The House on Hancock Hill (10 page)

“Are you uncomfortable with me here?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed. When Henry didn’t respond immediately, I added, “In your bed, I mean.”

“Maybe a little,” Henry told me, voice softer than it had been so far. “But not in the way you’re probably imagining.” He rose from the bed, and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, cursing my stupidity. I heard him gather the plates and leave the room. What did he think I imagined? After that quiet exit, I sure as hell didn’t know.

F
ROM
THE
way I jolted awake with the impression of going over a cliff in a car, I figured I must’ve slept for a while. Through the blinds, slices of sharp sunlight fell onto the white covers, hurting my puffy eyes.

The house had that stillness that made me think I was all alone. On my way down the stairs, still as cold as the inside of deep-fried ice cream, I checked my phone. No messages and half a battery, and since I had no idea when I’d be charging it, I didn’t dare waste any more of its life checking e-mails.

The French doors slid open when I stepped into the kitchen, and in came Henry, hair plastered to his face. He shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his boots and pushed two fingers into his eye sockets like they hurt.

“You all right?” I asked, going over and closing the door behind him.

“Yeah. I should’ve worn my sunglasses, though.”

“Oh my God,” I said, grabbing his arm and perching him on one of the barstools by the island. “Are you snow blind?” I ripped a few pieces of paper towel off the roll that stood on the counter and wet them, quickly returning to Henry. “Stop rubbing at them.” I batted his hand away and gently pressed the cold compress to his eyes.

“I don’t think so, no. I wasn’t out there that long. It’s just a little painful.”

“Well, I went skiing for a weekend when I was in Italy, and one of my buddies got it. He was in excruciating pain for like, three days. I think you should go lie down in the dark for a bit.” One hand resting on Henry’s jaw to keep his head steady, I turned the compress over.

“You went to Europe?” Henry asked. He was smiling up at me even though his eyes were covered. To my shame, I couldn’t look away from the curve of his mouth, the way his top lip dipped in a gently sloping cupid’s bow. He hadn’t shaved, and that stubble would feel….

I cleared my throat. “Yes, for a few months after college. I went to a couple of countries, but I spent most of my time in France. What were you doing outside, anyway?”

“Digging a path for Pat.” I tutted and nearly dropped the paper towel when Henry put his hand over the one I still held to his jaw. “I’m not snow blind, Jay, although I appreciate the concern.”

Not knowing what to do or say, I lifted the paper towel off his eyes. They were slightly bloodshot, and Henry blinked at me, eyelashes clumped together with moisture. He didn’t move the hand that covered mine, and my thumb acquired a life of its own, gently stroking along and then against the grain of his stubble. Was I going crazy? Was this happening?

“I have to let Pat out,” Henry said softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Let me,” I managed, slipping my hand from underneath his.

The old dog lifted himself up with a complaining grumble and ambled over to the doors when I called him. Because I didn’t have the courage to look at Henry, who still sat on his barstool, I watched Pat walk down the ramp covering the steps to the yard and follow the trail Henry had dug out for him. When Henry appeared behind me, I nearly banged my forehead on the glass door.

“I’m going to dry his feet,” he explained when Pat came back. I stepped aside. Silently I witnessed how, with great care, murmuring gentling things, Henry dried all four of Pat’s paws and then tucked a blanket around him in the bed. When he saw me watching, Henry self-consciously said, “His joints ache when it’s this cold.”

An unstoppable smile tugged at my mouth, and I walked over to them, the heat of the fire a welcome feeling, blurting, “You’re so great.”

We crouched side by side at Pat’s bed, knees touching, Henry’s elbows resting on his thighs. It would be so easy to close the gap, to card my fingers through the silky curls at the back of his neck and pull him into a soft, long kiss. He didn’t look away, and I couldn’t shake the sudden conviction that this was what Henry wanted. What he was waiting for. He said, “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

“What are you doing,” I croaked when he still didn’t move.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. My mouth went dry, and my heartbeat rang hollow in my ears.

“Am I reading this all wrong, Henry?”

As I had done to him only minutes ago, Henry put his palm to the side of my face—an experimental touch—and he smiled at his hand like it was something he’d wanted to try for a while and the result pleased him. For me, the anticipation was deadly.

Henry shook his head, imperceptibly. I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself and dropped to one knee from my crouch. Henry compliantly dipped his head, ready it seemed, to meet me halfway. It felt like every nerve ending in my body stood on high alert for more input. Henry stared at me, his fingers lightly tracing the bruise on my cheekbone. When I licked my lips, the movement pulled at the stitches on my chin. I’d forgotten I looked like Frankenstein’s monster, and I sank back on my heel, hugging my knee with one arm.

“Sorry,” I said, touching my chin and laughing reluctantly. “I’m not exactly appealing right now.”

Henry frowned and began to reach for me again when my phone rang. It was a local number, so I rose to my feet. “I think it’s the sheriff’s office. Excuse me.” I turned away to take the call. Henry went into the kitchen. As he retreated, and I listened to the voice on the other end, I felt the cold of the house for the first time in hours.

“The sheriff?” Henry asked after I hung up. There was water simmering on the stove and he was busy scooping coffee into a French press. I suppressed every single thought that came to mind.

“Deputy Ron,” I said. “I have an appointment at four this afternoon at the funeral home. The roads should be cleared by then, and someone from the sheriff’s department will meet me there. I hate to ask, but do you think you could give me a ride? If not, I’m sure—”

Carefully closing the bag of ground coffee, Henry interrupted me. “Jay, I told you before, I’m going with you.”

“It’s a dead body, Henry.
Nobody
wants to see a dead body.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Exactly.” Plucking a pot holder off a hook by the sink, Henry lifted the pan off the fire and poured hot water into the press. Immediately, the kitchen began to fill with the homey scent of coffee, and I went on a hunt for mugs.

I was feeling very confused. On the one hand, I thought Henry was just a genuinely kind person who would do all the things he was doing for anyone. On the other hand, unless the cold was making me seriously delirious, he’d almost let me kiss him. What was that about?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Henry said, taking the mugs from my hands. “Grab the milk, would you?”

“Sorry.” I opened the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk. “I guess I’m at a bit of a loss.” Henry took the milk from me, his fingers brushing mine.

Softly, he smiled and said, “That makes two of us.”

W
HILE
WE
drank coffee by the fire, Pat keeping a droopy eye on us, phone calls from concerned pet owners started to come in for Henry, and he spent a good while dishing out advice and rearranging appointments. During a lull in the ringing, I asked him, “Don’t you have a secretary for this?”

Shrugging while scribbling something down, Henry said, “There’s Andy at the front desk, but he comes from farther north. I doubt he’ll make it in today. I don’t mind dealing with it.”

The living room was very bare, and I guessed all his things were packed away in his spare bedroom for the renovations. Apart from the two black couches we were currently occupying, the dog bed, and a TV screwed into the wall, there was nothing there.

Henry must’ve seen me looking around, because when I lifted my eyes to meet his, he sheepishly said, “It takes me a long time to do this stuff. With work, I mean.”

“No,” I sat up straighter, my ribs giving a painful twinge, and I remembered the pain meds above Annie’s garage. “Hey, I think it’s great. Are you doing all this yourself?”

“I didn’t do the painting.” He indicated the light hues of blue and gray on the walls. “I can’t paint to save my life.”

I laughed. “You did a brilliant job with the kitchen. I can’t wait to see the finished result.”

“I hope you will,” Henry said, gazing into my eyes. He was stretched out on the couch like a Roman ready for dinner, phone resting on his thigh, notebook in front of him. Again, I could see that expectation in his eyes, but I had no idea what it meant. What did he want? Surely he knew in a few days I’d be gone. Was this some sort of experiment for him? And if it was, would I give in? There was no denying I was attracted to Henry, more than I had been to anyone in a long time, but I wasn’t sure it would be so easy to walk away from him if I started something. This was no one-night stand. As if he’d been reading my mind, he looked away.

“I should fetch some of my things from the apartment,” I said, gingerly rising to my feet.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve thought. You’re in pain. I’ll go get—” Henry jumped to his feet.

“I can do it,” I snapped, irritated. “I’m not completely feeble.”

Henry’s tone was placating. “I never said you were, Jay. I just want to help.”

I rubbed a hand over my face, regretting it when I bumped my nose. “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s fine, I can do it.”

“Okay. Just… will you let me give you a warmer sweater and a pair of boots, because I get cold just looking at you.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Disappearing through the swinging kitchen door, Henry left me standing in the middle of the living room. Pat grumbled at me. “Tell me about it,” I agreed.

Henry returned with a gray Aran sweater that looked far more prickly than it was. I shrugged it over my head, trying not to inhale his scent too obviously, the whiff of cardamom too hard to resist. He held out something that looked like a ski jacket, a pair of mittens, and a hat with earflaps. There was a pair of boots tucked under his elbows. I looked at him with disbelief.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t nearly freeze to death a third time,” he explained. “My boots will probably be too big for you but we can get you a pair when we go out later.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved my feet into the boots, ignored the pain when I bent over to tie them, and checked Annie’s key was still in my jeans pocket. “Right, I shouldn’t be too long. See you in a bit.” Not waiting for an answer, I stomped down the hall and out the front door.

Chapter 6

I
N
NEARLY
painful contrast to the day before, the sky was crisp and clear, sunlight ricocheting blindingly off the sharp white snow, making it seem almost blue. While it looked gorgeous and was an improvement compared to the near invisibility of the day before, it also made it ten times colder out. At least the wind had gone down for now. I trudged through the nearly knee-high snow, my jeans soaking through quickly. When I reached the foot of Annie’s drive, she stuck her head out the front door.

“Jason!” she called, and I waved at her. “I’m glad you’re all right!”

“Do you need some more firewood, Annie?” I pointed at the mountain of chopped wood underneath her porch.

“I have plenty, thank you. Anything you need?”

“Just a few of my things. I’m going back to Henry’s after.” I was close enough we could stop yelling.

“Good,” she told me, eyes sparkling with mirth. That woman knew a great deal more than I did about what was going on. “Good. You boys have fun.” She shut the door, and I rolled my eyes.

It wasn’t very warm inside the apartment, but I needed a minute to myself so I swallowed ibuprofen with a gulp of freezing water and sat down on the couch.

The therapist I had visited after Dad died, and briefly again after the whole Tom disaster, was convinced I suffered from an attachment disorder. I disagreed with him, because I didn’t think it was abnormal to want to avoid being hurt. I didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know I had been avoiding falling for anyone since Tom, but it had never really been a problem. I was content in life, and felt that asking for more was selfish.

So would starting something with Henry be. I had nothing to offer him, and even if I had, I’d be gone again soon. It had just been a near-kiss, and here in the cold, it was hard not to think it had all been a figment of my imagination. After spending the night together, mostly naked, while there had been a perfectly good couch by the fire downstairs, dog farts or no….

The real quandary was why it seemed like such a big deal. Henry and I were both adults. Heaven knew I’d had my fair share of no-strings-attached, so if Henry wanted to sleep with me, and I wanted to sleep with him, surely there was no problem? It wasn’t something I’d usually think twice about. Enthusiastic consent and the understanding we weren’t getting married in the morning was usually all I needed.