“—toward me,” Henry finishes, a strain in his voice. “Right?”

“But I don’t feel that way anymore,” I say, feeling an inexplicable, overwhelming need to make this very clear. “I promise. Swear on my heart.”

Some emotion I can’t name passes over his face. He reaches out, his fingers forming a warm circle around my wrist, and I stop walking. Stop everything. “Then tell me,” he says, very quietly. “What exactly do you feel toward me now?”

“I—” Confusion tangles my tongue, speeds up my pulse. Dimly, I think: He really is good at this whole distraction thing. “Why does it matter?”

“You really don’t know?”

I stare at him. Something is happening, I can sense it, but just like his expression, it’s impossible for me to decipher. “Know... Know what?”

He lets go of my wrist, dragging a hand through his hair instead. “Good god,” he says with a little laugh. Shakes his head. “For one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, you can really be quite oblivious sometimes.”

And maybe it’s the way he’s gazing up at me, somehow tormented and tender at the same time, or maybe it’s the weird half compliment, or maybe it’s every small, subtle moment I’ve missed along the way, now catching up to me in an adrenaline-induced burst of clarity, but all of a sudden—

“Oh,” I breathe.

Oh. Wow.

I sit down on the carpet, dizzy with comprehension.

After a few minutes of pure, unadulterated silence, I realize Henry’s watching me, sharp-eyed and tight jawed, waiting for my response. This might be the most nervous I’ve ever seen him.

“Good,” I manage at last. “It’s good. For me as well.”

I don’t expect him to get anything out of my ridiculous jumble of words, but he does.

He moves so our knees are close to touching, and I ask without thinking, “Is this the part where you kiss me?”

He leans closer, and even in the dim hotel lights, I can make out the silent laughter in his eyes. “That was not my intention.” A pause, teasing. “Why? Did you want me to?”

“What? N-no, of course not,” I stammer, twisting away at once. Then, because I’m physically incapable of keeping my mouth shut, I babble on, “It’s just—you know, in the movies...when it gets to this kind of scene, with this kind of lighting—”

There’s a sharp rap on the door.

We both freeze.

It almost gives me whiplash, how quickly the mood changes, like having your emotional, family-friendly farm animal movie interrupted by a cheery ad from McDonald’s.

Another knock. Even louder than the first.

The irrational, already terrified part of my brain is convinced the police have found us somehow, that they’re waiting to arrest us right this second, that it’s over, my life is ruined—

But then I hear a girl’s giggle. Someone else whispers something I can’t quite catch, and the giggle turns into a muffled shriek of laughter.

Henry and I exchange a quick, silent look, and from the grim set of his jaw, I know we’ve arrived at the same conclusion. The room’s lights are on; there’s no point pretending he isn’t inside.