Page 119 of Soft Flannel Hank

“That son of a bitch,” Jory swore as she raced after him.

Esther had been so focused on Callum and Jory and then Callum and Jory together that she’d also forgotten completely about the tattooed man who had been eating apples and getting water and was now lazily leaning against the refrigerator, cleaning beneath his fingernails with the point of a sharp knife.

He lifted off the fridge and walked to the door, doffing an imaginary cap and bowing low as he said, “It’s been a pleasure.” And then he, too, was gone. As she heard him jogging down the steps, she had an uncanny feeling that it would not be the last time she saw him.

In some ways it felt like the final act of a play, with constant action and exposition and tension that just dropped like a line as, one by one, actors left the stage, leaving only three behind. Esther could almost feel the silence pulsing in the air around her. The adrenaline left her body with force, rushing away as quickly as it had come and her knees buckled. Hank caught her beneath her arms and shuffled her to an empty seat at the table, the seat he’d been occupying when she’d darted into the kitchen, when all of this had begun.

She looked at her watch. Had it really only been twenty minutes? It felt like hours. A lifetime.

Nat shoved off the wall and maneuvered around Hank, who was kneeling in front of Esther, holding her shaking hands in his.

“It, uh, looks like they’ve got some history,” Nat said, tipping his head toward the mudroom door.

“I think that’s an understatement,” Esther said.

“I should get back to Niamh,” Nat said with a sigh. “I’m glad you’re okay, Esther. I’m—I’m sorry if I was an ass earlier.”

Esther didn’t miss the worried look on his face, the way his voice caught on her name.

“Maybe we could do dinner sometime? Bring Niamh?” Esther said. “I’d like to get to know both of you better.”

But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted how presumptuous they sounded. She’d asked Nat to go on a double date as if Hank was guaranteed to take her back, as if it were a forgone conclusion that they just pick up where they’d left off. Whereshehad left him.

But Nat didn’t see that. He laughed and said, “I assume it’s BYOB.”

Esther smiled weakly. “Unfortunately, yes. You would have to bring your own blood.”

“Can do, Red,” Nat said with a wink.

“Thanks, Nat,” Hank said, not looking away from Esther’s face. She felt caught in his stare.

Nat’s own expression softened. “Anything for you, Hankie. Love you, buddy.”

Hank turned to look at Nat, the corner of his lip quirking up. “Love you too,” he replied.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “And I love you, Hank.”

She did. Heknewshe did. She’d written it in the letter, after all.

But she didn’t say it. Even though she wanted to. Even though she wanted to whisper it into his ear a hundred times in a row until the words knit themselves snugly into his brain so that he could never doubt them, never doubt her.

Esther stared at Hank’s profile, however, and wanted to be brave. She wanted to say it to his face. She wanted to win him back, to bask once again in the warmth of his care.Of his love.But Hank turned to look at her and, seeing his blank expression, Esther’s words froze in her mouth.

24

Now that the danger gone and Esther was sitting in front of him, Hank’s anger rose hot and steady back to the surface where it flowed, heavy and powerful across him like a lava field.

“I thought you’d left me. Again.”

It was the bald truth. He didn’t have it in him to soften it.

“I left a note,’ she replied, which was also true.

“I didn’t see it at first.”

“I left it next to your wallet on the counter. I—”

It struck him in that moment how so many things could be mutually true at the same time, even if they were at odds with one another. She had left a note. He hadn’t seen it. Because it was also true that it wasn’t on the counter any longer by the time he’d woken up. It had fallen on the floor. But that truth wasn’t her fault. She had meant for him to find it.