book title

It’s only noon and today is already dragging on. That’s probably because I’m anxiously awaiting Henry’s phone call. I am real stealthy about it this morning, asking the administrative assistant if she confirmed that Henry had in fact checked into the hotel last night.

“He did,” she tells me plainly.

I hold back a squeal of excitement and bounce away. Now I just have to wait to hear from him, because the man does not own a cell phone.

I know he got in late last night and will probably need to sleep in at least a little, but I’m starting to consider calling up the hotel and asking for his room.

Finally, around one, my cell phone rings with an unfamiliar local number.

“Yellow?” I answer.

“Chloe?” a deep voice asks.

“Hey, Henry,” I say knowingly.

“How’d you know it was me?” he questions.

“I know your voice, silly.” Deep and buttery. “How was the flight?”

“Horrible,” he groans.

I hold back a chuckle. Some people may take Henry too literally, but I know better. “Glad to hear it. And the hotel?”

I can hear the humor in his voice this time, and I know I’m right. He sort of gets off on being grumpy. That’s my theory at least. “Very good. You up for eating a meal together in a few hours?”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” I inform him happily. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He makes a grumbly sound which I know means he’s excited too. At least, that’s how I’m going to take it.

“Well, we’re on the show’s dime tonight for dinner, so I was thinking we should really gouge them with something fancy,” I suggest.

“I hate fancy,” he complains.

“Of course, you do. But take pity on me. I’ve been eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner for two weeks. I’m starved for something unobtainable. How about The Criteria? That’s a steakhouse downtown.”

I could use a filling meal that makes me feel good about myself, especially because I discovered this morning that I have negative fifteen dollars in my bank. My promotion last fall to production manager didn’t equate to many more leftover zeros, especially not when the rent on my nightmare apartment went up to two grand a month.

Henry is quiet for a minute before he speaks again. “Let’s compromise. I’ll find a place, and I promise it will feed you properly.”

“You got a phone book handy or something?” I question him with delight in my voice. I know he doesn’t have a cell phone, and he’s told me before he hasn’t really ever used the internet. Apparently, that’s not a relevant tool to a special ops marine who now lives on an off-grid homestead in the wilderness.

“I have Mason. I don’t need the internet.”

“What the heck is a Mason?” I ask, completely lost.

Henry gives me one of his rare laughs, and my heart swells with pride. “Mason is the concierge at the hotel. He can book reservations and all that stuff. Should I pick you up?” he asks me.

“With what car?” I question. I don’t recall his travel plans including a car rental.

“I had Mason set me up with one this morning. L.A. public transit is not something I’m interested in experiencing.”

Typical Henry. I think it’s more that society is not something he wants to experience, but I don’t say as much. I shake my head to myself. “Okay.”

“Good. Can we eat at five? I hate when restaurants get busy,” he adds.

I snort a chuckle from my nose. “That sounds about right. I’ll be done at five. You can pick me up then.” I give him the address to the studio, and we hang up.

Four more long hours to go.

It is odd to have plans with someone who doesn’t have a phone. I am not sure how he expects to alert me to his arrival, so I stand outside ten minutes early just in case.

Henry appears at the studio at two minutes to five. I wave as he pulls up in a gray Jeep and then I take a breath, because, dayum, he looks smoking hot. I completely understand why the studio wanted him to come down for promos. The first season is already a hit, and it is in large part thanks to the handsome young marines on screen.

Henry, in my humble opinion, is particularly good-looking. He is probably the tallest of the bunch, well over six feet, and built too. He has a broad chest and muscular arms, a muscular neck and a perfectly symmetrical face. His nose is even cute_not quite a button, but softly shaped and just the right size for his face.

I wonder for a beat where he got the money for the car rental. Surely not from our relatively cheap production company. I hate the idea of him spending any more money than he has to on such a luxury. I learned during my time in Alaska that Port Providence needs every dollar they can muster for supplies to build out their ever-crumbling infrastructure and dwellings.

“Henry,” I call out as he steps from the vehicle and walks around to greet me. To my utter shock, he hugs me. Actually hugs me! I didn’t think Henry was the hugging type. Of the times we’ve spent together, sure, I would intentionally drive him nuts by looping my arm through his and asking for more high fives than is completely normal, but I never expected a hug. And worse, I never expected this hug to feel so damn good. I keep my arms squeezed tightly around him to savor it.

“I knew this was a mistake,” he grumbles after a few moments.

I sigh and squeeze tighter. “Just let me have this,” I say half-jokingly.

Henry makes that grumbly sound I love so much in protest, but he doesn’t push me away. Finally, I release him, but I keep hold of his thick arms. “Let me get a good look at you.” My eyes wander around him while he rolls his eyes up to signal his annoyance with my antics.

I drop my grip on him and step back. “You have some gray hair now,” I conclude.

His eyes snap to mine, an indignant look on his face. “You smell like Thai food.”

I had complained about it to him on our visits before, but I still frown at his confirmation. “I know.”

“One or two grays, maybe,” he relents. “Just you wait until your thirties. It will happen to you too.”

“Consider me warned.” My tone is confident because my mom didn’t get a single gray until she was fifty. If I’m blessed in any way, it’s in the hair department.

Henry pulls open the passenger side door for me. For someone who likes to complain so much and ignore the rules of polite society, Henry is the image of a gentleman. I wish I could meet a guy like him around here. Is that really asking too much? Is he some sort of unicorn? If he was, he’d be a unicorn in a red check shirt with a moose antler for a horn. His attire sort of stands out here in L.A. The rugged dark jeans and flannel shirt are probably in fashion somewhere, but it’s definitely not the norm around here. Still, I think he looks squeezable.

“Did you find a suitable place to take me?”

“I did,” he answers shortly.

“We aren’t hunting for our own wild game and cooking it, are we?” I make a face at him.

To my shock, he lets a little laugh out before stopping himself, fixing a blank expression back in its usual place. “We are not. But I just couldn’t do one of those snobbish restaurants that serve me a single pea on a spoon.”

A chuckle squeaks from my throat. “A pea on a spoon? Do you speak from experience? Because that was very specific.”

Henry doesn’t answer my question. “The place is called Mario’s Meathouse, and it’s very underrated.”

“Never heard of it.” I shrug, cringing a little at the name. “It’s a big city, though.”

“Too big,” Henry muses.

“Nothing like the quaint and homey Port Providence.”

“Nothing at all.”

I study his face. “You miss home already and hate it here?” I hedge a guess.

“The company isn’t total shit,” he offers.

I slap my knee. “Well, call me lucky. My company is a step up from complete and total shit.”

Henry gives a curt nod, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “That’s correct, ma’am.”

After a few more miles, I realize we’re heading pretty far to the outskirts of the city, away from the ocean, which means away from all of the good restaurants in my opinion. This is not the side of town known for its cuisine. I hope Mason the concierge knows what he is doing.

When we pull up to the restaurant, everything about the place reminds me of Henry, and I can’t help giggling. “Are you serious?”

Henry cuts the engine and steps from the Jeep without any reply. I watch in the mirror as he walks around to my door.

“There is a deer skull above the door,” I observe, taking his hand and hopping down to the ground. His palms are so pleasantly rough.

“Correct. That is a deer skull,” Henry confirms, as if this is the most normal piece of décor he’s ever seen, which heck, it probably is. But that’s not all that feels out of place here. The chairs are old barrels, the walls are corrugated tin, and the tables are made of what appear to be antique wooden doors.

“Are you sure about this place?” I whisper at the hostess stand.

“Very,” he confirms with full confidence.

The hostess shows us to our table_near the back and tucked away for maximum privacy. I’d been a little selfish wanting to use the meal allowance on something fancy, but I admit this is more Henry’s speed. He is the guest, after all.

The menu is unsurprisingly barbeque. I could smell that much about it when we walked in. But truthfully, it smells incredible.

We order something called a big ass plate of meat, no joke, that’s actually the name on the menu. Then we each order a couple of sides to share_whipped sweet potatoes, baked beans, collard greens, green bean casserole, mac and cheese, coleslaw, and cornbread. My mouth is watering.

“Is there any chance you want to see some of the sights around here?” I brave the question and sip my iced tea. I get the sense Henry isn’t much of a tourist, but I’d hate not to offer.

As I expect, he looks uncomfortable at the question, which isn’t particularly out of character for him. Still, it makes me wonder, the way he shifts in his seat, what he’s really thinking.

When he doesn’t answer, I double down. “Venice Beach Boardwalk is kind of cool. We could take a surfing lesson at Malibu beach, hit the Griffith Observatory, or the Getty Center has beautiful gardens. If you’re feeling really cheesy, we could hike up to the Hollywood sign.” My first few weeks here, Beth showed me around to all of these places, and I was amazed at the beauty of California. It is worlds apart from New York.

Henry just stares at me and sips his coke. Okay then.

We talk about his trip down instead, until the waitress brings the food. The table is suddenly filled with a small feast.

I load up my plate and take my first bite of a maple-glazed pork chop which melts in my mouth. “Ohmygod,” I groan around the food as the flavor bursts over my tongue. This seems to please Henry, and he smiles at my reaction.

“You like it?” he asks. I’ve never seen him look hopeful.

“It’s amazing. Thank your concierge for me.”

“Mason didn’t find this place,” he informs me. Is that a look of instant regret on his face? Henry is such an enigma.

“Then who did?” I question.

He shifts in his seat, pausing a moment as if deciding. “I’ve been here before,” he says with an uninterested tone, as if this is the blandest information he could have produced.

I’m so taken aback by his words, I stop mid-chew and roughly swallow my food. “You’ve been to L.A. before?” I choke out.

His mouth forms a tight line, and he nods. “Not just on holiday, but I... I grew up here.”

At this revelation, I set my fork down with a clatter on the table. “You grew up in L.A.?” My eyes are surely bugging out of my head.

“Yes, is there an echo in here? Everyone comes from somewhere.” His tone is suddenly impatient, as if he’s bothered by this information.

I wait in stunned silence. I don’t want to pry. He could have just lied after all and told me his concierge found this place. My guess is that he does want to open up, even though sharing is clearly hard for him.

The only thing to do now is play it cool. I take another bite of the incredible food, especially the creamy sweet potatoes that melt in my mouth.

My tactic seems to work, because Henry starts again. “My mom still lives here, I assume.”

I nod. “Do you think you’ll try to see her while you’re here?” There. That sounded casual. Don’t spook the wildlife. Not when this incredibly rare moment is happening right before my very eyes.

“Haven’t spoken to her in a long time,” he informs me matter-of-factly.

Trying my best to keep a blank expression and not look too shocked, I think about how alone I’d feel in the world if I didn’t at least know I had my parents. Does Henry feel alone in the world? Maybe not up in Port Providence with his best friends and a town full of tight-knit folks happy to help each other out.

“Guess that means you don’t need to see the tourist sights,” I say with a soft smile, giving him an out on the topic of fractured family.

Henry’s lip tugs up on one side. “That’s a negative. But there is one thing I wouldn’t mind doing while I’m in town.”

“Yeah?” I ask, curious as to what Henry deems worthy of his time.

“I used to surf as a kid. I’d love to go.”

My eyes probably pop wider than before, if that’s even possible, because Henry scoffs in reaction. “I can surf.”

I hold up my hand as I shake away my startled expression. “I don’t doubt it. It’s that I can’t picture you doing something just for fun. That’s all.”

Henry frowns, his brow knitting together. “You don’t think I like to have fun?”

“Is that a trick question?” I tease.

He fights to hold back a smile again. “Fair enough. Would you want to go with me?”

“Surfing? I mean, I’ve always wanted to try, but the lessons and rentals are pretty expensive.”

“My treat,” he adds quickly.

“What, do you have a secret trust fund or something?” I joke as I stab my fork back at the sweet potatoes.

“You’re a sweet potato hog. I knew we should have gotten two of those,” he complains as he stabs his fork in next to mine.

“I would love to surf with you,” I answer finally. “Thank you.”

We check over the promo calendar and decide the day after next works best. Henry gets our leftovers packed up for me to take home and then drives me back to my place. He parks the Jeep and insists on walking me all the way up.

“So this is the origin of the Thai food smell,” he confidently concludes as we walk up the stairs.

“It’s shockingly recognizable, isn’t it?” I manage a laugh, even though the smell is enough to bring me to tears some nights.

“Is the food any good at least?” he asks.

“Never had the desire to try it. Go figure.”

When we reach the top of the stairs, we see my neighbor, Rob, standing in his doorway wearing a robe that is barely tied enough to cover his ugly bits. “Chloe, you’re back. Who is this man?”

“I’m Henry. Who are you?” Henry folds his arms over his chest and stands to his full height. God love this man.

“I... I’m uh, Chloe’s neighbor, Rob.” I can’t believe how the confidence so quickly drains from him. He’s always bothered me since he moved in. Always half dressed, always asking questions, and somehow managing to say hello right as I come home, as if he’s been watching on the other side of the door. It’s unsettling, to say the least.

I unlock my door and step inside my apartment, and Henry follows me.

Looking back at my neighbor, Henry scowls. “Goodnight, Rob.” His tone is deep and forceful. I wish I could borrow him more often to be my escort.

“What is that guy’s deal?” Henry starts to ask before his eyes take in my apartment. “Chloe, why do you live here?”

I would have at least hoped my bohemian style might distract him from the state of the place. Apparently, that is not the case. I shake my head knowingly. “I have six figure debt from NYU, so this is where I live now.”

Henry looks more bothered than I’ve ever seen him. He shifts side to side like a trapped animal.

“Is that mold?” He points to the kitchen area, to the dark stain above my fridge.

“I think so.” I’m so used to the stain, I’d forgotten it was there.

Just then my air conditioner kicks on, which means we now have to practically shout to speak.

“I don’t like this one bit.” Henry shakes his head.

“You and me both, buddy.” I try to laugh it off as if it doesn’t bother me.

“This place makes JP and Tucker’s cabin look like a palace.”

“Not helping.” I fold my arms over my chest.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here?” he asks, looking around my studio apartment as if studying it.

“Henry, this is where I live,” I half-answer. I’m already on the verge of tears. I know it’s bad, but I’ve gotten so used to it, seeing it from an outside perspective is like a fresh slap in the face.

“You want to come back to my hotel with me?” His frown deepens.

Never thought he’d say those words. I could almost laugh. But I don’t. He doesn’t mean it that way, of course. He’s just being kind. I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for your first interview. Are you ready?” I try for a subject change.

“Not at all.” Henry comes over to me and pulls me into a hug again. If the first hug shocked me, this one blows my brains clear out of my head. But damn, it feels good to be wrapped up by him. He’s such a giant compared to me. I’m a thick lady, relatively speaking, but he’s such a giant, I feel utterly dainty in his arms.

As he walks to the door and pulls it open, Rob is standing in the tiny hallway, looking very guilty.

“You need something?” Henry growls, and Rob jumps at the question.

“No, nothing,” he answers in a high voice and rolls back into his apartment, closing the door slowly as he watches through the crack.