by June Gray
I laughed and gave him a light jab in the stomach.
He grasped my wrist then brought my hand up to his lips. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Well, I’d better get going,” he said, sounding like he wanted to do anything but.
I wanted to invite him inside—I really did—but it was too soon to let him jump with both feet into my life again, so I just stood on my tiptoes and pressed my forehead to his mouth. “Goodnight, Henry. Thank you for the lovely date.”
I felt his lips forming a smile against my skin. “Are you in love with me yet?”
“Not yet.”
He didn’t look too bothered when he drew away. “I still have two more dates to win you over.”
“Good luck, Mr. Logan,” I said, giving him a very formal handshake.
He gave me a quick peck on the lips before pulling away. “Goodnight, Miss Sherman. I love you.”
2 | SECOND DATE
The next morning I received an email from Rebecca detailing the new job description and a link to the company’s website. I sat at my desk with a heavy ball of worry in my stomach, looking through photographs of the large, creative office space. Shake Design was one of Denver’s most promising companies and had some truly large national clients, and according to their website, treated their employees well.
It was a good job, one that would allow me to direct while still get my hands dirty with design, and it paid a hell of a lot more. To top it off, I’d always wanted to live in Colorado. It was, in a nutshell, the job offer of a lifetime.
Henry was waiting for me in the parking lot when I got off work that Wednesday afternoon. He was seated casually on his motorcycle, his helmet in his lap, looking like an ultra-sexy magazine ad for Harley Davison.
“Hey, pretty lady, you need a ride?” he asked with a salacious grin as I approached.
I placed my purse inside one of the saddlebags and settled in behind him, feeling his heat emanating through his jacket, unable to keep from squirming when my crotch was pressed so close to his ass.
“Stop that,” he said. “Or I will take you on this bike right here, right now.”
“Empty promises,” I teased, suddenly unable to keep from thinking about having sex on his motorcycle. I didn’t even know if it was possible, but boy, did it sound erotic as hell.
He turned and flashed me a wicked smile. “This is no empty promise, Els,” he said, his voice taking on a gritty quality that indicated he was really turned on. “The past few days have been torture. Just say the word and I’m all yours.”
I gulped, seriously contemplating saying yes just to see what he’d do. The question was: was I ready for what was to come next? “You’re right, we’d better get going,” I said and popped the helmet over my overheating face.
Henry took me to a coffee shop on the north side, near the Oklahoma City University campus.
“The Red Cup?” I asked as we got off the bike. I didn’t want to judge, but he was taking me to an artsy-fartsy coffee shop for our second date?
“Yep.” He grabbed my hand and led me through the parking lot towards the converted house, painted a bright green. On top of the roof was a giant red cup with a silver spoon. It was quirky and cute, sure, but didn’t really indicate grand gesture.
Inside the place was a riot of color with black and white checked floors, brightly painted walls and art everywhere. After we ordered our food, Henry led me to the back—to what I assumed was the old living room—and we sat down in a yellow pleather booth that curved around a corner.
“So, interesting place,” I said, studying the eclectic collection of art and people. There were students, paintings, bohemians, prints, hipsters and suits. “Why here? This place is not exactly romantic.”
He leaned back into the booth, his head nearly hitting the canvas painting on the wall above him. “You didn’t want romance, remember? It was too much?”
I glanced around. “Yeah, but…”
He raised both eyebrows. “Yes?”
“I want a little bit of romance,” I said.
He shook his head. “I can’t win with you, can I?”
I grinned. “Is too much to ask that you read my mind?”
“I’m sorry. Next time I will use my ESP and take you to Starbucks instead.” He smiled widely, his features relaxed.
“You seem happy.” It was true; he seemed so at ease with the world, no longer that brooding guy who didn’t know himself. This new Henry was grounded and relaxed, different but still the same boy I’d fallen in love with many years ago. It felt strange, like I was cheating on the old Henry with the new.
“I am.” He stretched his arms on the back of the booth and gathered me into his side. “Deliriously,” he said in a sigh.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, wishing I could say the same and completely mean it.
We sat in comfortable silence for a long while, his palm rubbing my shoulder as he occasionally kissed the top of my head. It was cozy, even if under my skin ran an undercurrent of tension and worry. We finally separated when the waitress brought our food, and we ate in silence all the while casting glances at each other.
I was keenly aware of the little things: the scent of Henry’s cologne, the hint of orange in my salad vinaigrette, the love song playing softly in the background. It was as if all of my senses were heightened, and even though it was nearly overwhelming, I wanted more.
Then I saw it.
I was studying Henry’s wavy hair—noting how different it made him look from the buzz cut—when I noticed that the signature on the canvas behind his head said H. Logan. I twisted around in my seat to get a better look at the large painting, which was an abstract in browns, tans and blues.
“It’s about time you noticed,” Henry said with a chuckle, wiping his mouth with a napkin and twisting around.
“You did this?” I asked him, still staring at the painting, trying to make sense of the shapes and swirls.
“You like it?”
“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”
“I’ll give you a hint: it’s not an abstract painting in the true sense. It’s titled She is Love.”
Then it all came together, the oval that came to a point at the bottom, the blue orbs for the eyes, and the long curly hair. “It’s me?”
He nodded. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it really is,” I said, unable to believe that Henry could create something so wonderful.
“I wasn’t talking about the painting,” he said, his eyes fixed on my face, making the air in the entire place too thick to breathe. He was going to kiss me and, as much as I wanted to taste him, I couldn’t risk getting attached again. Not when I was considering leaving.
I blinked and cleared my throat. “So you learned to paint in Korea?”
He leaned away, trying to hide his disappointment.
I turned my attention back to my bagel sandwich, picking at a piece of lettuce. “What else did you do in Korea?”
“I worked a lot. Also tried a lot of classes.”
“Did you date?” The question slipped out of my mouth before I could catch it. I hadn’t meant to bring it up right then.
He hesitated before saying, “I did. I dated two women before I gave up.” He paused, taking my hand. “But neither relationship lasted more than a few dates.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
I swallowed hard. “Did you sleep with them?”
His eyes were all intensity as he looked at me. “I thought about it, but no.” He paused for a long, tense moment before asking, “How about you. Did you and Seth—?”
“Yeah.”
His nostrils flared as he stared down at the table. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, crumpling the napkin in his hand.
It felt like an apology was in order but upon further reflection, between the two of us, I was the one definitely owed.
“I’m sorry, Elsie,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m a grade-A dickh
ead. I’m the one who fucked everything up and now I’m jealous as hell that someone else, someone not me, got to sleep with you.”
“You should be sorry,” I said, taking even myself by surprise. “You ruined everything we had.” I could feel the energy crackling around us. This was the first time we were really hashing it out, the first time I was voicing my opinion that, yes, he screwed up. Finally saying those words felt good in a small way and terrible in an even bigger way. “You took what we had and threw it away because you felt confused,” I said, gathering steam. “Well guess what, Henry? We all get confused about ourselves but we don’t go hurting those we love just so we can get some clarity.”
“I’m sorry, Elsie. I was a selfish bastard.” He grasped my hand on the table. I tried to let go, but he held tight. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I shook my head and tried to keep my lips from trembling. “It might be too late, Henry. This whole challenge is useless because I really don’t know how you can prove to me that you’re sticking around for good, that I can trust you again.”
“I don’t know how either,” he whispered. It was the first time since he’d come back from Korea that I’d seen his confidence falter. He looked genuinely fearful, a feeling that then spilled over onto me. “I honestly have no clue how to gain your trust back.”
I looked away, trying to collect my thoughts and steady my breathing. I didn’t realize until that moment how angry I still was, how unwilling I was to forgive him. He had made the past few years of my life miserable; I’d have to be a saint to forgive and forget so easily.
“Elsie?” Henry asked tentatively, giving my hand a squeeze.
I looked down at our hands then up at him. “I received a job offer in Denver,” I said with more bravado than I felt. “And I’m going to take it.”
The breath whooshed out of him in one word: “What?”
“A big design company in Denver offered me a job. I’d be crazy to turn it down.”
“I didn’t know you were looking.”
“I was, several months ago, before you came back. Even before I met Seth.”
“When did you find out?”
“This Monday.”
His face turned red and the veins in his forehead swelled. “So the dates are all for nothing? I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to make you love and trust me again, but as it turns out, you’re leaving anyway?”
I jerked my hand away. “You’re not seriously angry that I’m leaving, are you? Because at last count, you’ve left me a grand total of four times. This is our history, Henry: I trust you then you leave. Well guess the fuck what, you’re not the one who gets to leave this time.” I slid out of the booth, gathered my purse and jacket and stalked out. God, it felt so gratifying to finally be the one to do that.
Once outside I remembered that I’d come here with him. I stood over by the Harley and gave the back tire a kick, imagining it was Henry’s crotch I was inflicting pain upon. The guy had some nerve.
Henry came bursting out of the Red Cup a minute later. The worry on his face eased when he saw me still standing in the parking lot. “Elsie,” he said, stopping a few feet from me. He didn’t say anything for a long time; he just stared at me with a deep frown creasing his forehead.
“Just say it. Demand that I stay in Oklahoma for you, because that’s what you do. You demand and take. And me, I give.” I choked on the words. “But I’m done giving.”
“Then tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,” he said with a desperate tint to his voice.
“I don’t know what I want you to do,” I said. “I only know what I need to do.”
That night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time, just thinking about my life—where I had been and where I was headed.
I loved Henry, there was no question—but was my love for him worth more than my love for myself? I had given him so much of myself, had followed him and waited for him, and still it hadn’t been enough.
He had come back for me, and even though I wanted nothing more than to return to our old life together, a little voice in my heart kept insisting that I needed to do right by me first. My job here had become stagnant, the promotion I’d been hoping for dissolving when the company fell on hard times. The job in Denver was going to be a leap in my career. Now more than ever I needed to put my own future first even if it meant leaving Henry behind.
If he really loved me like he claimed, he would do the right thing and set me free. I had let him go once, to go find himself; he needed to do the same for me now.
So it was with an aching heart that I turned on my laptop, opened up my email, and told Rebecca Holt of Shake Design that I was going to take the job.
3 | THE LAST DATE
I didn’t hear from Henry for the next few days, and it was just as well. I didn’t need him around trying to change my mind, clouding what had become my clear path. On Friday I put in my official letter of resignation and had an emotional talk with my boss about my career. She told me that she would have done anything to keep me, but that she unfortunately had no raise or promotion to offer. It was tough to say goodbye to the place I’d called home for the last several years, but deep in my gut I knew it was time to move on.
When I came home from work that night, Henry was waiting for me in the parking lot. He got out of his car when I emerged from my own and he approached me tentatively.
“Hey,” he said with his hands in his pockets.
I gathered my purse and coat, not meeting his eye. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Exhausted,” I replied, heading towards my apartment. “You?”
“Pretty shitty.” He followed me inside, both of us too tired to deal with pleasantries. He stood in the living room awkwardly, looking like he wanted to say something but not knowing if he should.
“What?” I asked, a little irritated.
“I passed the written exam and physical. Next week I have the initial interview.”
“Oh. Congratulations,” I said, busying myself by decluttering the kitchen counters. “I handed in my letter of resignation.”
He sighed, his shoulders visibly sagging. “So you’re still leaving.”
I couldn’t look at him because I knew what I’d see on his face was going to make me cry. “Yes. I have to start in three weeks.”
“When do you move?”
“Next Friday.”
“I’ll help you.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “You want to help me move?”
He rubbed a palm across his forehead. “What else can I do? If you’re leaving, I’m going to spend every last minute with you, even if it means helping you leave me.”
“Henry, you know this isn’t about you, right?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve been thinking and thinking and even though I hate it, I know you have to do this. I left you once, it’s only fair that you do the same.”
“It’s not about being fair or about getting even. It’s about pursuing a dream, even if—”
He nodded. “Even if it doesn’t include me.”
“I have to do this,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll always wonder what if.”
“I understand, Elsie,” he said. We were quiet for a long time, just staring at each other, until he said, “Can I please hug you now?”
With a slightly lighter heart, I walked over to where he stood and fit myself into his arms. He kissed my forehead in that tender way I loved so much. “I love you, Els.”
I wasn’t able to return the sentiment, not because I didn’t feel it but because saying it meant I’d forgiven him.
“I’m really sorry for what I did to you, Elsie,” he said. “And I’m sorry for lying, even if it was with the best intentions.”
I nodded against his chest, feeling a lump in my throat.
“I’m never going to hurt you again. I’m back for good.”
“I want to believe you.”
He held me at arm’s length, loo
king into my eyes. “I’m sticking around, Elsie. I’m going to be by your side until you tell me to go. I don’t know how else to prove to you that I’m here for good except by just being here day after day,” he said. “Please try to believe me.”
“I want to believe you,” I repeated. I stepped away from him and grabbed the phone. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
He did and we ate delivery Chinese food at the dining table. After dinner, we sat on the couch and watched Top Gear. Several minutes into the show, Henry’s arm came around my shoulder and nestled me close.
I don’t think either one of us meant for the kiss to happen. I looked up to ask a question the same time he was bending down to whisper in my ear and our lips bumped into each other.
“Sorry.” He swallowed as his eyes flicked down to my lips.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m dying over here, Elsie,” he whispered huskily in my ear. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“What do you want to do?”
“This.” He leaned down and touched his lips to mine, gently at first, then gathering courage. I kissed him back, feeling a moan rise up from my throat. In that moment I was ready to forgo everything else—yes, even that fantastic job—and just stay in Henry’s arms forever.
I pulled away, wrenching myself from the daydream before I was too lost. “You should go home, Henry,” I said, covering his mouth with my hand.
“Uh, sure.” He kissed my forehead and headed out.
Our third date began early the next day when Henry came knocking at my door at nine o’clock with a bouquet of paper flowers in his hands.
“What’s this?” I asked, still drowsy from sleep. I had only just managed to rinse my mouth and twist my hair into a bun before I’d answered the door.
He handed me the bouquet of red paper rolled to look like roses, unable to keep his eyes off my tank top and shorts attire. “My buddy’s wife makes them, so I ordered some for you,” he said, sticking his hands in his pants pockets.
