Chapter 11

Meadow

Henry takes two pies out of the oven and turns on the fan. The aroma makes my mouth water. They look amazing, the crust an ideal, flaky golden-brown. Good enough to eat. And so does the man standing so close to me that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. And his smell. It trips something deep inside me. His scent is a perfect combination of creativity, citrus, and clay. Uniquely Henry. I glance at his chiseled face, then down to his muscular arms, sculpted by molding clay all day. In his t-shirt and paint-stained jeans, it’s an effortless sex appeal.

He has no idea how hot he is.

None. Nada. Zilch.

And that ignorance just makes him even hotter.

I wink at him. “Not bad, Chef Henry.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon.” He puts the pies on the cooling rack. “When I was a kid, I used to hate having to wait until they cooled off. Isn’t it funny how a person can have no patience when it comes to food but all the patience in the world when it comes to art? I almost burned my tongue to blisters one day by jumping the gun. My grandma laughed at me and advised me I’d just learned a valuable life lesson.”

I chuckle. “Has your impatience improved with age?”

“That depends.”

“Really?”

“When it comes to my art, I’m very patient. My creative process takes time.”

“How about when it comes to other things?”

“Depends.” He shrugs. “What about you? Are you patient?”

How much to conceal and how much to reveal? I tamp down the unsteadiness that wobbles in my gut. “I have a tendency to want everything yesterday. So I guess patience isn’t a virtue for me, either. It’s a good quality in business, though.”

He looks up and captures my gaze. “And you don’t take no for an answer. I guess that’s how you got me to do the showing.”

“Are you saying I strong-armed you?” I toss back. I’m determined but not a bully.

“No, but you’re probably the most persuasive woman I’ve ever met.”

“Well, I’ve got two older brothers. I had to learn how to speak up for what I wanted before I could hardly talk.” My reference to my domineering older brothers is thinly veiled. They used to chase me around the house until they ended the hunt with an epic swirly in the toilet. If I was lucky, they’d flush it beforehand. Brothers are the stuff of nightmares, and the two of them together… I don’t even want to think about it. But their bullshit made me strong and independent.

“What about you? Any siblings?”

A melancholy look takes over his expression. A sadness that makes me want to reach out and console him. “No, it’s just me. I spooked my parents into not having any more.”

“I’m sure that’s not it.”

He takes a deep breath. “You haven’t met my parents.”

“That bad, huh?”

“They’re not bad people. It’s just that, sometimes, I feel like I was born into the wrong family.”

I stare into his brown eyes, inhaling. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone that gets me, you know? I want to feel a sense of belonging. I want to have things to look forward to in life that aren’t always alone, find someone that wants to laugh at my stupid jokes and eat pistachio gelato in the rain just because we can. Sounds lame, doesn’t it.”

I can’t think of anything that sounds less lame.

It’s obvious to me that he doesn’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to pry. Henry is a sensitive soul. He’s nothing at all like the Type A dip shits I’m used to dating. I don’t know exactly what to make of Henry, but I’m very drawn to him.

His eyes light up. “I think they’re cool enough for us to take a bite without burning off our taste buds.”

The heavenly smell tickles my nose and my stomach rumbles. “Can’t wait.”

He uses a knife to cut a big slice.

“You must be hungry.”

He grins. “This is for you.”

“You’re so considerate. Trying to fatten me up, huh?”

He hands the pie to me on a small plate with a fork. I dig in and notice the steam rising. Before taking a bite, I blow it off a little more. I see Henry watching me, and he casts his eyes downward as if he’s embarrassed he got caught checking me out. I wonder if he’s fantasizing about me too.

I’m probably reading way too much into this.

I take a taste and nearly moan. It’s the best pie I’ve ever had, and now I’m going to have to own up and admit it after I gave him a lecture. Maybe he’s not mansplaining all the time because he thinks he’s superior. Maybe he’s just really good at certain things and wants to share his knowledge with others.

I realize I’ve been seeing only a small part of him. Sure, I get everything he’s telling me about his art because that’s my wheelhouse. But on a personal level, I’m starting to peel back even more of Henry Garrison’s many layers.

“Wow!” I close my eyes and groan in pleasure.

“Wow as in good or wow as in awful?” He blinks, looking at me expectantly.

“Wow, as in amazing!”

Henry smiles as he takes a bite of his pie. “I’m glad you like it.”

Between the two of us, we devour half the pie. I feel like a little porker, but I just can’t help myself. I look out of the window and notice the sun dip below the horizon. “How long have I been here?”

His affronted look makes me wish I had asked the question differently. “Why? You’ve got someplace better to be?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just–”

“Would you like some wine?”

“Homemade apple pie and wine… if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

He laughs, and I stare at the two perfect dimples in his cheeks. His eyes twinkle when he laughs, and I wish he did it around me more often. “Should I take that as a yes or a no?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you have red or white?”

“Bordeaux.”

I surrender with a sigh. “I’ve always been a sucker for a good red.”

The cool night air wafts through the open window, rustling the blinds. Even though it’s technically summer, it almost feels like fall. Henry walks over to the stone fireplace and ignites it.

He glances at me. “Sit down, relax.”

I plop down on the couch in front and watch the flames dance. Then, Henry sits down next to me, holding two glasses of wine. He hands one to me. “Thanks. Can I make a toast?”

“Sure.” He nods as he settles in next to me. He’s close. Too close for comfort. If I wanted to reach out and touch his thigh, I could.

I want to.

To distract my surging blood, I raise my glass. “To a successful showing.”

We clink, and each take a sip. The dry wine hits my tongue with a blast of flavor. “Is that all?”

I take another sip purely for fortification. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind.”

“Just tell me, Henry.”

He stares at the fire for so long that I’m sure he won’t say anything more. Then he surprises me by saying, “I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” I grin, hoping to lighten the tense moment. “The big bad wolf?”

He takes a deep breath. “Every time I open up to a woman, things take a turn for the worse.”

“You mentioned that. I’m sorry, Henry. Maybe the right woman will be able to appreciate you exactly like you are. You have a lot to offer.”

He smiles and meets my gaze. “I hope I’m looking at her.”

My heart pulses in my chest. “Me?”

He nods. “To tell you the truth, I’m really attracted to you.”

My mouth works up and down a few times, and I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m flattered.”

He swipes a hand through his brown curls, rumbling them adorably. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“What?” I stare at him, wondering what secrets are hiding behind those soulful dark eyes.

“Meadow…”

I watch him lick his lips and lean forward. “Go ahead, just tell me.”

“I’ve never… you know…”

“Had a long-term relationship? Don’t let that embarrass you. They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”

For someone who loves to mansplain me, he’s having a hard time articulating his thoughts during this strange conversation. I lean back and encourage him to be more forthcoming with my expression. How bad could his ex have been? She must have cheated.

“You’re not understanding me, Meadow. I’ve never… never…”

I want to reach inside his mouth and pull the words out. “Never what?”

“I’ve never had sex.”

I nearly spit out my wine and look at the hot as hell man next to me as I shake my head in dismay. “You’re kidding, right? That is fucking impossible.”

“It is entirely possible that it is not fucking impossible that I have not ever fucked.” His earnest look proves him right. “I wish I was kidding. I’ve never admitted this to another soul. You’re my first.”

I’m the first.

My mind races with religious proclivities and strong moral values and maybe disfigurement. It has to be a disfigurement. Hell, I have no idea what’s underneath his pants. There has to be a reason that a man so handsome is pure. There has to be a reason for a man of his age to be celibate. No. Not just celibate. A virgin.

“Are you Catholic? Are you waiting until you get married?”

“No.” His voice hovers just above a whisper.

“I don’t mean to be rude. I just want to understand this. Can you explain it?”

He blows out a long breath and rakes all ten fingers through his hair. “When I was a kid, I used to stutter. Bad. So bad that the bullying sent me so deeply inside my protective shell I didn’t feel it was ever safe to come out. Sometimes, I relapse… like that night at the restaurant. It’s why I took off. I was sitting there, white-hot panic kicking my ass, just waiting for some asshole to call me a freak.”

My heart flips over. That’s huge. “Oh.”

“When I went to the YMCA or the local community center, the other kids tormented me, so my parents decided to homeschool me. They were super overprotective. I hardly ever left the house. When it came to social skills… well, I never really learned any. Outside of art, I wasn’t socialized.”

My heart breaks for the sweet, special little boy Henry must have been. Children can be so cruel. My mind drifts to my brothers and how they used to tease everyone within three feet of them. Especially me. “How did that make you feel?”

“I wanted something different for my life, but I didn’t know how to express that. Art ended up being my outlet. Whenever I was feeling depressed or lonely, I just sat down at the potter’s wheel. Working with the clay, shaping and molding it, I felt free somehow.”

“How old were you when you first discovered art?”

He whips in a breath and blows it out on a sigh. “I made my first little sculpture when I was ten, and I just kept at it. I never dreamed that it would actually lead to anything. But one day, my grandmother’s friend came to the house and saw some of my work. I must have been about thirteen years old. She said that I should go to art school. But my parents didn’t want me to go away to school or anywhere. Like I said, they didn’t even like me leaving the house.”

“So, what happened?”

“Grandma talked them into letting me apply to some schools when I was about to get my GED. I got accepted into the School of Visual Arts. I was so excited to move to New York City, but I was afraid too. I knew it would be hard making friends with my stuttering. The college had a speech therapist, and she worked with me a few times a week. Eventually, I stopped stuttering, and I started to win awards for my art.”

The sound of his voice flows over me. A stab of jealousy follows. I’ve never had anyone talk about me like that. Ever. Not the way Henry talks about his sculpting. “Like the Guggenheim Fellowship?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was a big deal.”

“For sure.”

“And I won a few more. Things were taking off for my career.”

I stare at his face, the afternoon sunlight streaking through the tall windows. “What did your parents think?”

“They were proud, but they were worried too.” He stops and pauses with a pensive expression. I wish I could wipe the pain away he’s obviously feeling by this walk down memory lane. “They always worry. Especially my mom.”

“I think that’s the number one characteristic of moms.”

He finishes his wine in one swallow. “I just told you things that I never talk to anyone about. There’s something about you, Meadow. It makes me want to lay myself bare.”

I smile and lift my glass to my lips. He’s so handsome, and there is a lot of chemistry between us, but there’s a big part of me that wants to grab my purse and head for the door. I’m pretty sure that Henry wants a loving, committed relationship. And why not? That’s exactly what he deserves. But I’m not the woman to give it to him. Fucking is one thing, but love? I don’t believe in it. And Henry is such a kind-hearted person. If anything happens between us, I’ll probably end up breaking his fragile heart.

The movement he makes toward me is nothing more than a shift of position, probably not even intentional. But it feels as if he closed the gap. My breath catches in my throat the moment I realize this is happening. Like some runaway train that I’m already on board. A blaze of heat starts at my toes and works its way upward.

“Meadow, my heart’s aching. It’s telling me to kiss you.”

My eyes clamp shut against the intimacy of his words. Their innocence and demand at the same time. No guy has ever asked me for a kiss. They usually just ram their tongues down my throat and grab my ass. How can I resist this beautiful, sensitive artist? I lean in close to him and gently press my lips against his.

I take the wine glass out of his hand and put both of our glasses on the floor. Indulging my overwhelming need to be closer, I straddle him and kiss him again. I feel his hard cock press against my crotch. He looks up at me with longing in his eyes.

I’ve been on the wrong side of love too many times to ever think I’d been in this position.

Teacher.