Definitely, Maybe in Love(18)

Oh. Well … frack.

My insides went all weak and spongy as Henry Edward Knightly, III, and I  gazed at each other. I felt weird, the same flutter in my chest that  I'd experienced the first night I met him, coupled with what felt like a  hot air balloon inflating inside my chest, pushing against my heart.

"Atticus Finch," I said, "is arguably the most memorable father in western literature."

Henry tilted his chin, appreciation in his eyes. I swear I could taste cranberries on the back of my tongue.                       
       
           



       

"But you do realize," I added quickly, "that he was such a remarkable father because he was a widower."

Henry blinked, his gaze moving to the empty space next to me, then  dropping to the floor. For a frantic moment, I wondered if he was angry,  or worse, hurt. I had no knowledge of his parents. Maybe his mother had  died and he really was being raised by a widower. And there I went  making an insensitive crack. I wanted to staple my mouth shut.

"Touché." When I glanced at Henry, he was grinning. "Please remind me to  call home later and tell my parents what you said." He closed his eyes  and laughed as if replaying my words in his head. "That might be the  funniest piece of literary insight I have ever heard. A widower." He  rocked with laughter. "Classic."

"Are we done with this?" Lilah groaned.

"I'm not nearly done," Henry said, tilting his head just enough so I  could see him looking down at her. Then he tilted his chin to me and  winked.

I'd been winked at plenty of times before, but never had the attention  felt like actual intention. That flutter was back in my chest, my palms  were tingling, and I couldn't look away from the man in argyle.

"We're almost finished, Li," Dart assured his sister. "We still have to get Henry's answers first. Three guilty pleasures."

"Oh, yeah, umm." Henry pulled himself forward, fingering his chin.  "Let's see. Harley-Davidsons, comic books, and … " He raised a  lightning-quick smile at no one in particular. "And a certain woman  who's not afraid to tell it like it is. Definitely my guilty pleasure  number one at the moment." He slowly moved his eyes toward me and winked  again. "Oh, and cranberries."

The chair beneath me, the floor, the whole world seemed to melt away and  I was hovering, floating, suspended in mid-air, secured in the  atmosphere by Henry's eyes.

The room went silent, and I became very aware of how hard my heart was  beating. I could hear it behind my ears. Could everyone see it through  my shirt? I dragged my gaze to the front window, studying the leaves  moving under the porch light, willing my neck and cheeks to not turn  red, willing myself not to spring from my chair and-

"I would have thought clearcutting is one of your guilty pleasures, Henry." Lilah had addressed him but was staring at me.

"Clearcutting?" I repeated.

"I thought that might piss you off, Spring," Lilah said, looking and sounding terribly pleased with herself.

"Don't tell me you're for that," I said to Henry. "Even after all we know?"

He folded his arms. "There's no evidence that-"

"Yes, there is. And you know that. It's in my research. We've talked about it. A lot."

"That study from the University of Oregon is riddled with holes and  fictions. And didn't you once compare the situation to The Hunger  Games?"

"You're seriously bringing that up?"

"I'm bringing it up because your facts are wrong."

I sprang from my seat. "Stop saying that."

Henry was on his feet, too, meeting me in the middle of the room like we  were two boxers. "This is what we call a debate, Spring," he said.  "We're exchanging ideas, improving each other's knowledge base. Or  didn't they teach you that at Occupy Wall Street?"

"Oh, good one," I said, getting right up in his face. "Real mature."

He took in a deep breath then let it out, placing his hands on his hips.  "We were talking about this the other day. Nature has its worthy place,  but there is no evidence that cultivated and harvested timberlands are  any less healthy than forests left to themselves. Our former president  worked with legislators for eight years to resolve this very issue."

"This isn't a debate," I pointed out. "You're lecturing me. Again."

He kept talking, practically right over me. "More than fifty percent of wild fires burn down old-growth trees."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed. "The trees burn down because people like you"-I  poked his chest-"keep screwing with the environment. And for the record,  that former president of yours is a moron … if you'll pardon the  expression."

His face drained of color. After a moment, he parted his lips, shifting  his jaw back and forth. "Spare me your liberal opinions," he said,  reaching one hand up to massage the back of his neck. "And the word  moron is not an expression. So who's the moron here?"

I knew my face was red, if not purple. Knightly turned around and mumbled something under his breath that I couldn't hear.                       
       
           



       

"What did you say?" I asked, staring at his back.

"He called you pigheaded," Lilah answered with a sneery smile.

"Lilah," Dart said in a warning voice. "Stay out of this."

She shrugged and examined her nails. "That's what he said. I heard it."

"Really." I glared at Knightly when he finally turned around. "That's what you called me?"

He looked me dead in the eyes. "The shoe fits, doesn't it?"

"Okay, okay." Dart cut in, stepping between us like a referee. "You're  both badasses and overly opinionated, and we're all impressed."

I was so ready to go upstairs and put this night out of its misery.  Julia and I were going home tomorrow. It couldn't happen soon enough.

"You called her something else once," Lilah said. "What was it, Henry? Oh yeah, a dirty hippie."

"Lilah!" Dart snapped. "I think you'd better shut up."

I stared at Knightly, waiting for him to say that he'd never call me  something so offensive … waiting for him to say anything in my defense.  But he didn't speak. After a long moment, he wasn't even looking at me.

As reality set in, the room around me turned bright white, then it  tilted to the side. My eyes felt dry and stingy. I slammed them shut,  pressing a hand along my brows.

How had this happened? How had I allowed myself to let down my guard?  Sure, I needed his help with my research, but I shouldn't have begun to  think of him as a friend, someone who understood me like no one else.

"Spring, are you okay?" Julia asked.

"Fine," I muttered. "Good night."

"Don't go. Not like this."

"Let her go if she wants," Lilah said. Her eyes narrowed as they held on  mine. "Henry, I need to talk to you about something important, anyway,"  she added, still staring me down as I headed toward the stairs.





Chapter 13

Behind the locked door, I turned the faucet on full blast, and dipped  one hand under the tap, focusing on the way the track lighting over the  mirror distorted the shape of my fingers beneath the stream of water.

Distracted for the time being, my breathing grew more stable. I grabbed a  towel and ran a corner under the water. My eye makeup smeared down my  cheeks as I rubbed it over my face. I dropped it into the sink and  stared at myself in the mirror.

It had been ten years since I looked like this: the flushing cheeks, the  flaring nostrils, the overall scrunchiness of my face. Yep, I was about  to cry.

But I wouldn't.

Getting into a stupid argument with Knightly did not warrant tears. I'd  known from the beginning what I was getting into, and just because he  could be charming and warm and human was no excuse to have gotten close,  close enough to allow him to hurt my feelings so deeply that I felt  actual pain in my chest. If I got burned by backfire, I had no one to  blame but myself.

After shutting off the water, I climbed onto the counter and sat with my  feet in the sink.Time ticked on, but I wasn't ready to leave the  bathroom. It was the only room with a lock. So I memorized every  ingredient listed on the back of the bottle of mouthwash behind the  mirror. He should really use a kind with no alcohol, I found myself  considering. I can always recommend my brand-

But no, I couldn't. In fact, barring any accidental run-ins with him in  the kitchen, I could probably get away with not speaking to him for the  duration of my sentence under his roof, and if not for one or two more  research sessions, perhaps for the rest of my life.