Page 43 of Watching Henry

Her hair was mussed, a tress pulling out of her bun, her glasses were slightly crooked on her nose, her lips were swollen with kisses and it took every ounce of control that Hadley had not to grasp her and take her right there.

“No.”

It was all Florence said.

Hadley's heart stilled.

“No,” she said again. “No.”

And then she was walking away and Hadley was getting colder by the second and all she could do was watch.

No.

A kiss like that and Florence could walk away.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

Slowly, her brain re-took control of her body.

No.

She breathed again, letting the night air cool her hot skin.

Okay. Okay, she could deal with this. Of course she could. She'd never, ever force anyone to do anything they didn't want.

But that kiss said otherwise. That kiss spoke of longing and wanting and long hot afternoons in a shaded room spent exploring each other's bodies. That kiss spoke of something more.

But Florence had said no.

One kiss and suddenly Hadley knew what she'd been missing, knew what she wanted, knew what would complete her.

Florence. Florence would complete her. Florence would be her anchor, her dependability in an undependable word. And Florence had said no.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she let them come, sitting in the darkness until she tasted salt on her tongue.

It was a long time before she trusted her legs enough to carry her up to bed.

BREAKFAST WAS ALWAYS at the dining table. It didn't surprise Hadley that she was first down. She'd barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel Florence's lips on hers.

Eventually, she'd persuaded herself to wait, to watch, to be patient and not jump to conclusions. Perhaps Florence needed more time. Or perhaps, said the voice in the back of her head, Florence regretted everything.

What did surprise her was that Henry and Charlie were both already at the table.

“Florence is with Emily,” Charlie informed her. “She needed a shower.”

“She wet the bed,” Henry said, with evident glee.

Hadley felt a pang of pity. It was Emily's second accident in a couple of weeks, not exactly what she'd expected from a five year old. But then, Henry had his anger, Charlie had his people-pleasing, perhaps this was Emily's way of acting out, of dealing with the stress of her parents splitting up.

“Don't tell tales,” she said to Henry, who rolled his eyes in response.

She collected a plate from the small buffet at the side of the room and sat down just in time to see Henry pull his hand back. She squinted, seeing the skin on Charlie's arm red and bright.

“What happened?”

“Henry pinched me!” Charlie said, bottom lip started to wobble.

“Henry, say you're sorry.”