Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(91)
Henry looks down at me like I have three heads. “I’m good.”
“Don’t you want a picture to show people? Or to remember it?” Short of picking him up and putting him next to the painting, I will convince him.
“If people want to see it, they can come here. It’s an art gallery,” he says calmly. People pass by us, not stopping to pay attention to the two people standing face to face, debating with each other. “I don’t care about these hypothetical people. I wanted to show you and I have.”
“But I want the experience of taking your picture next to your beautiful artwork,” I say, definitely pouting. Childish, but hopefully effective.
He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk. “I’m too busy to take a picture.” He lifts both of his shoulders and tilts his head, giving me a look that says “Waddaya gonna do?”
“You’re too busy?” I repeat.
“Number one in the Henry and Halle code of conduct rule book: we have to be honest about how busy we are.”
“You’re—” God, he’s smiling really big now. “Insufferable.”
“How about we compromise?” Both of his hands find my waist and my pulse ping-pongs around my body as he walks me backward slowly. There’s no sound except my feet hitting the floor and our breathing. When I sense the wall behind me he stops moving, letting go of me to take a few steps back himself. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and holds it up. “I’ll take your picture with it.”
“You’re joking.”
“If you want this picture to turn out nice, I recommend you stop talking and start smiling, because you look possessed in that last one.”
“You’re rid—”
“Oops, there’s another one.”
“Fine!” I snap, smiling next to his painting.
After ten seconds he finally lowers his phone. “Beautiful.”
“Do I get to see?” He nods and walks over, handing me his phone. “I’m deleting the bad ones.”
“But they’re my favorite,” he groans as I pull up his camera roll.
He wasn’t joking—I really do look possessed. I spend more time deleting awful pictures than I do looking at nice ones, but at least I know I’m not going to come here one day and see it hanging on the wall.
“Are you done being a photography critic? We have a dinner reservation and I’m so hungry.”
“I’m not done looking at your work,” I say. We stand side by side in silence, elbows touching, looking at the two people who made Henry Turner the man he is. “How do you feel when you look at it?”
He mulls over my question for a little while, but I don’t mind waiting. “Lucky. What about you?”
“Grateful.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight HENRY
NORMALLY I DON’T LOVE OUR Christmas party, but this year it feels different.
Robbie has relaxed a little with his party antics since starting grad school. I know he has a lot of work on his plate as well as trying to prove to Faulkner and the college board that he’s responsible enough for a permanent job at the end of the year. We’re still having our normal fancy dress party, but he hasn’t gone over-the-top the way he has in previous years.
He says it shows maturity and didn’t like when I said it seemed like poor time management, since he forgot to order the decorations by the cutoff.
That said, our house still looks like Michael Bublé himself threw up on it. Michael—and I’ve been forced to listen to him enough that I feel like I can call him by his first name—has been playing for the past week. In between exams, we slowly decorated the house to meet Robbie’s standards. Lola tried to help, but she’s easily distracted and not great at taking directions. Ironic for someone who wants a career on stage. I immediately banished Aurora and Poppy for similar traits, but Halle, Cami, and Emilia were very helpful.
I’m already drunk when guests start showing up, which makes everyone patting me on the back for our recently improved game performance more tolerable. People keep stopping to say hi to me and chat while I’m trying to mix a punch bowl for Halle. Multiple women I’ve hooked up with keep trying to talk to me. I have been politely telling them I’m not available, which results in their faces dropping before walking off.
Sure, I might not technically have a girlfriend, but I’m definitely not available, and the person I’m not available with really likes this punch I’m trying to concentrate on.
After people we know had their drinks spiked a couple of months ago, we stopped making random shared drinks, but tonight is the exception because I’m going to guard it with my life.
Cami is coming and it’s her first party since October, so we have a system to keep drinks separate from the rest of the party to help her feel comfortable. Poppy has stopped drinking alcohol altogether after she said she found herself panicking as soon as it started to have an effect on her.
Russ leans against the counter beside me. “Breaking hearts isn’t very Christmasy.”
The only thing I’ve broken today is the mistletoe above the front door. That went straight into the trash. There’s no way I was giving one of the guys the opportunity to kiss Halle when she gets here. “What are you talking about?”