“Oh, sorry. Uh, um. No? Sorry, that’s rude. I just kinda—” I have no idea where I’m going with this.
“She’s pining for someone else,” Aurora says with a smile, putting me out of this particular misery, but very firmly into another one.
“Got it,” he says. “Was good to meet y’all.”
“Really?” I say when he’s out of earshot.
Aurora shrugs. “Tell me you wanted to give him your number, and then I’ll apologize.”
I huff. “Touché.”
As soon as I reach my car, I pull out my phone to text Henry.
HENRY TURNER
Still campaigning for you to switch to carnival games, but I guess that was a pretty spectacular win.
Thanks Cap
Where are you?
Cami is sick. I’m taking her a care package.
Where was my care package when I was sick?
I gave you dim sum and didn’t complain when you threw it all up.
Fair.
Can I make it up to you later?
Yup. I’ll text you when I’m leaving Cami’s.
The massive duck has to go in a different room.
Quack Efron lives there and you don’t.
I hate Bobby so, so much.
Hurry. I miss Joy.
There are women in Maple Hills who would give an organ to have Henry talk about them the way he talks about my cat.
After a quick visit to the grocery store, I pull into the parking lot of Cami’s building as Will’s name flashes up on my caller ID. I nearly crash my car into one of the bushes lining the concrete. After the initial shock subsides, it’s the easiest rejection of my life. He probably played today, too, and he probably saw my story from the game. I have zero desire to argue with someone who only wants to speak to me when he’s—jealous? I don’t even know—calling to try to make me feel bad about something.
By the time I reach Cami’s front door, I’ve talked myself in and out of calling him back. In because what if something has happened to him or his family, then out, because my mom isn’t also calling me. In because what if he wants to fix our friendship, then out, because if that was the case he’d start by text.