Daydream: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series Book 3)
Chapter 10

IT TAKES ONE GOOGLE SEARCH to confirm with certainty that misogyny is alive and well in the world.

My first date—experiment? Experience?—with Henry will be starting any minute, and it suddenly occurred to me as I waited in my living room, possibly looking like Miss Honey, that I don’t have any idea how to go on a date.

After Henry and I confirmed today would be the first day of our—partnership? Scheming? Shenanigans? Whatever we’re doing—I made the choice not to tell anyone. I do honestly feel like that’s the right decision, but it’s forced me to consult the internet for advice rather than a person like Cami or Aurora. So when I typed “how to not mess up a first date,” links to articles by self-declared alpha bros wanting to share their “wisdom” were the first to appear.

Thankfully, I don’t have concerns about being a “low-value woman,” so I was able to swiftly move on to slightly less toxic results. I’m reading an article about how to keep the conversation flowing when Henry texts me that he’s on his way.

His looming arrival is enough to make me panic more than the alpha bros ever could, and I’m suddenly reevaluating all my choices.

HENRY TURNER

Ten-minute warning. Leaving my house now.

Not too late if you want to change your mind about this!

I know. I haven’t.

What are you wearing?

I think you’re supposed to save the questions for the date.

I just don’t want to be overdressed.

Impossible.

This conversation is very unhelpful.

I’ll make it up to you later.

There’s a ridiculous grin on my face when I lock my phone and catch my reflection in the screen. My phone buzzes again and I swipe up automatically, not realizing it isn’t Henry until I read the message.

WILL ELLINGTON

Have fun on your date

I choke on air so loudly that Joy jumps. I haven’t heard from Will since we broke up a month ago, and this is not the first message I was expecting to get from him. I mentally run through all the options, from psychic abilities to phone cloning, before eventually realizing the answer is my mom.

When she called earlier to talk to me about Thanksgiving next month, I was desperate to get her off the phone so I didn’t have to tell her I wouldn’t be coming home. I wasn’t exactly lying when I said I had to go because I was getting ready for a date.

Given my cowardice, and honestly, my desire not to have to manage other people’s feelings and reactions about my own breakup, I still haven’t told them.

WILL ELLINGTON

Have fun on your date

I will, thanks!

Not even curious about how I know?

Nope

Your mom told mine that we’re going on a date

Can’t believe you still haven’t told them about our breakup

If I think about it too hard, I’ll be upset that the first time I’ve heard from Will in weeks is because I’m going out with someone else. He hasn’t once checked in to see how I’m handling things, and even now, his attitude is weird. I shouldn’t engage… but I do.

WILL ELLINGTON

Neither have you if your mom called.

You can tell them when you introduce them to the guy that isn’t me lol

Can’t wait to meet him!

I really shouldn’t engage.

WILL ELLINGTON

You already have

I put my cell phone on do not disturb so I can’t be jolted by Will’s name flashing and throw it into my purse. By the time Henry is knocking on my door there’s no telling where the weird nerves in my belly came from.

It takes all my powers not to let my jaw drop when I open the front door and spot Henry standing there in a suit and white shirt. Holy shit, he looks really good.

“You’re staring at me,” he says calmly. “Really intensely.”

“I haven’t seen you in a suit before. You look really good,” I admit.

He doesn’t respond to my blatant ogling and reaches into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I was going to buy you flowers but I already did that last week, so I brought you this instead.”

The last thing I’m expecting when I unfold the piece of paper is a drawing of me. I’m in my kitchen, smiling as I lean against the counter, surrounded by mixing bowls. “Henry! When did you do this?”

“I sketched it while I could see you, but I didn’t finish it properly until today.”

Henry was doing what I thought was doodling while we waited for the birthday cake to bake, but this is not a doodle. “You are so unbelievably talented. I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And you look really good, too. Ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

IF HENRY NOTICED MY RESTLESSNESS on the drive to the restaurant, he didn’t mention it. Which makes me think he didn’t notice because I definitely feel like he would mention it.

The second I saw the suit I realized we weren’t going to somewhere like Blaise’s diner, and I was right, because I can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant we’re in. My heart stopped a little, and it took every bit of courage to quietly whisper to him while we waited to be seated that somewhere like this is probably super outside of my budget.

In true Henry fashion, he shrugged and said, “It’s a good thing the rules say you’re not allowed to pay then, isn’t it?”

I’ve been staring at the menu for far longer than is necessary, the luxurious paper a barrier between me and the man in front of me. I’ve never been short of words before, but maybe Date Halle is quiet and mysterious, or boring, depending on which way you look at it.

After another few minutes of me staring at the sea bass description, Henry clears his throat. “I’ll happily sit in silence all night, but I don’t think that’d be a good date experience for you. Are you okay?”

I lower the menu slowly and reluctantly. “I think I might be nervous.”

Henry doesn’t look nervous at all. He looks even more calm than normal, like he’s comfortable in a setting like this. I feel scared to touch anything in case I break it, but I’d bet that he’s accustomed to going to fancy restaurants from his grandma’s list. He takes a sip of his water and leans back in his chair. “Does Joy miss me?”

Easy answer. “Of course she does.”

“I asked could we get a cat. Turns out Robbie is allergic.”

“Devastating news. You can visit her anytime, she’s a big fan of yours.” I’m not even exaggerating. Ragdolls are clingy and affectionate anyway, but she has really stepped it up for Henry.

“I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure you do. Even more now that you’re captain, I’d bet.”

He shakes his head and picks up a roll from the basket. “We’re not talking about hockey. Tell me about your book. Did you finally pick a plot?”

“I did! Finally. I wrote a whopping three hundred words before I had to shower for our date.”

He looks genuinely happy. “Tell me about it.”

“Are you sure?” He nods enthusiastically. “Okay. It’s a dual timeline book where the present is a guy watching a woman walk down the aisle from the front of the church, and the past is watching them meet for the first time, and the relationship that follows. It’s a really up-and-down relationship, but they just keep being drawn back to each other, probably across several years. It’ll show all their best and worst moments until in the present she reaches the front of the church.”

“And what?” he asks. “The book ends with them getting married?”

We’re interrupted by the waiter taking our order, and the fact that I’m eager for him to disappear again so I can tell Henry the end of the story is how I know I’ve picked the right one to work on. “No, it doesn’t. That’s my big twist. The whole time he’s watching her walk down the aisle to get married to someone else.”

Henry is quiet for a moment, tearing off pieces of bread and looking pensive. Until he eventually talks again. “Anastasia and Lola are going to lose their shit if there isn’t a happy ending.”

Henry talked about his friends’ girlfriends and their love of rom-coms when we watched the horror movie together. I can’t help but laugh, because losing their shit is the reaction of most readers I know. “It’s only a fiction competition, so it doesn’t need a happy ending. I want to write something that has romantic elements, but I also want it to stand out. I think having a bit of a twist at the end will set it apart from other entries. I think it’s realistic that two people in love might not get their happy ending.”

“I’m surprised you think that. You give hopeless romantic energy,” he says.

“I think I always had myself down as a hopeless romantic. The things I read, the music I listen to, the movies I watch, etcetera. I guess who we think we are and who we are can be different.”

“I don’t understand the point.”

“Of love? Is this the part where the handsome playboy reveals he doesn’t believe in love? Are we that cliché?”

Henry smiles, and it really invokes a feeling in me I haven’t quite gotten used to yet. “You think I’m handsome? Are you flirting with me?”

“I’m not even sure I know how to flirt, so no.”

“You can practice on me.”

“How generous of you. C’mon. Playboy who doesn’t believe in love, tell me more.” I laugh, but the heat is creeping up my neck. Nobody needs to witness me attempting to flirt, especially not him.

Henry rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “You watch too many movies and I’m not a playboy. And no, I do believe in love. I just don’t value it over other types of love. There are people in my life I love. I love art. I love my parents. I watch my friends love each other. I just don’t see what the big deal is about romantic love. Everything seems more complicated when people fall in love with each other.”

“Sometimes complicated is exciting, I guess. I imagine, at least.”

“People value romantic love over platonic love or familial love every day,” he says. “I didn’t really understand platonic love until I met Anastasia, and now I think I’d rather have that with someone. I look at the art people have created on the basis of being in love with someone and it’s never the emotion I feel.”

I can’t think of anyone I platonically love anymore. “What do you mean?”

“If you made a piece of art—a picture—I’d look at your choice of medium, the colors you chose, your personal style, your skill level. I’d see a landscape, or a person, an event, or whatever you wanted to create, but I’d feel something else.

“People paint people they’re in love with and I feel the lust, the longing, the joy, the sadness. It’s a physical manifestation of someone going, Look! Look at how in love I am. But I don’t believe people can look at a painting and see love. I can see friendship, though. It’s hard to explain.”

“Remind me not to paint you anything. I have a feeling you’re a harsh critic.”

Our food arrives and we fill the silence with a mix of questions about my book, life, and family while we eat. By the time our desserts—plural because Henry ordered multiple when we couldn’t decide—arrive, I realize all I’ve done is talk about myself.

“Are you avoiding talking about yourself on purpose or…” I ask, taking my first bite of cheesecake.

He leans over with his fork, stealing the top corner. “I like listening to you talk.”

“Well, I like listening to you talk. Where are you from? Where did you go to high school? When did you realize you could draw? Did you have any pets growing up? What’s your favorite color? Where would you have studied if you didn’t choose UCMH? I don’t know. Tell me something, mystery man.”

At no point in any of the articles I looked at did it say start interrogating your date at the dinner table, but I feel totally self-absorbed right now so we’re going off script.

“I grew up in Maple Hills and I went to Maple Hills Academy from kindergarten to senior year. I don’t know exactly, but I’m told my kindergarten finger paintings rivaled Picasso. My parents put me in a creative kids program after school. We did different things and I learned I liked basically everything. No pets because my nanny was allergic to almost everything. I don’t have a favorite color.”

I’m trying not to visually react to the idea of Henry in a Maple Hills Academy uniform. It’s a private school not far from the hotel, and I see the kids after school sometimes when I’m driving to work. Little Henry in a blazer and tie sounds adorable.

“I don’t believe you don’t have a favorite color. You’re an artist, for God’s sake.”

“Adults don’t have favorite colors, Halle,” he says, stealing another piece of my cheesecake. I push the plate slightly closer to him, but he pushes it back and stands up. Saying nothing, he moves his chair beside me and sits back down, moving the plate between us. “And Parsons, but everyone told me I’d regret not playing hockey if I didn’t go to UCMH. I wouldn’t have, but I was scared of moving to the other side of the country and trying to make friends.”

“But you make friends so easily!” I wish I’d said it in a calm, normal way. Especially since he’s close enough to me that his leg is resting against mine. But no, it comes out all high and scratchy. “Sorry. I just mean you have so many people around you now. And you befriended me.”

“I had no friends freshman year, and I didn’t have close friends in high school. People were nice to me and I had acquaintances and teammates, but I preferred to be by myself. I sometimes mirror new people by accident, but I can’t maintain it.” He pushes the final bite of cheesecake toward me on the plate. “Being around so many new people is overwhelming. I stayed with my parents a lot because the guy I shared a dorm room with used to watch his TV, laptop, and phone at the same time. There would be different sounds blasting constantly and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”

“What changed?”

“Nate and Robbie. They’re like an old married couple and they treat everyone like they’re their children. They grew up together, and Robbie had a serious accident and Nate’s mom died, so I think they trauma bonded. Now they act like they’re everyone’s dads. They let me live with them and it gave me space to adjust and learn how to process college.” He reaches for the next dessert. “And JJ, too, but I guess he’s more like an irresponsible uncle than a dad.”

“That’s really nice, Henry. I’m happy you found your feet.”

He pushes the strawberry on top of the torte to my side of the plate, a gesture born from me telling him strawberries are my favorite fruit. “I told you, platonic love is more effective.”

My fork sinks into the strawberry. “I think you might be right.”

The car ride home is the same comfortable quiet as the one there. He tells me he’s thinking about getting his own car so he doesn’t abuse Russ’s or Aurora’s kindness by borrowing one of theirs. I tell him I doubt they would ever think that about him.

When I’m finally home, Henry hovers close behind me as I rummage around in my clutch for my keys. When I finally replace them, unlock the door, and take a step inside, he doesn’t move. “Are you not coming in?”

He shakes his head. “I’m being a gentleman.”

“Do you not want to be a gentleman inside?”

“I want to, but you should send the guy home at the end of a first date.”

“A date and advice. I’m getting the full Henry Turner treatment tonight.”

Henry looks like he’s about to say something but stops himself. “Not quite.”

He leans forward and my heart stops. His lips press against my cheek gently, and I’m not confident I’m breathing fully. He moves back, the hot sear still present on my skin. “Good night, Halle.”

“Good night,” I say as he walks away, but it once again comes out as a whisper.

When he’s climbed back into the car and driven off, I lock the door behind me and take a look at the drawing of me propped against a photo frame in the hallway as I pass it.

After getting ready for bed, I climb under the duvet with my laptop. With The Great British Baking Show playing on my TV, I create a new chapter and start typing.