Page 76 of The Long Way Home
“Your naivety?” he repeats, amused.
I shake my head at myself. “Should have got it in writing...”
He shakes his head again. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
I blink a lot and Henry’s face falters, curious.
“Oi,” says my favourite voice in the world as he sidles up next to me, eyes bright.
“Hi.” I grin up at him. “Where’s Australia?”
“Southern Hemisphere.” I roll my eyes at him because that was terrible. Even I know that was terrible in my current state. “The bathroom.”
“Oh—” I give him a look. “So she’s coming back then?”
BJ smirks, liking the attention. “Yep.”
He takes a step closer to me, holding my eyes. “Thought you flew out?”
I shrug in a manner that to me feels demure, but in real life I’m sure looks a bit like I’m having a stroke. “I didn’t feel like it.”
“Why?” BJ asks.
I hold his eyes. “You know why.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”
I sigh. It’s big and loud and annoyed and dramatic, and the words that follow are said louder than I really mean to. “Because it’s our worst day.”
He glances around us, a bit self-conscious now, but his eyes soften. “Are you sad, Parks?”
I lean in close to his ear, so close my mouth is against it. “I’m always sad, Beej.”
He shifts a little — our faces are so close — I wonder how it looks to everyone around us. Does it look as intimate as it feels?
“About that?” His gaze flickers from my eyes to my mouth to my eyes.
I nod once, decidedly. “And you,” I offer as an afterthought.
He pulls back a little, gives me a sad smile. “And me?” I give him a big, single nod. He tilts his head. “What about me, Parks?”
“Oh, everything about you…” I sigh, drunk. “What we were... What we aren’t… What we made…”
His face flickers in surprise as he glances over his shoulder to see if anyone heard. They didn’t. “Hey—” he whispers, brows low.
“Hey.” I smile up at him with bleary eyes.
He swallows and his eyes look worried now. “Are you okay?”
Jordan’s back now. She’s trying to play it cool, not hovering on us exactly, just hovering adjacent. I stare at her for a few seconds. My eyes might be starting to fill with tears. “I’m— I am good. I’m sensational. Fine. I’m totally fine—” I nod. “And I’m actually good! Are you?” I look at him, waiting for an answer, but he’s just frowning at me. “Do you like my dress?”
He glances down at it. “I do,” he says quietly, quiet enough that the girlfriend can’t hear him.
“I thought of you when I put it on,” I tell him.
A little smile rolls over that mouth I love. “Did you?”
“Yes.” I stare up at him, unflinching. “And I thought, ‘I wonder if I wear this if he’ll think about undressing me.’”