Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,26
that means I’m moving here.”
“That’s amazing.” My cheeks start to ache from the pressure my upturned lips are currently putting on them. “Does that mean you can tell me where you’re working now?”
He twists his lips to the side. “’Fraid not. Not yet, at least. But soon, I promise.”
I feel the erratic pace of my heart begin to slow down. His promise to tell me means he’s anticipating that there will be more time together. More time for . . . whatever this is.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I echo.
We both look down at the sushi and then back up at each other. Henry gives me a sort of sheepish grin. I nibble on the side of my bottom lip.
“I really like you, Quinn.”
I smile, putting pressure on my cheeks again, feeling tingles of excitement travel down my back. “I really like you, too.”
“I’d like to continue seeing you.”
“I’d like that, too.”
We smile at each other. I hope I’m not conveying on my face what I’m really feeling, which is hopeless, lovesick girl. I didn’t mean it when I told Holly that I was in love with Henry. But I can tell now that if things continue on the trajectory they’ve been on, it won’t be long. There are tiny tendrils of it moving from my heart and spreading into my limbs as we sit here, smiling goofily at each other.
But there’s still so much to discuss, so much to learn about each other. Like . . . the truth. My stomach flip-flops, my smile drops.
It’s time to tell him.
“Henry, I . . .” I look down at the table, away from his lovely blue eyes. “I want to tell you—”
A baby makes a loud sort of screeching sound a table away from us, interrupting what I was about to say. We both look over to see that it was a joyful sound, his little mouth pulled up into a full grin as his dad appears to be making funny faces at him. The baby squeals again, and it might be the cutest thing in the world.
“You like . . . babies?” Henry asks, a tiny wave in his voice signaling that he’s nervous to ask this, that there might be a lot riding on my answer. A third-date question.
“For sure. I want to have a whole slew of them.”
He pulls his chin in, his eyes going wide. “A slew?”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Not really. More like three. Or maybe four.”
Henry nods. Like he’s agreeing. Like this was the answer he was hoping for.
“What about you?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve always seen myself with one or two of them.”
“You can’t just have one,” I say, a chastisement to my voice.
“No?”
“No,” I say. “My best friend Holly is an only child, and she hates it. You have to have at least two.”
“Okay, I’ll have at least two.”
“And a craftsman-style house.”
“I’m sorry?”
I whip out my phone and pull one up on Google. I could have shown him the ones I’ve saved to my camera roll, but I didn’t want to look that pathetic.
“I do like that,” he says when I show him a picture that’s close to my dream one. White, two stories, gray trim.
“And a blue door.”
He takes a breath inward through his teeth. “I don’t know about that. How bright of blue are we talking here?”
“Oh, I was thinking like a navy.”
He nods his head, looking as if he’s picturing it.
“What kind of car would you be driving if you owned this house with the blue door?” he asks, and then picks up his chopsticks, searching our spread for his next bite.
“Not a minivan,” I say, scrunching my nose.
“Never that.”
“A smaller SUV would do. Especially for two children.”
“What about the slew?”
“Well, then a larger SUV would be needed. I see now that the slew might be expensive. Maybe two would be better.”
“But definitely not one.”
“No. Definitely not one.”
He reaches over and picks up a piece of a california roll. I look at him, and we smile at each other before he pops the piece in his mouth.
We’re doing it. We’re talking about the big stuff—the make-it-or-break-it stuff. Third-date stuff. He’s moving here. We like each other. We both want kids and a nice house with no minivan. There was no hesitation on my part, no need to search for right answers. I answered truthfully, how I really feel. And it would appear that Henry and I are compatible. At least so far.
Feeling satisfied with how things are going, and the nervous