Finally, he said, “It’s ridiculous to remember this so well. I was in grade four. It was nothing.”

“Okay.”

He shrugged. “I was reading something aloud in class. I don’t remember what it was. The word ‘monastery’ was in the passage. I didn’t go to a Catholic school, so I don’t know why that would come up. I was in a special advanced class, and we were reading a short story, I think. I pronounced it ‘mon-ass-tery’ with the incorrect emphasis. Everyone laughed really hard. Even Mrs. Markham smiled.”

I chuckled. “Ah. Okay.” I waited for him to say he’d been beaten up on the playground later or something.

He stared into space like he was remembering the class laughing at him. “A boy named Tyler teased me about it all that week and called me stupid. I was afraid to say anything at all in case I pronounced something else incorrectly.” He shrugged again. “So I spoke less after that. I was already quiet anyway.”

Whoa. I almost said, “That’s it?” but thank God I didn’t. Henry had clearly been scarred by this incident a lot of people, including me, would laugh off.

How he’d gone into a judged sport was beyond me, but I guessed he loved being on the ice so much that he’d worked through it. Pleasing the judges had to fuel his perfectionism.

I wished I could reach back through time to tell baby Henry that it was okay, and he didn’t have to be perfect. Also I’d kick that Tyler’s ass.

What I did say was, “I’m sorry.”

He wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know why I remember that like it was yesterday.”

I did cross over to him now, but I resisted straddling his lap, plopping down in the other chair instead. “Because your big brain has a scary good memory and likes to torture you.”

His mouth quirked, and I felt a victorious rush like I’d landed the illusive quad Axel right there in the condo. What would it be like to kiss him? If I leaned across the table and licked across his bottom lip, would he let me in?

“Houlihan’s moniker.”

I tore my eyes from Henry’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Eight down. ‘Houlihan’s moniker.’ Seven letters.” Pencil in hand, he tapped the paper of the crossword book.

“Oh, right.” It was my turn to blush, my cheeks burning as I jumped up and returned to the cutting board. “I have no idea. I mean, ‘moniker’ means name. But what’s a Houlihan?” I grabbed the remaining shoots of green onion and massacred them.

“Most likely a person. This is an older puzzle book, so it might be from the nineties. Or the eighties, even.”

Spilling more slivered almonds into the pan, I frowned. “Why are you doing such old ones? Isn’t it way easier to do new crosswords?” I laughed as soon as I said it. “Of course that’s exactly why you do the old ones.”

“Mm.”

With a rush of fondness, I toasted the nuts, forcing myself to watch them the whole time aside from little glances at Henry I couldn’t resist.